Post by spike on May 6, 2010 19:06:40 GMT -6
There it was. The moon. It was a sign of peace and calm, placid minds. It slowed a racing heart and everything just turned quiet as the moon appeared. Creatures curled together for rest while others were just awakening to begin. Among these were crickets that ranged in tones but no two were alike so it was a mass of out-of-tune melodies. Others were the bats that skittered across the sky and the bullfrogs that croaked on the riverbed and called out for their mates and friends to answer. But the female bullfrogs only replied with their own weak croaks. What was it about the night that awoke the smile in him, just like it awoke the bats and crickets and frogs? It reminded him of his younger days that was for sure. Those were the times when age didn’t matter because it was still a long way to StarClan in those paws. His bones only ached after a long day of work and his eyes did not waver in strength. His fur was not falling out back then and his pelt was cleaned of ticks for he could take care of it himself. No nasty mouse bile has to be plastered to his handsome hide in order to rid his body of the blood-feeding monsters.
Back then, however, live was simple. Now he was old. Patches of his amazing bluish fur were missing, bear to the flesh. He struggled to keep his hearing and sight as strong as it had once been rather than letting it fade like the memories within his mind. He found that there was a lot of his life gone now. He couldn’t remember as much as he used to. He couldn’t perform like he did. Great StarClan, where had his life gone?
How long ago had it been? Five, six moons ago? No, no, it was eight. Hold on, seven. The tom couldn’t recall it. What he could remember, however, was Slatefang taking him hunting even when his age and bones said otherwise. The young warrior had caught a fair share of prey in fish for the whole patrol and the nursery. The elder had caught one measly runt of a fish. Had he been that aged to fail at hunting as horribly as he had? How could it been that the great elder was once the finest hunter among the Clan? He once boasted about catching enough prey for all the elders and queens and medicine cats the clans could provide in one Bare-Leaf sitting! But now that boasting comment felt like a shameful reminder that he didn’t have that.
Then there was Rabbitpaw and Otterpaw! He knew they were too old for his stories of those days. The stories of the former greatness that he was once admired as. But he missed their visits as kits. He missed having Rabbitkit and Otterkit, not this “paw” suffix that classified them as older apprentices. He missed having them tumble around while he and Ripplefur joked together about their talents or false claims of fame. But that was no more. Now the ones visiting him didn’t provide him with names. Well, at least his mind couldn’t. He saw them and blanked each time. There was one kit he saw and every time he saw it he’d exclaim “Frostkit!” The very white youngster resembled his deaf, deaf son to a point almost. The little gray tabby queen seemed heartbroken with each time he did so too. Why was it they called him insane for these things? Why did they think he was mad in the mind for calling the kit Frostkit? Was it not so?
With a shake of his head, the elder turned for his nest as if rest would capture him, free him from this world of hatred he had formed around himself. This was not the place for a moping tom to be. Not one as broken as he. All of his weight landed roughly on the ground and his joints pained in response to the heavy collapse onto the mossy nest. “If only it was a dream,” he whispered to nobody. His pallid yellow eyes hesitated before sliding close completely.
Not a second afterwards, a paw batted his nose and awoke him with a strong start. “Wake up, you lazy fool,” a sharp snarl spat. There was a groan of sleep reply- was it his? “Bluewhisker! Get up! Mottledfur wants you. Would you quit sleeping?”
“What?” shouted the now fully awoken cat. He leapt to his paws in a scrambling mess and he realized that no weight or pain restrained him from doing so. The patches on his legs felt covered and as he looked at them, they were. His fur was not littered like a roan cat but rather pure blue, the silver reflecting with the light. Energy was pulsing in his blood which hadn’t been there since his days as a warrior. No, in fact, it was as if he was young again.
“Just go see your mate,” the speaker snapped. Bluewhisker lifted his eyes and examined the brute before him. This cat’s fur was ragged, quite haggard looking actually. Its shaggy, brown hue made him look more like a battle-worn rogue over a RiverClan warrior. But the intensity of his steel-gray eyes spoke more about him than any other aspect. The narrow pupils ended nowhere in those expansive shadows. His body was large, shoulders broad, jaw thick, and muscles bulging. He was a prime specimen of a warrior but something the tom had done said otherwise. Was it that icy attitude? Bluewhisker felt his jaw slowly lower as the realization hit him square in the forehead.
“M-Mudfrost?” Bluewhisker stammered.
“What?” the oddly named comrade grumbled. Mudfrost was as temperamental and cold as they came, hence his name. He found his name highly awkward and displeasing, and had grown to hate anybody saying it, minus the exception of his good friend Bluewhisker. The navy tom could remember befriending the other when they were apprentices. They had nicknamed each other and called themselves close, or as close as two highly inspiring cats could be. Mudfrost, however, had died from a rat bite infection ages ago. Much before Bluewhisker stepped into the elder’s den for good.
“Muddy, you’re… you’re alive!” he whispered in shock.
