#coda writes

[codadex]

She is Cinderheart, but not exactly She is also Cinderpelt, but not quite entirely Her father is Brackenfur, but he is also her brother She loves the great lion, but also the father of his mother She meets the clans on the island, but also between great towering oaks The walls of the camp or familiar, but not quite home

She is two, but only one. She is a medicine cat, but also a warrior.

So who is she?

If she is neither Cinderheart, nor Cinderpelt, then who is she?

It takes the call of a jay bird and the roaring of a lion, before she figures it out.

She is the fire that burns within everyone’s soul, the embers that flicker and glow in the darkness, the ash that clouds and encompasses, the coals that endure and sear.

She is the cinder that she will use to mark her place on this earth, because no matter who she is, she deserves to be here.

[codadex]

when ravenpaw was just a kit, he would sit in the shade a few tail lengths away from the nursery and the prying eyes of the other kits. he would swipe is hand over the dirt, smooth it out into an even plane, and with painstaking care, etch out design after design into the dirt. every now and then a warrior or elder would wander over and marvel at the designs he carved into the dirt and his soul. swirling spirals, sweeping arches, harsh strokes, soft bends, jagged spikes - a mural of intricate lines which could have been tattooed onto any warrior. it was a talent that he held close to his heart. those who saw kept his secret diligently and didn't utter a word - after all, respect and trust was the foundation of a strong clan. however, despite drawing countless tattoos into the soft earth beneath him, ravenkit could never bring it upon himself to sketch out his own tattoo. it was something that almost every apprentice and kit did - dream of their warriror ceremony, fantasise about their cool name, and design possible warrior tattoos. it was almost a tradition - those who had spent hours underneath the moonlight sketch tattoos onto reed paper would wake to their mentor gently grasping their charcoal-stained fingers with gently eyes and a knowing smile. charcoal paws, they were affectionately called. but ravenpaw never allowed himself to be stained by the charcoal of a wistful apprentice's dream. never allowed himself to take the tattoo he held in his soul and lay it out on fragile, fragile paper, when he knew that his own life lay on equally fragile grounds. tigerclaw had taken redtail's life, and judging by the dark looks the older man threw at him, ravenpaw would be the next on that list. he would never get his warrrior name, never get is clan band, never get his tattoo. and unsurprisingly, he never did get any of the above. but surprisngly, he survived. he's alive. alive. something he never expected to happen. for the past few months, he had resigned himself to a bloody and horrifying death beneath tigerclaw's bladed brass knuckles, but as always, firepaw seemed to contradict everything he ever thought. including becoming an honest-to-starclan leader. including leading the clans away from the colonisation of ignorant kittypets. including granting ravenpaw his tattoo. it had been one hell of a surprise, that's for damn sure. he had never allowed himself to design his tattoo, because every stroke and line before had felt so completely and utterly wrong. but as he sat in front of firestar, in front of every clan in the forest, huddled in an abandoned twoleg shelter, ravenpaw had found his hands going through the practiced motions which had been ingrained in him since kithood. sweep your left hand through the dirt. Smooth the surface. Grab a small handful of fine dust. Sprinkle over the earth. extend the thumb and curl the rest of the fingers for better control. touch the tip of your thumb to the earth. pour your soul out. and he does. rounded lines which created the paw pads. Short, sharp strokes for the claws. Sweeping lines for the wings. Crips edges for detailing. it had never felt so right and so perfect, and when mousefur etched the design onto his chest underneath the ever shining lights of silverpelt, it was as if ravenpaw was coming home. he wasn't a warrrior - never had the chance to be one, and was probably destined for failure. He wasn't a loner - the clans were so ingrained into his being and sense of self identity the he could never truly separate from it. he is ravenpaw, and as he traces the arching wings and soft paw pads that decorate his collarbone, he now knows why warriors cherish their tattoo so dearly. it's like discovering a part of him that he could never truly find. a part of him that had always been there, never left, just waiting patiently at the other side of the thicket of trees for him to find himself. he is who he is - no title or rank can change that, and for ravenpaw, that's all he needs.

