Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2008 16:28:30 GMT -5
Okay, this is an excerpt from a fan fic that I was writing a while ago .
It takes place WAAA-AAAA-AAAAYYYY before Firestar's time, and is sort of in a "different world"--It's not a complete story, but it does--I feel--make a point.
Anyway, enjoy:
Everyone knows the story of StarClan, and our ancestors, the great ones:Tiger,Lion,Leopard.....
But many have forgotten the story of our brothers and sisters: the Rogues.
My mother passed on the story, and her mother, and her mother, and so on until the beginning. My ancestor was one of the few whose judgment and priorities were not clouded by hate and treachery--jealousy and loathing. She was one of the few who understood the true tragedy of the Banishment......But I am getting ahead of myself.....
The time, when the rogues were banished was a time of great confusion and reformation. The change began in the middle of The Great Burning(read twenty season drought). The boundaries were slipping--just. The only that held the clans together were their noble leaders.................
Fur flew before my eyes during the first few moments of the battle, drops of blood spraying the barren ground.
At first, my first reaction was to run, but then my medicine cat instincts kicked in. I raced down the hill to help the firstly injured, my heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. I know that no warrior may harm a medicine cat in battle, but there have been incidents.
My initial fear was sated when I came upon the mangled body of Smoketail. He was a senior warrior of my clan, and a darned good story teller, even better than the elders(but don't tell them that I said that. I'd rather not have grumpy and angry elders retaliate).
For a long second, I thought about all of the stories that Smoketail had told me when I was a kit, until a moan brought me back to reality, and my medicine cat training was finally put to the test. I took a hold of Smoketail's neck-scruff and dragged him to the neutral zone.
Working quickly, I chewed up a couple of marigold leaves to cleanse the wounds, and then slapped some cobwebs on them to stop the bleeding.
When I finished tending to Smoketail and looked up, I was startled to find that a large, dark tabby was stalking right up to us. When he realized that I had seen him, he flattened his ears and hissed," Now, a pretty, little thing like you wouldn't mind me finishing what I started, would you?"
He hissed, a deep, frightening hiss. My hair stood at end, and I hissed back at him, my defense mode primed. I really resent my short stature being pointed out in such a fashion as that. I can't help that I'm small.... He was soooo dead.
We began to circle around each other, and just as he was about to lunge at me, a jet streak of fur, claws, and muscle bowled into my aggressor.
The black warrior threw the tabby to the side and screeched," What kind of mouse-brained, idiotic fool are you? The Medicine Cats are neutral, only helping the wounded! You know better than to attack them like this!"
The tabby flattened his ears as close to the skull as they would go and fluffed out his tail in fear and humiliation.
He was crouched as low to the ground as possible, so his voice was muffled when he muttered," Yes, Shadowheart." Shadowheart flicked his tail, and the tabby left us without so much as a second glance. Yea!
Shadowheart! The name sent chills coursing down my spine, chills that nothing to do with sickness. He glanced at me, and I was shocked when I saw the color of his eyes.
They were a radiant, brilliant mixture of purple and green. I've seen him and his eyes at the gathering before, everyone has, but the color never ceases to amaze me.
There's a rumor that he was the chosen of Starclan for some momentous moment, and that his eyes are a sign that he'll do great things.
Our eyes met, and I lost my breath. Shadowheart's eyes were painfully beautiful. They held a stony, ice exterior, which threatened cruelty and arrogance.
The violet and chartreuse mixture clashed gracefully, lending an otherworldly aura to his already impressive psyche.
Gazing into his eyes, I felt something--a connection, of sorts. This tom was in pain.
Then the connection broke. Shadowheart turned his head back toward where the tabby had fled, then launched himself back into the battle, yelling,"FireClan, retreat!"
I was still reeling from the feeling of the broken connection. My head was dizzy, and my legs shook.
The moan of Smoketail helped to clear my head, and I remembered that what I should never have forgotten--I was a Medicine cat--albeit an apprentice--and it was my duty to heal.
The battle was between SkyClan and FireClan. Our warriors drove out the invading cats(with the help of FireClan's retreat), but not without it's price. I was left to tend to the minor injuries, while my mentor worked to patch up the more severe injuries.
Once or twice, I put the wrong medication on the wrong injuries, but I couldn't help it! It was all I could do to even move around. All I could think about was those eyes! And the fact that I had read them so easily. They were so honest and open, yet so dark and mysterious. Then I began to think about the cat who attacked me--Darkthorn, that was his name.
I began to hiss. He should be punished! Attacking a neutral cat goes against the warrior code! Ashstar should-- a yowl sounded as I accidentally put nettle on Berrythorn's neck wound. I apologized. What else could I do? It was my first battle, after all.
The other medicine cat apprentice, Brightpaw, came and took over for me. I yawned and padded off to the apprentice's den.
The log was empty, so I piled the softest moss together and settled down into my nest.
As I drifted off, my last thoughts were about Shadowheart and Darkthorn, and I kept on seeing those purple and green eyes until the darkness swallowed them.......