“And why wouldn’t I be? Now get up! You dumb old furball,” Mudfrost joked, clear by the glow on his smile. “Come on, Whiskers, you don’t want to miss your own kits’ apprentice ceremony now, do you?”
“Littlekit?” Bluewhisker answered.
“No, you old fool! Frogkit and Skykit! I swear, you wouldn’t remember your own name if we didn’t call you by it!”
“That’s impossible,” he wheezed. “Mottledfur and I… we-we’re not mates! Frogkit and Skykit, why, they never existed!”
“You really should stop letting that mouse-brained medicine cat give you poppy seeds,” Mudfrost growled. “Your shoulder can ache on its own accord. Now, get moving! Mottledfur will have my head if you don’t hurry.”
---------
This moon was bright, the crescent heavily plump like a queen too. It was the very same shape as it had been when he had last fallen asleep. Bluewhisker did not know truth from fiction anymore. This world had everything he needed and wanted. His favored comrades were not deceased, buried beneath his paws. They were very much alive and walking tall. In fact, many of them were lively and treated him as a crazed loner rather than himself. But that was because he kept flipping for joy almost literally at the sight of a live friend.
The world he was in now, whether he was dreaming or not, was paradise. “Never wake me, StarClan,” he pleaded to the stars above. There was one that flared up for a quick second before it faded again.
“Bluewhisker?” a curious, feminine voice spoke up. He assumed it was a voice from beyond this place, one of the stars, and it was destined to wake him. He breathed in deeply and held it, ready to feel the power of StarClan stirring him from sleep. But it was stopped when a warm shoulder was pressed to his in soft greeting.
“Mudfrost says you’ve been acting up,” Mottledfur’s soothing voice mewed. “Littlestream and Frostear have noticed it too, you know. What’s been on your mind?”
Bluewhisker blinked and looked incredulously at the glowing warriors in StarClan before staring down at her. The she-cat staring up at him with those amber eyes was making him shiver with joy. She was so beautiful as the love in her eyes shimmered up at him. Her silver tortoiseshell fur made him believe she was a star and not a cat at all. Had StarClan sent her to him?
“Littlestream? Frostear?” he inquired.
“Your oldest kits, mouse-brain,” she laughed.
“Frostkit… didn’t he… die?” the tom asked. His mate’s eyes widened in horror at the very idea he had suggested to her.
“Great StarClan, no, Bluewhisker! He’s alive and well in all forms. Call for him if you need proof,” she gasped.
“He isn’t deaf?” was the skeptical reply. Mottledfur’s face fell and she glared at him with white hot anger.
“What is your problem?” she snapped. “Frostear is fine! You talk as if you have some craziness in that head of yours!” She pulled her shoulder away coldly and turned for the warriors den without giving him a second glance.
“Wait!” Bluewhisker cried. “Wait, please. I’m fine, I swear. It was just this nightmare I had is all.”
“A nightmare?” Mottledfur growled. “What sort of excuse is that for me to believe?”
“It was a nightmare beyond your imagination,” he explained. He pondered for a minute if that had been a nightmare or honest reality. But as he stared at the she-cat gazing at him, he knew it was a nightmare and not a false life. “You see, I had fallen in love young but the she-cat was a loner and she had to leave. It completely broke my heart.” Mottledfur stepped forward and seemed shocked as his story captured her attention. “I knew no apprentice,” he continued, “because I refused to train. I lost Mudfrost, my parents, and all my friends except for a couple. I felt nothing but sorrow and I was sure that my life had no purpose. You met me and changed that.”
She lit up but Bluewhisker did not. He just frowned more as the memory slid into his mind. “You gave me Littlekit and Frostkit. But Frostkit was deaf. He was adventurous and we were not vigilant with him. He fell into the river as he thought it was a play thing and not the dangerous force we know it as. Littlekit was the only thing left between us. When you were freed from the nursery, you did not return to me. We separated and grew old. I remember at the end of the dream that Littlestream admitted that her kits’ father was a ThunderClan warrior and not one of RiverClan’s. She, along with Robinwing and Gingertail, had all broken the warrior code.”
“You dreamt of a whole new life?” Mottledfur meowed. “Oh, Bluewhisker, that sounds… that sounds dreadful! So… Frogpaw and Skypaw… they did not exist?”
“No, you wanted to live your life with as many toms as possible,” Bluewhisker elucidated. Tears stung his eyes as he thought of the two apprentices he fathered. Skypaw was a carbon copy of her mother, the long-haired silver tortoiseshell just much smaller. Her arrogant attitude was adorable and very much like him in his younger days. The other, Frogpaw, was a bit ragged in quality even with his cloudy-gray fur. Though the tom tried to act tough, he always was going to return to them and tuck himself near Mottledfur like a mama’s boy would. Bluewhisker had only glanced at the two and known they were his.
“Come to the den,” his mate stated. “You need some rest.”
He stared at her with a cloudy look forming over his eyes. He tried to ponder how she had changed. He tried to think of that hatred he once felt for Frostkit’s death. He had held it on her for so long. But… Frostkit was a healthy warrior now. How could he dare blame her for a living son? And to add to that, she was still his mate. She did not flirt with the others around them.