[codadex]

there is no honour in killing one's brother. no honour in plunging a stake into his neck; no honour in watching the red bleed out of him; no honour in seeing both of your blood mingle together, in one final attempt to reach out to his kin in the most carnal and physical way possible. for one final time, their family blood ran together. everyone had congratulated him. thanking him for saving their leader, their chosen one from starclan. they had thanked them for killing a traitor, the son of a murderous tyrant, who fall all intents and purposes appeared to be heading in the same direction. they praised him for hours, ignoring the rapidly cooling body and ushering him away from the scene of the murder. no, not murder, they had said, but "justice" "he will not go to starclan. there is no place in silverpelt for a cat such as himself. he will go to the place where exiles go. a place where the moon does not shine and stars do not appear. the place where the wind howls and the grass withers. where no light touches the tree tops and the air is permanently chilled." "a fitting place for him," they had said. "starclan wills it." but how honourable is starclan? the sun had been shining when brambleclaw had faced his brother. the light had been warm when they had locked blades for one final time. the air had been crisp and clean when he plunged the wooden stake into hawkfrost's throat. the stars had been bright when their family blood seeped into grass and tainted the water. what kind of people honoured such a death? what gave them the right to congratulate him for executing his own blood and kin? how could they have the sheer audacity to tell him that what he did was "honourable?" there is no honour in what brambleclaw did that day. there is no honour in fratricide.

[codadex]

It's been four moons, but he still feels empty.

There is a hole in his chest, and his heart aches something fierce that no herb can cure.

The camp bustles with life from sunrise to sundown, and the moon shines its face as always. The clans continue on without a care in the world, and sometimes, it's easy to forget that his sister was crushed under a cascade of rock and debris.

It's easy to forget that he had a sister at all.

And that, is what frightens Jayfeather the most.

So ever other day, he and Lionblaze sneak out of the camp during the day under the pretence of herb collecting or one-on-one training. They weave through the thicket of trees in silence, listening to the birds call and the leaves whisper. They stop in front of a wall of rock, which stands ever strong and unyielding despite being exposed for over four moons. Lionblaze lies down first, his head nestled on his large paws and eyes locked onto the stone in front of him. Jayfeather lays behind him, head placed on his brother's strong back and ears pricked for even the slightest of sounds.

For the entire day, they wait, lying vigil at their sister's last resting place in an effort to fill the empty gaps of their hearts with the flesh and bone that lies beneath the rocks. It doesn't work - it never does - but it alleviates the pain ever so slightly.

The Clan does not remember her, but at least Jayfeather and Lionblaze will, for how ever many moons it takes until they can reunite with their sister in the skies above.

[codadex]

In Which Firestar Is Good Leader But A Bad Mentor, But That's Okay Because His Students Still Love Him Unconditionally

Firestar isn't going to delude himself into thinking that he's a good mentor - his track record doesn't lie.

The first apprentice crippled because he was unable to earn her respect, and isn't that a blow to his pride? His first apprentice taken away from him by the one cat the he himself was trying to protect the rest of the clan from. He remembers seeing Cinderpaw lying on the Thunderpath with red seeping out of her, draining her of the exuberance and life that he had admired so much. He remembers seeing the crushed remains of her leg, picking her up by the scruff ever so gently, and dragging her away from the stench of his own failure.

The second turned to kittypet life, because Firestar was too oblivious to realise that his apprentice - his own flesh and blood - was tired of fighting day and night to survive. Too caught up in his own little world, Firestar neglected the very cat he swore to nurture and protect, and as a result of this, his nephew does not believe in Starclan. Does not believe in the very thing that seperates Clan cats from the others. Does not believe in the very essence of the Warrior Code and the spirit that guides and empowers the Clans. Cloudtail is no Thunderclan Warrior, merely a warrior who belongs to Thunderclan.

