EmberClan and FrostClan Fanfic CHAPTER 17

= Chapter 17 = When Dropstar opened her eyes, she saw nothing but the stars overhead.

She was standing in an open, seemingly infinite plan of snow, ankle-deep and powder white. There were no paw prints behind her, and when he leader stepped, the snow twirled and glittered in a beautiful way that couldn’t be real.

Even though she somehow knew it was night, there was a soft glow over the snow and her fur. She looked up, only to see the sky clearer and more perfect than she ever had. It swirled in purple and teal and gold, sprinkled with white stars and cloudy galaxies that where never so visible in the waking world. Energy ran through every muscle in here body, and Dropstar couldn’t help but bound gleefully through the snow, feeling the same delight she had at her first snow season as a kit.

She still had her head tilted up to the vast expanse of stars when she saw, on the horizon, figures emerging.

There was a wall of sorts, faint in the foggy distance, of grey-bue pines that stretched and reached to the sky. Two figures came rushing out of them, growing more distinct as they drew nearer to the FrostClan leader.

Dropstar waited, her haunches tensed and ears pricked as the cats drew closer and closer. Her muscles relaxed, though when she recognized them. Two tortoiseshell she-cats-- one with swirled colors blended beautifully, and another with red and black spots over patches of color. The cats’ eyes, in amber and green, sparkled with a youth Dropstar barely recognized.

“Mother. Aunt,” she breathed.

“Oh, Snowdrop.” Mottleheart spoke first, and wrapped her long furred neck around Dropstar’s in a tight and warm embrace.

Dapplestar stood tall and proud, her mouth curled in a smile. “You have been a good leader, my dear,” she said. “I could not have done better myself. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Dropstar dipped her head, satisfied with herself.

“I missed you, dear.” Mottleheart’s eyes glimmered. “We both honor you for your choice to defend needy cats in the battle,” she continued.

Dropstar looked up, hopeful.

“Unfortunately,” Dapplestar grimaced, “we weren’t the ones you should have helped.”

Confused, Dropstar cocked her head, but received no answer from her relatives.

And then she saw them. From the horizon, silhouettes rising against the starry sky, came three cats. As they neared Dropstar, Mottleheart and Dapplestar stepped aside to let Dropstar face them on her own.

Standing before her were three cats. One was a very young cat, no more than five moons old, and had dark black fur and bright orange eyes. She was large for her age, but still was dwarfed by a cat on her far right.

Standing in the middle was a hairless cat, faded pinkish-tan with surprisingly deep blue eyes. Her wrinkled face was seemingly twisted into a permanent snarl-- Dropstar couldn’t tell if it was a scar or simply an expression.

And on the far right, the tallest cat was dark reddish brown, with grey swirled in. She had darker stripes, dashed and dotted to form orderly speckles. She had a short tail, and wide ears with long fur coming out of them, and bright white paws, and all at once Dropstar recognized the muscular she-cat.

“Mudslide?” she asked, confused. What business would the old CliffClan deputy have in the tundra-like StarClan? She turned to the other two cats. What were they doing, in her Starclan? Why were they here?

“What did they do, to die the way they did?” Dapplestar asked. Because Dropstar couldn’t see her, she felt more like a disembodied ghost whispering into her. Perhaps that’s what she was. “Did they deserve it?”

Dropstar inhaled deeply, her heart racing. Why did she feel scared? The leader was angry, fierce, protective, and defensive-- but never scared.

She decided she ought to come forward herself. “What’s your name?” she demanded the dark colored kit.

“Cavekit,” she said in a small voice. “I died before I was even apprenticed, when Emberstar moved us to the new camp. There was so much smoke, my lungs couldn’t take it.” Her eyes shown, but there was a sadness to it. “I left behind two brothers and a devastated sister.”

Silently, Dropstar stared at the she-kit. “Okay,” she whispered, her heart pounding again.

She faced the snarling old sphynx. “What about you? Why are you in StarClan?”

“I never wanted to be here, in this afterlife,” she spat, her lips curling backwards. “My name is Worm. I was supposed to be taken care of by my younger son, but he became indoctrinated into these pathetic clans as a deputy, and left me behind to starve. “

“You’re Rattail’s mother,” Dropstar stated, realization coming over her. “And-- and you blame Emberstar for your death.”

Both Cavekit and Worm would hold EmberStar and EmberClan accountable for their premature deaths. There must have been a reason, a reason they were taken to speak with her here, instead of with her mother and aunt.

But that left Mudslide, who was glaring silently with cold yellow eyes and a high-held chin. “How did you die?” Dropstar demanded the deputy, confused.

Not a word.

Dropstar leaned forward until she could almost smell the late deputy, her heart pounding, her head swarming, feeling sick to her stomach. “Mudslide?” she said, barely risking more than a whisper. “What killed you?”

Finally, she spoke: “See for yourself, Dropstar.”

With those ominous words, Dropstar caught something in the corner of her eye. The pale blue-white snow was marked with bright blood red, bouncing strikingly off it and spreading through the clean land. With horror, Dropstar saw that it was her own blood, pouring in a fast-rushing waterfall form the wounds on her neck, spilling out and out, staining the snow and spreading under paws. She screamed, but no sound came out, and she felt herself slipping away, fading from StarClan, lying helpless as she bled out before the dead cats.

 

Breath. Breath. You’re okay.