“Alright,” he relented. Bluewhisker brushed his muzzle across hers and allowed a booming purr to escape. “Do you love me?” he asked then.
“Of course,” she mewed. “I do love you.”
------
Oh, how sweet life was! Just a moon ago the tom had retired. Yes, his bones ached and his fur was patchy. His hearing twisted words and his sight was weakened greatly. He couldn’t react like he could which made fishing a hassle. But he retired an old eight-seven. So much of life was better now. Littlestream had a mate that was RiverClan born and raised. Frogclaw and Skyfeather were alive and well. Frostear was a deputy, and Otterpaw and Rabbitpaw visited daily. Mottledfur, his mate, and Ripplefur, his close friend, kept good company. Willowstar was an amazing leader and Skunkpaw was free to live his life outside of Tanglefang’s rule. Birchfog was crabby but not unfriendly. Crowstripe and Sootwhisker were going to see their kits grow.
Leopardfang and Cindertail had five kits of their own and Bluewhisker took it onto himself to teach their kits on his own accord. They fully approved of it as well. Shadestripe and Ivypaw had been keeping the entire den of elders strong and healthy. There were also the warriors that had been made recently which put the Clan in a good mood. Life was going well and no rules had been broken. In fact, Bluewhisker thought that life was perfect as much as the word could be.
It had been like this for moons, actually. He had forgotten his “dream” life for good. No, it was a nightmare still a dream! And now it was another dawn. He felt the light of dawn hitting him and the elder ignored it at first. Snowkit and Palekit wouldn’t bother him quite yet. The whole litter would come bounding in soon enough, wouldn’t they?
But all was silent. No warriors, no crabby Mudfrost to snarl about morning, no Littlestream to herd her kits away. Nothing. Bluewhisker twitched his lips then finally peeked out from under lidded eyes. He opened them completely then stood up, achy and shaky as age managed itself on old bones. His ears didn’t hear the morning ducks or the trickling river. No wind from the sky, no movement from the clouds. Total stillness invaded his space.
“Mottledfur?” he meowed. “Mudfrost? Willowstar? Otterpaw? Somebody?” The elder walked into the empty camp and yearned for the wind to touch him. “Anybody?”
“We’re here, Bluewhisker,” Mudfrost’s voice comforted. The tom appeared from the warriors den. He was youthful as he was in his first days as a warrior. Gray eyes softened at the sight of his confused friend.
“We’re all here,” a second voice added. Out from the shadows appeared Stonetail, a fat gray tom, and Skyclaw, a beautiful bluish she-cat. Both smiled sorrowfully at the elder that gasped to see their faces.
“Mother! Father!” he shouted. Spot by spot their pelts slowly grew starry and the RiverClan camp was turned into a shaded world where the sun did not rise and each cat was made of stars.
“You are curious,” a mature yet squeaky voice pointed out. The elder whipped his head downward to see a white, blue-eyed tom-kit as he slipped forward. “This world is in question to you.”
“Wha- who are you?” he stumbled.
“I’m your son, Frostkit, of course,” was the answer. The cat dubbed Frostear had shrunk and turned into this – this kit! And the name of a kit to boot! Bluewhisker shook his head and took a shaking step backwards.
“But… but… how?” he trembled. “You- you are alive! You were a warrior, not a kit!”
“In truth, we have made lies to you, Bluewhisker,” Frostkit admitted. “This world is very false in the reality. This Clan is only as real as you made yourself believe.” There was silence but cats began pouring out from the dens and shadows to form the Clan he had been with for the past few moons. There were all the warriors made, the apprentices named, the kits born, and the elders deceased that he had come to love. They were so neatly gathered together. The youngest tumbled in play, the warriors sat still with a burning eye contact meeting with him; the elders laid down while Littlestream worked to calm her rambunctious daughters. But one by one they faded.
First were Heavykit, Snowkit, Palekit, Rainkit, and Lightkit. His grand-kits just disappeared in front of him. Then the apprentices and youngest warriors like Slatefang and Cloverpetal. Then they began fading all together, the last being Mottledfur. “No, no!” Bluewhisker cried while limping towards her. But the look in her eyes was not love. It was that flirtatious glint he had seen her give all toms in the supposed real Clan. It was not the cat he had turned out to love.
“Frogpaw! Skypaw!” he pleaded as they did not disappear before him. They just shook their head and refused to meet his searching eyes.
“These are Birchkit and Cloudkit,” Frostkit introduced. “They played Frogpaw and Skypaw. We wanted this world to be something you’d be happy dying in.”
“Dying? That can’t be! I’m alive!” the elder argued with the youngster. “I am not dying.”
“You do not believe me? Look here.” StarClan’s voice came together in a roaring order on the last word. The center of camp fell away to reveal a bird’s view of RiverClan’s camp, the one he could remember clearly now. The den they saw was just being lit up. It was a pretty silver she-cat that awoke first. She groaned about her aches but forgot about it quickly. She saw the unmoving bluish body and tilted her head in confusion. “That is your body,” Frostkit pointed out. ‘You will not wake up.”