And finally, his third apprentice, whom Firestar took on out of fear and paranoia rather than actual affection (he never learns, does he?) He can never repay Brambleclaw for the injustice that Firestar served when the younger cat was merely an apprentice. He can taste the bile at the back of his throat every time he recalls Bramblepaw's hunched shoulders, dragging paws, and downcast eyes whenever his mentor walked past. Born to the hatred of the entire clan, raised by a scornful mentor, and abandoned by a sister who simply could not take the prejudice of their clan.

Bramblepaw deserved better.

They all did.

And Firestar cannot deny the fact that he was not better.

He can only hope that one day they will forgive his inadequacies as a mentor, because for all of his faults and misdoings, he loves those three cats with all of his heart.

(he does not know it, but they forgave him long ago, because in their eyes, he has never been anything other than what they needed him to be)

NOTE: i would just like to say that the written piece here does not necessarily reflect my views on firestar's capability as mentor - in fact i think he did the best job he could considering the circumstances. the issue here is that this is written from firestar’s perspective, and he doesn't know that. we as readers can judge his actions and understand that it wasn't his fault, but firestar's the kind of cat who blames himself for ever little thing that goes wrong.

it's because of this that he makes such a great and selfless leader, and it's because of this that his students forgave him for his misdeeds, and can only hope that he can forgive them in return.

[codadex]

“If you must mourn, my love,

Mourn with the moon and the stars up above.

If you must mourn,

Don’t do it alone.”

-Keaton Henson, “You”

(In Which Bramblepaw And Firestar Find Comfort In Each Other After Tigerstar’s Death)

Tigerstar was a bad father, there was no doubt about that.

Exiled before he even had a chance to witness his son’s apprentice ceremony, and dead before Bramblepaw became a warrior. He was a traitor; a tyrant; a monster.

But he was still Bramblepaw’s father. He was still the cat that Goldenflower loved with all her heart, despite his wrongful misdeeds.

Sometimes Bramblepaw lies awake in his den, the nest beside him awfully cold and empty (his sister used to lie there, warm and solid, but now she is gone too. just like everyone else). He closes his eyes, but in the darkness he sees an ever flowing torrent of blood sweep across his vision. He sees bright amber eyes - the same as his own - flash at him.

Accusing him.

Damning him.

My son. My own flesh and blood. How could you do this. How could you let your father die like this.

Bramblepaw wakes up in a cold sweat. The nest beside him is empty. His heart aches.

He gets up.

He walks across the empty camp, dragging his paws along the well worn dirt and keeping his eyes to the ground. Before he knows it, he’s directly below the High Rock and standing at the entrance of the Leader’s Den. He startles, fur standing on edge and eyes blinking at the sight, wondering why his paws brought him here of all places.

Before he has a chance to turn around and walk back to the Aprentice’s Den, a soft voice calls out from the darkness.

“Bramblepaw? What are you doing up so late?”

Bramblepaw shifts guiltily from paw to paw, before mustering up the courage that his clan is known so well for and padding into the den.

“I could say the same to you,” Bramblepaw replies, as he stops in front of his mentor.

Firestar is lying down on his bed of moss, but his neck is arched and head held in such a way that makes it obvious that he was never asleep in the first place. Bright green eyes peer into Bramblepaw’s own amber ones (ones that resemble his father’s so much that he almost feels guilty for making Firestar look at them), before his mentor tilts his head ever so slightly to the side. Bramblepaw feels himself sweat under his mentor’s piercing gaze, but after a few heartbeats, Firestar lowers his eyes and sighs.

The gesture changes so much in him. Gone was the attentive, spirited leader, and in it’s place lay a weary cat with sagging shoulders and a burden too heavy for one cat to carry.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Firestar murmurs, a wry smile on his face.

Bramblepaw hesitates for a moment before gingerly lowering himself into the moss in front of Firestar.

“Uh, ye-yeah.“ He stutters pathetically. "I was just um…”

He ducks his head between his shoulders and kneads the moss between his paws in an effort to quell his anxiety.

