WHAT BECAME OF YOU [ open ]

[thistlefrost]

Thistlefrost stirred in his nest. 'This isn't right,' his first thoughts growled at him. 'It's been warm for too long.' He glanced around, darkness falling back as his blue gaze swept his perimeters. It was like being in a tunnel with a single beam of light. Grey ears pricked forward. A sound, or just his imagination? Slowly and with the fluid grace of a ThunderClan warrior, he moved closer. His pawsteps were light despite his size and they made no sound in the darkening forest. 'Thistlefrost!' The warrior froze, whiskers twitching. The booming voice thundered once again. How could she be calling out to him? She had died. The moment he opened his jaws to reply, his only light source vanished and the forest dissolved. A silent yowl tried to escape his throat, but he fell through the darkness alone and terrified.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

And he landed in the waking world hard. Thistlefrost sat up immediately, pelt brushed out so he was twice his normal size. Everyone around him was sleeping, and their body warmth was significant against the chilled breeze that floated in the den. Dawn was not far off. His eyes narrowed and he picked his way through his sleeping denmates. Although the relationships that had been founded when Thistlefrost was growing up had shattered after he left, he had no reason to stoop so low and wake them from their precious slumber. As he padded through the empty camp, Thistlefrost felt a familiar ache in his chest. So many had died in his place, and although he did not doubt that he was exactly where he belonged, he felt alone. He had never felt that while growing up ThunderClan.

But he was older now. He would live without companionship. He had for several seasons. As long as he fought his battles and caught his share, his Clanmates could not complain. 'And by the time I outgrow my worth and I can no longer provide for them, I'll leave. No use in filling up the elder's den if they consider me a traitor.' The massive tom shook his head as if to clear it of these meddling thoughts. Why think of the future now that he had returned home? On his way out of camp, he passed by Turtlestar's den. He narrowed his eyes, memories of the past closing in on him.

As soon as he left the camp's oppressive walls, Thistlefrost felt his muscles slide out of their tensed position. Here, the trees still closed in on him, but here he was more or less free. 'Aye, so it's true. Yet that may be dangerous. Do not allow yourself to wallow. Do not forget to always be aware of what is around you.' Thistlefrost nodded to himself, taking a moment to check his surroundings from every direction, as far as his senses would allow. He had not been trained to be a fool, and the tom was always alert. Even while he slept. And he moved on with his lumbering gait, the morning air numbing his paws. His stomach let out a complaint, but he ignored it. Hunting would be done in a moment.

Now, Thistlefrost froze. Every part of his body was stiff. A scent – conflicting in his memory – wafted around him. 'Show yourself now,' he instructed calmly. He knew that the scent wasn't forgein. He hadn't been back for a long enough time to pin point every one of his Clanmates. 'What are you doing?'

[Flamesong]

FLAMESONG

LIFE DOESN'T DISCRIMINATE BETWEEN THE SINNERS AND THE SAINTS

    'The sun hasn't even risen yet.' Inside her own head, it was barely a thought, and even less so a complaint. It simply was. Flamesong rose from her nest with a fluid grace, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light. Her nest lay in a shallow hollow space carved into the steep, rocky side of the camp within the medicine cat's den, the sharp scent of herbs that usually assaulted her senses upon waking weak and dulled, mixed with the faintest foul stench of stagnant water. The flooding just a moon before had filled the entire camp with rushing water, and had quickly cleared out when the rain had passed, though muddy puddles still sat against the walls, thick with sludge, and breeding countless buzzing insects. It was absolutely foul, and she had treated more than a few ill bellies from young apprentices and foolish warriors deciding that they'd drink from those cesspools instead of making the hike to the river. 

    Besides her, curled up and snoring loudly in his own nest, Cloudfur rumbled like a dying badger, but paid his apprentice no heed to his apprentice as she silently slipped out into the main section of den, making a beeline for the grooves in the wall, well worn over countless moons, that held their stores of herbs. Rather, should have their stores of herbs. She scowled at the gaps in their collection, where so many crucial plants were missing. No yarrow? Catmint? Juniper? Not even poppy seeds.