Air rushed through the leader’s chest and filled her lungs. She heaved, her paws twitching, and realized she was staring at a ceiling of shiny permafrost. The smell of herbs and earth stung her nose, but gave some comfort in its familiarity. She shifted and felt cobwebs and sticky moss padded firmly over her wound-- not a drop of blood except for that dried into her pelt.

She was in the medicine den, she knew, but it’s usual quietness whenever she visited was disrupted by crashes, grunts, and something being dragged on the ground.

She turned her head to the side, trying to blur her vision away from the image burned in her mind. She saw that Creamwing was near her, back turned, fiddling with some herbs on the indented shelf in the burrow. “Creamwing,” ropstar whispered, her voice hoarse.

Instantly the medicine cat spun around, startled. “Dropstar!” she cried with joy. “I’m so glad to see you’re awake.”

Dropstar glanced around the room. “What… happened?” she asked, confused.

“Your other warriors managed to get you back at aro--”

Dropstar cut off the soft medicine cat. “Did we win?” she asked slowly.

Creamwing’s lip seemed to quiver. “N-no Dropstar. You got knocked out…” She trailed off, and Dropstar rolled to her side to get a better view of the small medic. “What do remember?” Creamwing finally asked.

“I-- I fought EmberClan. But-- but Emberstar… she attacked me.” Dropstar spat out the words, fury rushing through her fur again.

“It’s okay,” Creamwing soothed. “You’re alright now.”

There were a few other cats crowded in the medicine den, as well as loud rustling from the back end. Dropstar could barely make out Woodfleck, Goldenshine, and Shadowfoot moving or digging something there.

She turned her head towards the small opening, through which she could just see a sliver of bright sky. “What time is it?” se said drowsily.

“Well, um, you and your warriors got back to camp in the evening. It’s sun-high now.”

“WHAT?” Dropstar roared, landing with a thud on the dusty den’s ground. “You let me sleep for so long?”

“You needed the rest!” Creamwing sputtered, backing up. “You almost bled to death, and passed out. You were lucky your warriors got you to me in time. I just made sure that your cobwebs were sealed while you rested--”

“I am the leader! How could you let me lie in a nest while my clan recovered from a battle and a storm?”

“Dropstar!” the medicine cat hushed. “You can see for yourself. Shrubfoot and Shadowfoot are working on expanding the medicine den so there’s more room for the patients so they don’t have to wait in the Ice Ridge. Hareflight and Elkpaw, with Windpaw, are managing injured patients. And Hailnose and Grassbird are giving encouragement as always.”

Dropstar climbed up the ramp to peer outside the underground burrow, blinking in the harsh light. Needletoe directed orders from the tree stump, her nest. Wolfstreak was nuzzling Grassbird while the apprentices and Falconflight returned from a fairly successful hunt. Cats were digging through the medicine den, making more room and helping new cats get settled, while a few queens helped clear out the nursery.

The FrostClan leader could only stand still as she watched the clan bustle and move around her, clearly stressed but seemingly happy back at home.

“The clan has been doing fine, Dropstar, really. The medicine den expansion is going well, hunting has been fine from what I hear…”

“Well,” Dropstar huffed, although her head was dizzy, “I think I can return to my rightful duties as leader now, eh?”

“No!” Creamwing exclaimed.

Dropstar’s ears twitched. She’d never heard the medicine cat speak so loud, let alone stand up to her leader. “Excuse me?” Dropstar hissed.

“Your wounds-- they could break open if you’re too active and bleed all over again, which is not only dangerous for you, but for your other clanmates. You-- you have to rest more. Come back inside.”

“Are you serious?” Dropstar cried. “You’re not allowing me to do my job?”

“Please, you’ve not been yourself…” Creamwing lowered her voice, and Dropstar realized a few other cats were staring at them.

“This my job!” the leader roared. “I was unconscious for almost a full day, I can’t do that any longer.”

“Please. Needletoe can handle things, the clan is doing well.”

“So I can just sit in my nest all day doing nothing? Do you realize how bad that is for your clan?” Dropstar narrowed her eyes. What did Creamwing know?

For a moment, the pale tan she-cat was silent, her hazel eyes staring straight at the ground. But then she stared up, looking angrier than Dropstar had ever seen her. “No,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, “Do you realize what you can do to this clan? If you can’t take care of yourself, if you can’t take the time to heal you put your clan at risk.”

Dropstar smirked slightly, puffing out her chest despite her wound. “Is that so?” she scoffed. At this point, a small group of cats had gathered to see their leader for the first time in days.

“Yes,” Creamwing replied. “What would happen, Dropstar, if you died? If you didn’t care about your wounds and died? Your lucky to have survived after the battle. How could you do this, disregard my word and risk your life? How could you do that to your clan? How could you do that to Needletoe?”

The FrostClan leader felt her lip curl, blood pump through her, her heart quicken. She shook her head. “Can I not even support my clan?” she said finally. “Or is selflessness not okay anymore?”

“Please, Dropstar. Just keep yourself safe.”

Dropstar just shook her head. “I’m going hunting,” she mumbled, her tail dragging on the ground. “I’ll be back soon.” She padded out of the camp, through the path into the trees, past concerned caretakers and a relieved Needletoe.

She didn’t watch Creamwing retreat with a resigned sigh into her den, she didn’t watch the young injured Wolfstreak ask for his wounds to be checked. She didn’t see the clan, only her own paws and the path through the forest.

''I’ll get back on my feet. I’ll make my clan proud. I’ll fight this fight and win this war. I’ll defeat EmberClan, and nothing, nobody, can weigh me down.''