“Send me back!” Bluewhisker pleaded. “Let me wake! Let me wake!” However, the elder she-cat, Ripplefur, had already walked over to nudge Bluewhisker. No response was given, just as Frostkit had predicted. Ripplefur tried again, this time calling his name. Only a limp return to his original sleeping form was proof of a response. She tried desperately now, tears leaking from her eyes. But the news was clear.
“Bluewhisker is dead!” she bawled out boisterously. At this, the elders awoke, Mottledfur and Tawnystripe lurching upward. Ripplefur’s strained yowl broke the Clan’s sleep instantly. The view faded out from the elder’s den to see the whole Clan. There was Littlestream gathering her kits towards Gingertail as the fellow queen took control. She was the first to the elder’s den after Ripplefur’s call followed by Shadowstorm, Patchclaw, and Willowstar.
“Why must I die?” Bluewhisker hollered at StarClan. “Why must my life be taunted by you, StarClan?”
“Taunted? We wanted to give you a peaceful death!” the spirit of Mudfrost raged. “Be thankful, you dumb, old flea-bag!”
“I’ll be thankful when my precious daughter stops her tears!” he answered hotly in return. “I see those tears and I know I have done no good for them. I left my Clan with nothing to give. You gave me no chance, StarClan!” He began whimpering as he stared down at the sight. The dead body that was his own was being covered by Littlestream’s shaking form as she cried several times for his life to be renewed. Mottledfur sat nearby with a distant look on her face but no sign of tears in her eyes. He did not care of her anymore. She was the same cat he had hated so he did not care anymore about what tears she shed or for whom.
“Stop your regrets,” Frostkit ordered. “I’m sure that I can arrange a way for you to make it up.”
“You can?” Bluewhisker answered warmly.
“Yes,” his son promised. “I can.”
------
“Get up, Heavyheart!” the warrior, Ottertail, hollered. “Get up!”
“Hurry!” Rabbitclaw echoed. The burly gray tom shot open his deep blue eyes and heaved himself to his paws quickly. But it was too quick because he fell over and awoke a cranky Skunkpelt. The black-and-white tom hissed loudly before grumbling his way into a new, less disturbed nest. “Your mate had her kits,” Rabbitclaw announced. “Two she-kits and a tom! Congrats, daddy cat!”
“What? Uh, thanks,” Heavyheart chuckled. “But why wasn’t I woken earlier?” his deep voice snarled playfully while he batted at Ottertail.
“Because you are hard to wake and you might’ve passed out from the shock,” the warrior sneered jokingly.
“No kidding,” Heavyheart replied. The gray cat stretched quickly but hardly wasted his time trying to make that crack in his back. He just settled for the new spark of energy before leaving the den in a rush for the nursery. He slid in with some issues due to his size but he hardly frowned at it. Instead, he grinned only more.
“Morning, Palestream,” he greeted his sister. The she-cat just smirked and batted at his ear despite being weighed down by kits still growing within her. She took after their ThunderClan father, Rabbitheart, more than their RiverClan mother but she was very much a beautiful cat despite the relation.
“Glad you didn’t start bawling,” she teased. Heavyheart gave a dry laugh as he remembered their kit days. He had very much been a mama’s boy and an emotional cat at that. He would cry when there was a shout and he would mourn for days on end if anybody died. But he had changed and that was evident by the soft smile on his face.
“Not over the birth of my kits,” he growled.
“Hello?” a whine called humorously. “Ignoring somebody, Heavyheart?” The tom turned his head to the pretty tortoiseshell that was sprawled out with three kits suckling along her stomach. She grinned up at him and flicked her tail upward in greeting.
“Of course not,” he laughed. He knelt down and stared at the extremely tiny things that he knew he had half created. They were the size of his paws! But he stared back at his mate and gave her a tiny smile. “How do you feel, Swallowfur?”
“Considering the circumstances,” his childhood friend sarcastically chuckled, “alright. Wish to meet them?”
Curled together were three kits, just as Rabbitclaw had said. “Shadekit,” she announced. The long-haired black she-kit squealed when nudged by her mother and it made Heavyheart instantly of him. “Ashkit.” This kit was a tiny gray thing, mostly like the father. The she-kit was quieter than her sister but probably equal in looks. “And this tom is-.”
“Bluekit,” the father interrupted.
“‘I was thinking something like Skykit,” Swallowfur grumbled.
“But, Swallowfur, he reminds me of my grandfather!” Heavyheart exclaimed. “Oh, please, Swallowfur, let me name my son Bluekit.” There was a shared look of love between mates and the she-cat gave a fond smile.
“You’re lucky I love you,” she purred.