“I couldn’t sleep after what happened…yesterday.” He whispers.

Bramblepaw flinches as he finishes his rather lack lustre excuse, but is surprised to see Firestar lower his head and droop his eyelids down, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable in the darkness.

“I know.” Firestar says gently. “Me too.”

It strikes Bramblepaw then and there that, despite his mentor’s obvious distaste for Tigerstar, Firestar loved him too.

Because for all his faults and heinous crimes, he was still Clan. He was still Family.

And Firestar saw Family die nine times right in front of his eyes.

Amber eyes staring up into green ones as the tabby body convulsed over and over again until there was hardly any blood left in the body at all. He saw the life literally bleed out of those eyes along with the organs, until all he could smell was the sick stench of blood and hurt and betrayal-

He was a traitor. He was a sorry excuse for a cat.

But he was still Clan.

Bramblepaw shifts closer to Firestar until his thick, juvenile coat blends with Firestar’s sleek adult one. He ducks his head beneath his mentor’s and the other responds in kind by laying his own gently over his apprentice’s. Their tails entwine and together they mourn the death of a cat who could have been great.

Who could have been Father and Family.

Who could have been Clan and Kin.

[codadex]

Loneliness is the ultimate poverty.

- Pauline Phillips

When he was little, Stormfur had always felt blessed.

His mother did die during kitting, true, but he grew up with a loving father, a caring sister, and a clan that did not begrudge him for his ancestry. His kit days were spent clambering over Mosspelt and pouncing on Graystripe's tail. From birth, he has never known anything but warmth, love, and a thick grey pelt coupled with bright amber eyes that shine with nothing but unadulterated affection.

But Stormkit is not a fool, and he knows heartache when he sees it. He sees it when the Graystripe glances at the entrance of the Riverclan Camp with eyes that speak of longing and pain. He sees it when his father stares into the distance, as if the sheer force of his will would allow him to see his dear friends again, despite the hundreds of tail lengths that seperate them.

It does not surprise Stormpaw when Graystripe is exiled from Riverclan for choosing his former Clan over the latter.

The pain is real, yes, but at least he still has Featherpaw and Stonefur.

For that, he is lucky.

Until he is not.

Until Blackfoot claws a hollow into Stonefur's throat that is as deep as any canyon and jagged as the broken pieces of Stormpaw's heart. He watches red pour out of his mentor's throat, as the tendons tear and strain with each gasping breath and oh dear Starclan that's not a fur marking is it that's Stonefur's throat and spinal column bared for the world to see-

Stormfur is...not the luckiest cat in the world, but he has Feathertail.

He has Feathertail and that's all he needs.

All he needs is a loving sister. Not an inadequate father, not a deceased mother, and not a half-clan mentor. It was him and Feathertail against the world.

But the world proved too much for them, and soon, Stormfur was not so lucky anymore.

He has no mother (dead before he knew her), no mentor (throat cut open in front of a pile of white white bones), no sister (the whistling of a falling stalactite, the roar of Sharptooth, and the dull crunch of her bones as every single part of her body is shattered beyond repair), and certainly no father (taken by those dammed Twolegs have stolen his home from him, and now his father as well.)

So he travels with the Clans into the Mountains, but he does not leave. The Tribe of Rushing Water fills Stormfur with nothing but contempt. An entire tribe of cats who banked their entire future onto one stupid prophecy is not one that Stormfur wishes to be a part of, especially considering that said prophecy drove his sister into an early grave.

Hah! Prophecies. They only brought pain and misery to the lowly cats who roamed the earth.

But despite the misdeeds that the Tribe, Stormfur cannot tear himself away from the last remnants of his sister, even if it is just a pile of broken bones and rotted flesh.

Perhaps this was Starclan's way of punishing him for being so lucky early on, Stormfur muses, as he stares at his sister's final resting place.

If that's the case, then he must be a glutton for punishment.

He will die with Feathertail, right here in this cave, if that is what it takes to never be alone again.