'Perhaps,' she mused to herself, pawing through a pile of dried horsetail, 'Turtlestar can spare some apprentices to help Cloudfur search.' Help Cloudfur, and decidedly not Flamesong herself. Already a cat who didn't talk often, and didn't share much in the way of emotion, most of the apprentices like to stare at her wide eyed as if she were some sort of alien creature, an emotionless ghost who would suck away their feelings if they got too close- or something, it all puzzled Flamesong, though she'd never show it. She would have even laughed at the irony of that, if she cared in the slightest, because at the end of the day, she enjoyed her solitude, working in silence and thinking over everything with excruciating thoroughness before deciding to not share her opinions.

    And, not feeling the need for an apprentice or warrior companion to start her duties at any given time, she certainly wasn't going to go poking around camp now, shaking awake every sleeping form as she looked for an escort- it wasn't likely she'd need to leave the territory anything, and she wasn't afraid to wander alone even into enemy territory. Ever. As she slipped into the center of camp, she slid a glance to the dark mound of the warrior's den, a little waterlogged, but surprisingly okay despite being half drowned, though her thoughts rested on the tom within, Lionclaw. She wasn't the only cat unafraid to wander across borders freely, but she was the only one who was allowed to- and Cloudfur, she supposed. Her stride was swift with purpose, yet as eerily silent as the she-cat usually was as she slid through the thorn tunnel that served as both and entrance to the camp and deterrent to enemies and emerged into the dim forest. Everything was lit in a dark blue light, the sun below the horizon but beginning to bleed it's colors into the very edge of the sky, the night bugs still singing their songs, the birds still silent.

    Inhaling deeply, the air was cool and damp, a thin, wispy fog laying close to the dew dampened carpet of grass beneath her paws. The chill was a welcome relief from the heat of the day, the sun soon to rise high and burn away all of the moisture on the ground, but Flamesong knew that soon enough, leaf-fall would be upon them, and they would need to have every last herb stocked as high as they could manage before that happened, lest they be unprepared for the harsh trials of leafbare that would follow all too quickly on it's heels. This should have put a note of urgency into her strides, but she continued her even, though fluid and swift, pace. She scented him long before she saw him.

    Her pace slowed as the familiar scent of ThunderClan wafted over her. Thistlefrost. The mystery tom who had appeared, much to the disgruntled bickering of her clanmates, shortly after her fourteenth moon. He had strode in to camp like he belonged there, and to Flamesong, well, he could of, and she couldn't have cared less. From what she had picked up later, however, mostly from Cloudfur's mildly irritated rambling as they foraged together, was that the tom had abandoned ThunderClan when he had been just about her age at the time, and she hadn't even been born. According to Cloudfur, he was a traitor, and Turtlestar was weak for allowing him to return, though the white old tom certainly would never say that to their leader's face. To Flamesong, well, just as she had when he had returned, she found she didn't care either way, she didn't know his motives behind leaving, and she couldn't clearly say if he was a traitor, or just... lost. And what was a traitor? He hadn't killed anyone, at least within ThunderClan, and wasn't that what traitors usually did to earn their wretched title? She didn't believe in traitors. She believed in individuals forging their own paths that the rest of the clan didn't believe in.

    And so, she hadn't batted at eye at the mysterious tabby tom who was suddenly a fixture of ThunderClan, and she treated him as she treated all of her clanmates- as strangers. Strangers who she lived with, and took care of, as was her job. She had been cordial, and polite, and to the point. Could anyone ask for more? "Show yourself now. What are you doing?" His voice was calm, and Flamesong couldn't say she was any sort of rebel to throw an immature fit at being ordered around like a cat- she was a medicine cat, respected, and even if she wasn't, did she care? It was a trend with the she-cat. No. There was no hesitation, and she never even paused as she pushed through the bushes, allowing the tom to come into view, as well as herself. Intelligent green eyes scanned him, as was habit for a medicine cat accustomed to only dealing with sick or injured cats, focused on his face with a placid-faced nod of greeting, and continued along a straight path past him- the catmint grew near the old, decrepit twoleg nest out here, as well as a few other herbs that lay in what once was the twoleg's own personal collection. She only spoke briefly as she strode away.
    "Good morning. Gathering herbs."

1,149 words

thistlefrost

-waddles in with the ice queen-

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