“And you are lucky StarClan is kind,” a starry kit whispered to the newborn tom. Though nobody else seemed to notice him, Frostkit faded into the scene and rasped his tongue over Bluekit’s ear even though the kit would not answer him. “Father, this is your chance. You joined StarClan and we made a great mistake trying to lure you into a pleasant world. You were happy with what you had and we did not assume so. This life will not leave you in pain as we had done to you. Nobody has broken your heart and there is no lies as of yet. You are open for a future of your choice.”
A distant voice seemed to thank the StarClan kit from a place far from the real world. In the sky, a star burned out as a spirit was returned to the quieting tom-kit that these two cats gave life to. There would be no star for Bluewhisker tonight.
Back then, however, live was simple. Now he was old. Patches of his amazing bluish fur were missing, bear to the flesh. He struggled to keep his hearing and sight as strong as it had once been rather than letting it fade like the memories within his mind. He found that there was a lot of his life gone now. He couldn’t remember as much as he used to. He couldn’t perform like he did. Great StarClan, where had his life gone?
How long ago had it been? Five, six moons ago? No, no, it was eight. Hold on, seven. The tom couldn’t recall it. What he could remember, however, was Slatefang taking him hunting even when his age and bones said otherwise. The young warrior had caught a fair share of prey in fish for the whole patrol and the nursery. The elder had caught one measly runt of a fish. Had he been that aged to fail at hunting as horribly as he had? How could it been that the great elder was once the finest hunter among the Clan? He once boasted about catching enough prey for all the elders and queens and medicine cats the clans could provide in one Bare-Leaf sitting! But now that boasting comment felt like a shameful reminder that he didn’t have that.
Then there was Rabbitpaw and Otterpaw! He knew they were too old for his stories of those days. The stories of the former greatness that he was once admired as. But he missed their visits as kits. He missed having Rabbitkit and Otterkit, not this “paw” suffix that classified them as older apprentices. He missed having them tumble around while he and Ripplefur joked together about their talents or false claims of fame. But that was no more. Now the ones visiting him didn’t provide him with names. Well, at least his mind couldn’t. He saw them and blanked each time. There was one kit he saw and every time he saw it he’d exclaim “Frostkit!” The very white youngster resembled his deaf, deaf son to a point almost. The little gray tabby queen seemed heartbroken with each time he did so too. Why was it they called him insane for these things? Why did they think he was mad in the mind for calling the kit Frostkit? Was it not so?
With a shake of his head, the elder turned for his nest as if rest would capture him, free him from this world of hatred he had formed around himself. This was not the place for a moping tom to be. Not one as broken as he. All of his weight landed roughly on the ground and his joints pained in response to the heavy collapse onto the mossy nest. “If only it was a dream,” he whispered to nobody. His pallid yellow eyes hesitated before sliding close completely.
Not a second afterwards, a paw batted his nose and awoke him with a strong start. “Wake up, you lazy fool,” a sharp snarl spat. There was a groan of sleep reply- was it his? “Bluewhisker! Get up! Mottledfur wants you. Would you quit sleeping?”
“What?” shouted the now fully awoken cat. He leapt to his paws in a scrambling mess and he realized that no weight or pain restrained him from doing so. The patches on his legs felt covered and as he looked at them, they were. His fur was not littered like a roan cat but rather pure blue, the silver reflecting with the light. Energy was pulsing in his blood which hadn’t been there since his days as a warrior. No, in fact, it was as if he was young again.
“Just go see your mate,” the speaker snapped. Bluewhisker lifted his eyes and examined the brute before him. This cat’s fur was ragged, quite haggard looking actually. Its shaggy, brown hue made him look more like a battle-worn rogue over a RiverClan warrior. But the intensity of his steel-gray eyes spoke more about him than any other aspect. The narrow pupils ended nowhere in those expansive shadows. His body was large, shoulders broad, jaw thick, and muscles bulging. He was a prime specimen of a warrior but something the tom had done said otherwise. Was it that icy attitude? Bluewhisker felt his jaw slowly lower as the realization hit him square in the forehead.
“M-Mudfrost?” Bluewhisker stammered.
“What?” the oddly named comrade grumbled. Mudfrost was as temperamental and cold as they came, hence his name. He found his name highly awkward and displeasing, and had grown to hate anybody saying it, minus the exception of his good friend Bluewhisker. The navy tom could remember befriending the other when they were apprentices. They had nicknamed each other and called themselves close, or as close as two highly inspiring cats could be. Mudfrost, however, had died from a rat bite infection ages ago. Much before Bluewhisker stepped into the elder’s den for good.
“Muddy, you’re… you’re alive!” he whispered in shock.
“And why wouldn’t I be? Now get up! You dumb old furball,” Mudfrost joked, clear by the glow on his smile. “Come on, Whiskers, you don’t want to miss your own kits’ apprentice ceremony now, do you?”
“Littlekit?” Bluewhisker answered.
“No, you old fool! Frogkit and Skykit! I swear, you wouldn’t remember your own name if we didn’t call you by it!”
“That’s impossible,” he wheezed. “Mottledfur and I… we-we’re not mates! Frogkit and Skykit, why, they never existed!”