It takes place WAAA-AAAA-AAAAYYYY before Firestar's time, and is sort of in a "different world"--It's not a complete story, but it does--I feel--make a point.
Anyway, enjoy:
Everyone knows the story of StarClan, and our ancestors, the great ones:Tiger,Lion,Leopard.....
But many have forgotten the story of our brothers and sisters: the Rogues.
My mother passed on the story, and her mother, and her mother, and so on until the beginning. My ancestor was one of the few whose judgment and priorities were not clouded by hate and treachery--jealousy and loathing. She was one of the few who understood the true tragedy of the Banishment......But I am getting ahead of myself.....
The time, when the rogues were banished was a time of great confusion and reformation. The change began in the middle of The Great Burning(read twenty season drought). The boundaries were slipping--just. The only that held the clans together were their noble leaders.................
Fur flew before my eyes during the first few moments of the battle, drops of blood spraying the barren ground.
At first, my first reaction was to run, but then my medicine cat instincts kicked in. I raced down the hill to help the firstly injured, my heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. I know that no warrior may harm a medicine cat in battle, but there have been incidents.
My initial fear was sated when I came upon the mangled body of Smoketail. He was a senior warrior of my clan, and a darned good story teller, even better than the elders(but don't tell them that I said that. I'd rather not have grumpy and angry elders retaliate).
For a long second, I thought about all of the stories that Smoketail had told me when I was a kit, until a moan brought me back to reality, and my medicine cat training was finally put to the test. I took a hold of Smoketail's neck-scruff and dragged him to the neutral zone.
Working quickly, I chewed up a couple of marigold leaves to cleanse the wounds, and then slapped some cobwebs on them to stop the bleeding.
When I finished tending to Smoketail and looked up, I was startled to find that a large, dark tabby was stalking right up to us. When he realized that I had seen him, he flattened his ears and hissed," Now, a pretty, little thing like you wouldn't mind me finishing what I started, would you?"
He hissed, a deep, frightening hiss. My hair stood at end, and I hissed back at him, my defense mode primed. I really resent my short stature being pointed out in such a fashion as that. I can't help that I'm small.... He was soooo dead.
We began to circle around each other, and just as he was about to lunge at me, a jet streak of fur, claws, and muscle bowled into my aggressor.
The black warrior threw the tabby to the side and screeched," What kind of mouse-brained, idiotic fool are you? The Medicine Cats are neutral, only helping the wounded! You know better than to attack them like this!"
The tabby flattened his ears as close to the skull as they would go and fluffed out his tail in fear and humiliation.
He was crouched as low to the ground as possible, so his voice was muffled when he muttered," Yes, Shadowheart." Shadowheart flicked his tail, and the tabby left us without so much as a second glance. Yea!
Shadowheart! The name sent chills coursing down my spine, chills that nothing to do with sickness. He glanced at me, and I was shocked when I saw the color of his eyes.
They were a radiant, brilliant mixture of purple and green. I've seen him and his eyes at the gathering before, everyone has, but the color never ceases to amaze me.
There's a rumor that he was the chosen of Starclan for some momentous moment, and that his eyes are a sign that he'll do great things.
Our eyes met, and I lost my breath. Shadowheart's eyes were painfully beautiful. They held a stony, ice exterior, which threatened cruelty and arrogance.
The violet and chartreuse mixture clashed gracefully, lending an otherworldly aura to his already impressive psyche.
Gazing into his eyes, I felt something--a connection, of sorts. This tom was in pain.
Then the connection broke. Shadowheart turned his head back toward where the tabby had fled, then launched himself back into the battle, yelling,"FireClan, retreat!"
I was still reeling from the feeling of the broken connection. My head was dizzy, and my legs shook.
The moan of Smoketail helped to clear my head, and I remembered that what I should never have forgotten--I was a Medicine cat--albeit an apprentice--and it was my duty to heal.
The battle was between SkyClan and FireClan. Our warriors drove out the invading cats(with the help of FireClan's retreat), but not without it's price. I was left to tend to the minor injuries, while my mentor worked to patch up the more severe injuries.
Once or twice, I put the wrong medication on the wrong injuries, but I couldn't help it! It was all I could do to even move around. All I could think about was those eyes! And the fact that I had read them so easily. They were so honest and open, yet so dark and mysterious. Then I began to think about the cat who attacked me--Darkthorn, that was his name.
I began to hiss. He should be punished! Attacking a neutral cat goes against the warrior code! Ashstar should-- a yowl sounded as I accidentally put nettle on Berrythorn's neck wound. I apologized. What else could I do? It was my first battle, after all.
The other medicine cat apprentice, Brightpaw, came and took over for me. I yawned and padded off to the apprentice's den.
The log was empty, so I piled the softest moss together and settled down into my nest.
As I drifted off, my last thoughts were about Shadowheart and Darkthorn, and I kept on seeing those purple and green eyes until the darkness swallowed them.......
