another writing challenge!
This was funny as hell to write. It's saved in my files as "cranestorm is a bitch" because, well, yeah.
A group of clan elders decide to have a day outside of the camp, and have allowed a few promisingyoung warriors to join them on a patrol. The young warriors are honoured (andterrified), and the elders are greatly enjoying being horrible and elderly. Oneof the old warriors hopes to run into another clan’s patrol and beat the daylights out of a particular nemesis, for old time’s sake.
"Thistlefoot! Cranestorm specifically asked us to go with them! This will help her see that you're cut out to be a warrior after all!"
"Forget it, Bluewhisker. There's no way you could get me to walk around the forest for hours watching out for--"
The interrupter limped over to the two brothers. "Thistlefoot! Move your whiskers! You would think with your name you would have learned how to be quick once in a while!"
"...yes, Grandmother Cranestorm." Thistlefoot's ears flattened as he looked at the elderly gray molly. Stupid elders wanting to go on a stupid patrol. Why can't they stay in their den and whine about ticks like usual?
"Now where is your good-for-nothing friend, the one who always looks like he’s run straight into a den of badgers?"
"I'm here, Cranestorm," Starlingtail answered meekly from behind her, gold eyes shining with apprehension.
"And the annoying gray one is over there with Dawnfur. Excellent, now let's be off." Cranestorm turned and proudly limped off, calling out as she went. "Let's move our paws, cats! I'd like to be back before nightfall! So no stragglers!" With the last remark, she shot a glance back at Thistlefoot, who rolled his eyes as soon as she wasn't looking.
"Oh, come on, brother," Bluewhisker said, trying to inject false cheer into his voice. "It might be... interesting? You know... I'm sure they have stories..." As he and Thistlefoot brought up the rear of the group, he surveyed the cats in front of them. There was raggedy Dawnfur, chatting happily with Pigeoncloud. Beetlefur appeared to be mercilessly teasing Starlingtail, who looked like he was desperate to escape, by any means necessary. Old calico One-ear strode proudly by herself behind them. At the head of the group was skinny Cranestorm, her gray fur meticulously licked clean... by him, that morning. Bluewhisker shuddered. Maybe this isn't worth it.
The group continued through the woods for an hour or so. Cranestorm, of course, talked the entire time. Whether berating Thistlefoot to be mindful of his elders or barking at shy Starlingtail to "stop looking like you've just seen a fox, for Starclan's sake", her mouth never seemed to shut. Bluewhisker tried to keep her engaged in harmless conversation, and mostly succeeded, before he made a fatal mistake. He accidentally brought up Barnclan.
Cranestorm's green eyes glittered dangerously. "Barnclan!" she roared. "I still haven't forgiven that... that OAF! Why, you should have heard the things he called me..." Thistlefoot shot a deadly look at his brother, who tried to smile as Cranestorm kept shouting madly. As he glared, his vision shifted to Beetlefur, who had a devilish smile on her graying muzzle. Oh no. PLEASE DON'T.
"You know, Cranestorm..." Beetlefur began, a mischievous gleam in her golden eyes. "We're very close to the Barnclan border..." Cranestorm stopped and stiffened, then slowly turned her head towards the black molly, an excited, almost homicidal look in her eyes.
"Oh no," whispered Starlingtail, who appeared to be trying to sink through the earth. "Oh, Starclan, why?"
"MOVE YOUR WHISKERS, YOUNG'UNS! WE'RE PAYING A SURPRISE VISIT TO BARNCLAN!"
"Now, grandmother, we can't just... stride onto their territory..." Bluewhisker watched in defeat as Cranestorm limped, as fast as she could, in the general direction of the border. “Clan… code…prohibits…”
The young warriors watched in horror as One-ear and Dawnfur looked at each other, shrugged, and followed Cranestorm through the forest. Beetlefur, cackling merrily, brought up the rear, a skip in her slow, wobbling step. “Well, come on, let’s go after them!” Bluewhisker hissed at his three companions.
“Dude… maybe we should just go get Lionstar,” Thistlefoot suggested.
Bluewhisker lightly swiped him across the face, hissing. “No, we were specifically asked to guard the elders! Do you understand, if we can’t even keep track of four cats who can barely walk, we’ll never be taken seriously!”
“He’s right,” said Pigeoncloud. "We have to make sure they don’t hurt themselves. They’re slow, it shouldn't be hard to catch up!” She sprang after the group, who indeed hadn’t gotten very far into the forest. The three young toms groaned in unison and trudged along behind her.
Pigeoncloud’s repeated attempts to calm Cranestorm down went unappreciated, and finally she slinked to the back of the group. “She called me an annoying little tick,” she said quietly. Fury brimmed behind her green eyes. She opened her mouth and closed it several times, before looking at the ground and whispering, "I... don't think I like Cranestorm." Starlingtail's eyes widened even further at her uncharacteristic pessimism. Now he knew this was serious.
The younger foursome wearily followed behind their elders as they led the march to the border. Sure enough, as the group crested a hill, Cranestorm cried out merrily. “There’s that rotten dump they call a home! Speedy paws, everyone! I’m going to beat the living snot out of Loonclaw!”
“Grandmother…” Bluewhisker ran in front of her, earnestly pleading in a last-ditch attempt to stop the impending disaster. “We’ve left our scent, I’m sure he’ll know you were here and will be very intimidated. Come on, let’s—“ He was interrupted by Cranestorm literally barreling straight into him, as fiercely determined as ever. He stumbled out of the way and groaned as the other three elders followed her. Dawnfur and Beetlefur appeared to be exchanging bets.
“LOONCLAW! YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING PIECE OF BADGER DUNG, GET YOUR SORRY TAIL OUT HERE!” Cranestorm stood in front of the decrepit barn door, yowling with all the fury of a (scrawny, elderly, sickly) lion. Utterly helpless, the four young warriors hung back, crouched behind a bale of hay. The other three elders sat merrily off to the side, watching. Beetlefur had managed to snag an unlucky locust and was now crunching on it happily.
The door creaked slightly as a white muzzle pushed through. “What is it, you old sack of bones?” a tom’s voice grumbled.
“You know damn well, you cow!” Cranestorm yowled. “Come out and face me, you mouse-heart!”
The door creaked open wider. A very, very portly black and white tom came out, sneering at the gray molly. “Get out of here, feather-brain,” he hissed.
“We have unfinished business, my fleabitten friend!” Cranestorm cried, arching her back. Loonclaw bristled in return. “How would you even remember what it is, you old fishbreath?”
The two elders continued bickering, the insults growing more childish as the argument continued. Luckily, it didn’t appear to be escalating into anything physical, so Thistlefoot tore his eyes from the trainwreck. “Bluewhisker,” he whispered, “why do they hate each other?”
Bluewhisker shook his head. “I don’t know, brother.” He looked at Pigeoncloud and Starlingtail. Pigeoncloud shrugged, but Starlingtail looked at the ground guiltily, curling his tail around his white paws. “Well, if you know, spit it out!” Thistlefoot hissed.
“Loonclaw… said she fought like a kittypet, once.”
“… about seven years, she reckons.”
With a defeated sigh, Thistlefoot crouched to the ground, clenching a paw over his eyes. “Oh, Starclan, tell me when it’s over.”