“You really should stop letting that mouse-brained medicine cat give you poppy seeds,” Mudfrost growled. “Your shoulder can ache on its own accord. Now, get moving! Mottledfur will have my head if you don’t hurry.”
---------
This moon was bright, the crescent heavily plump like a queen too. It was the very same shape as it had been when he had last fallen asleep. Bluewhisker did not know truth from fiction anymore. This world had everything he needed and wanted. His favored comrades were not deceased, buried beneath his paws. They were very much alive and walking tall. In fact, many of them were lively and treated him as a crazed loner rather than himself. But that was because he kept flipping for joy almost literally at the sight of a live friend.
The world he was in now, whether he was dreaming or not, was paradise. “Never wake me, StarClan,” he pleaded to the stars above. There was one that flared up for a quick second before it faded again.
“Bluewhisker?” a curious, feminine voice spoke up. He assumed it was a voice from beyond this place, one of the stars, and it was destined to wake him. He breathed in deeply and held it, ready to feel the power of StarClan stirring him from sleep. But it was stopped when a warm shoulder was pressed to his in soft greeting.
“Mudfrost says you’ve been acting up,” Mottledfur’s soothing voice mewed. “Littlestream and Frostear have noticed it too, you know. What’s been on your mind?”
Bluewhisker blinked and looked incredulously at the glowing warriors in StarClan before staring down at her. The she-cat staring up at him with those amber eyes was making him shiver with joy. She was so beautiful as the love in her eyes shimmered up at him. Her silver tortoiseshell fur made him believe she was a star and not a cat at all. Had StarClan sent her to him?
“Littlestream? Frostear?” he inquired.
“Your oldest kits, mouse-brain,” she laughed.
“Frostkit… didn’t he… die?” the tom asked. His mate’s eyes widened in horror at the very idea he had suggested to her.
“Great StarClan, no, Bluewhisker! He’s alive and well in all forms. Call for him if you need proof,” she gasped.
“He isn’t deaf?” was the skeptical reply. Mottledfur’s face fell and she glared at him with white hot anger.
“What is your problem?” she snapped. “Frostear is fine! You talk as if you have some craziness in that head of yours!” She pulled her shoulder away coldly and turned for the warriors den without giving him a second glance.
“Wait!” Bluewhisker cried. “Wait, please. I’m fine, I swear. It was just this nightmare I had is all.”
“A nightmare?” Mottledfur growled. “What sort of excuse is that for me to believe?”
“It was a nightmare beyond your imagination,” he explained. He pondered for a minute if that had been a nightmare or honest reality. But as he stared at the she-cat gazing at him, he knew it was a nightmare and not a false life. “You see, I had fallen in love young but the she-cat was a loner and she had to leave. It completely broke my heart.” Mottledfur stepped forward and seemed shocked as his story captured her attention. “I knew no apprentice,” he continued, “because I refused to train. I lost Mudfrost, my parents, and all my friends except for a couple. I felt nothing but sorrow and I was sure that my life had no purpose. You met me and changed that.”
She lit up but Bluewhisker did not. He just frowned more as the memory slid into his mind. “You gave me Littlekit and Frostkit. But Frostkit was deaf. He was adventurous and we were not vigilant with him. He fell into the river as he thought it was a play thing and not the dangerous force we know it as. Littlekit was the only thing left between us. When you were freed from the nursery, you did not return to me. We separated and grew old. I remember at the end of the dream that Littlestream admitted that her kits’ father was a ThunderClan warrior and not one of RiverClan’s. She, along with Robinwing and Gingertail, had all broken the warrior code.”
“You dreamt of a whole new life?” Mottledfur meowed. “Oh, Bluewhisker, that sounds… that sounds dreadful! So… Frogpaw and Skypaw… they did not exist?”
“No, you wanted to live your life with as many toms as possible,” Bluewhisker elucidated. Tears stung his eyes as he thought of the two apprentices he fathered. Skypaw was a carbon copy of her mother, the long-haired silver tortoiseshell just much smaller. Her arrogant attitude was adorable and very much like him in his younger days. The other, Frogpaw, was a bit ragged in quality even with his cloudy-gray fur. Though the tom tried to act tough, he always was going to return to them and tuck himself near Mottledfur like a mama’s boy would. Bluewhisker had only glanced at the two and known they were his.
“Come to the den,” his mate stated. “You need some rest.”
He stared at her with a cloudy look forming over his eyes. He tried to ponder how she had changed. He tried to think of that hatred he once felt for Frostkit’s death. He had held it on her for so long. But… Frostkit was a healthy warrior now. How could he dare blame her for a living son? And to add to that, she was still his mate. She did not flirt with the others around them.
“Alright,” he relented. Bluewhisker brushed his muzzle across hers and allowed a booming purr to escape. “Do you love me?” he asked then.
“Of course,” she mewed. “I do love you.”
------
Oh, how sweet life was! Just a moon ago the tom had retired. Yes, his bones ached and his fur was patchy. His hearing twisted words and his sight was weakened greatly. He couldn’t react like he could which made fishing a hassle. But he retired an old eight-seven. So much of life was better now. Littlestream had a mate that was RiverClan born and raised. Frogclaw and Skyfeather were alive and well. Frostear was a deputy, and Otterpaw and Rabbitpaw visited daily. Mottledfur, his mate, and Ripplefur, his close friend, kept good company. Willowstar was an amazing leader and Skunkpaw was free to live his life outside of Tanglefang’s rule. Birchfog was crabby but not unfriendly. Crowstripe and Sootwhisker were going to see their kits grow.
Leopardfang and Cindertail had five kits of their own and Bluewhisker took it onto himself to teach their kits on his own accord. They fully approved of it as well. Shadestripe and Ivypaw had been keeping the entire den of elders strong and healthy. There were also the warriors that had been made recently which put the Clan in a good mood. Life was going well and no rules had been broken. In fact, Bluewhisker thought that life was perfect as much as the word could be.
It had been like this for moons, actually. He had forgotten his “dream” life for good. No, it was a nightmare still a dream! And now it was another dawn. He felt the light of dawn hitting him and the elder ignored it at first. Snowkit and Palekit wouldn’t bother him quite yet. The whole litter would come bounding in soon enough, wouldn’t they?
But all was silent. No warriors, no crabby Mudfrost to snarl about morning, no Littlestream to herd her kits away. Nothing. Bluewhisker twitched his lips then finally peeked out from under lidded eyes. He opened them completely then stood up, achy and shaky as age managed itself on old bones. His ears didn’t hear the morning ducks or the trickling river. No wind from the sky, no movement from the clouds. Total stillness invaded his space.
“Mottledfur?” he meowed. “Mudfrost? Willowstar? Otterpaw? Somebody?” The elder walked into the empty camp and yearned for the wind to touch him. “Anybody?”
“We’re here, Bluewhisker,” Mudfrost’s voice comforted. The tom appeared from the warriors den. He was youthful as he was in his first days as a warrior. Gray eyes softened at the sight of his confused friend.
“We’re all here,” a second voice added. Out from the shadows appeared Stonetail, a fat gray tom, and Skyclaw, a beautiful bluish she-cat. Both smiled sorrowfully at the elder that gasped to see their faces.
“Mother! Father!” he shouted. Spot by spot their pelts slowly grew starry and the RiverClan camp was turned into a shaded world where the sun did not rise and each cat was made of stars.
“You are curious,” a mature yet squeaky voice pointed out. The elder whipped his head downward to see a white, blue-eyed tom-kit as he slipped forward. “This world is in question to you.”
“Wha- who are you?” he stumbled.
“I’m your son, Frostkit, of course,” was the answer. The cat dubbed Frostear had shrunk and turned into this – this kit! And the name of a kit to boot! Bluewhisker shook his head and took a shaking step backwards.
“But… but… how?” he trembled. “You- you are alive! You were a warrior, not a kit!”
“In truth, we have made lies to you, Bluewhisker,” Frostkit admitted. “This world is very false in the reality. This Clan is only as real as you made yourself believe.” There was silence but cats began pouring out from the dens and shadows to form the Clan he had been with for the past few moons. There were all the warriors made, the apprentices named, the kits born, and the elders deceased that he had come to love. They were so neatly gathered together. The youngest tumbled in play, the warriors sat still with a burning eye contact meeting with him; the elders laid down while Littlestream worked to calm her rambunctious daughters. But one by one they faded.
First were Heavykit, Snowkit, Palekit, Rainkit, and Lightkit. His grand-kits just disappeared in front of him. Then the apprentices and youngest warriors like Slatefang and Cloverpetal. Then they began fading all together, the last being Mottledfur. “No, no!” Bluewhisker cried while limping towards her. But the look in her eyes was not love. It was that flirtatious glint he had seen her give all toms in the supposed real Clan. It was not the cat he had turned out to love.
“Frogpaw! Skypaw!” he pleaded as they did not disappear before him. They just shook their head and refused to meet his searching eyes.
“These are Birchkit and Cloudkit,” Frostkit introduced. “They played Frogpaw and Skypaw. We wanted this world to be something you’d be happy dying in.”
“Dying? That can’t be! I’m alive!” the elder argued with the youngster. “I am not dying.”
“You do not believe me? Look here.” StarClan’s voice came together in a roaring order on the last word. The center of camp fell away to reveal a bird’s view of RiverClan’s camp, the one he could remember clearly now. The den they saw was just being lit up. It was a pretty silver she-cat that awoke first. She groaned about her aches but forgot about it quickly. She saw the unmoving bluish body and tilted her head in confusion. “That is your body,” Frostkit pointed out. ‘You will not wake up.”
“Send me back!” Bluewhisker pleaded. “Let me wake! Let me wake!” However, the elder she-cat, Ripplefur, had already walked over to nudge Bluewhisker. No response was given, just as Frostkit had predicted. Ripplefur tried again, this time calling his name. Only a limp return to his original sleeping form was proof of a response. She tried desperately now, tears leaking from her eyes. But the news was clear.
“Bluewhisker is dead!” she bawled out boisterously. At this, the elders awoke, Mottledfur and Tawnystripe lurching upward. Ripplefur’s strained yowl broke the Clan’s sleep instantly. The view faded out from the elder’s den to see the whole Clan. There was Littlestream gathering her kits towards Gingertail as the fellow queen took control. She was the first to the elder’s den after Ripplefur’s call followed by Shadowstorm, Patchclaw, and Willowstar.
“Why must I die?” Bluewhisker hollered at StarClan. “Why must my life be taunted by you, StarClan?”
“Taunted? We wanted to give you a peaceful death!” the spirit of Mudfrost raged. “Be thankful, you dumb, old flea-bag!”
“I’ll be thankful when my precious daughter stops her tears!” he answered hotly in return. “I see those tears and I know I have done no good for them. I left my Clan with nothing to give. You gave me no chance, StarClan!” He began whimpering as he stared down at the sight. The dead body that was his own was being covered by Littlestream’s shaking form as she cried several times for his life to be renewed. Mottledfur sat nearby with a distant look on her face but no sign of tears in her eyes. He did not care of her anymore. She was the same cat he had hated so he did not care anymore about what tears she shed or for whom.
“Stop your regrets,” Frostkit ordered. “I’m sure that I can arrange a way for you to make it up.”
“You can?” Bluewhisker answered warmly.
“Yes,” his son promised. “I can.”
------
“Get up, Heavyheart!” the warrior, Ottertail, hollered. “Get up!”
“Hurry!” Rabbitclaw echoed. The burly gray tom shot open his deep blue eyes and heaved himself to his paws quickly. But it was too quick because he fell over and awoke a cranky Skunkpelt. The black-and-white tom hissed loudly before grumbling his way into a new, less disturbed nest. “Your mate had her kits,” Rabbitclaw announced. “Two she-kits and a tom! Congrats, daddy cat!”
“What? Uh, thanks,” Heavyheart chuckled. “But why wasn’t I woken earlier?” his deep voice snarled playfully while he batted at Ottertail.
“Because you are hard to wake and you might’ve passed out from the shock,” the warrior sneered jokingly.
“No kidding,” Heavyheart replied. The gray cat stretched quickly but hardly wasted his time trying to make that crack in his back. He just settled for the new spark of energy before leaving the den in a rush for the nursery. He slid in with some issues due to his size but he hardly frowned at it. Instead, he grinned only more.
“Morning, Palestream,” he greeted his sister. The she-cat just smirked and batted at his ear despite being weighed down by kits still growing within her. She took after their ThunderClan father, Rabbitheart, more than their RiverClan mother but she was very much a beautiful cat despite the relation.
“Glad you didn’t start bawling,” she teased. Heavyheart gave a dry laugh as he remembered their kit days. He had very much been a mama’s boy and an emotional cat at that. He would cry when there was a shout and he would mourn for days on end if anybody died. But he had changed and that was evident by the soft smile on his face.
“Not over the birth of my kits,” he growled.
“Hello?” a whine called humorously. “Ignoring somebody, Heavyheart?” The tom turned his head to the pretty tortoiseshell that was sprawled out with three kits suckling along her stomach. She grinned up at him and flicked her tail upward in greeting.
“Of course not,” he laughed. He knelt down and stared at the extremely tiny things that he knew he had half created. They were the size of his paws! But he stared back at his mate and gave her a tiny smile. “How do you feel, Swallowfur?”
“Considering the circumstances,” his childhood friend sarcastically chuckled, “alright. Wish to meet them?”
Curled together were three kits, just as Rabbitclaw had said. “Shadekit,” she announced. The long-haired black she-kit squealed when nudged by her mother and it made Heavyheart instantly of him. “Ashkit.” This kit was a tiny gray thing, mostly like the father. The she-kit was quieter than her sister but probably equal in looks. “And this tom is-.”
“Bluekit,” the father interrupted.
“‘I was thinking something like Skykit,” Swallowfur grumbled.
“But, Swallowfur, he reminds me of my grandfather!” Heavyheart exclaimed. “Oh, please, Swallowfur, let me name my son Bluekit.” There was a shared look of love between mates and the she-cat gave a fond smile.
“You’re lucky I love you,” she purred.
“And you are lucky StarClan is kind,” a starry kit whispered to the newborn tom. Though nobody else seemed to notice him, Frostkit faded into the scene and rasped his tongue over Bluekit’s ear even though the kit would not answer him. “Father, this is your chance. You joined StarClan and we made a great mistake trying to lure you into a pleasant world. You were happy with what you had and we did not assume so. This life will not leave you in pain as we had done to you. Nobody has broken your heart and there is no lies as of yet. You are open for a future of your choice.”
A distant voice seemed to thank the StarClan kit from a place far from the real world. In the sky, a star burned out as a spirit was returned to the quieting tom-kit that these two cats gave life to. There would be no star for Bluewhisker tonight.