Does Blood Run Thicker? [Closed]

His paws barely touched the ground as he raced across the territory. Despite his bulky muscle mass, the tom had been born with Windclan blood; he was used to speed and agility. Typically, it was used for hunting. Today, it was an attempt to chase away the creeping frustration that had begun to build in his chest. There was so much anger. All he wanted was for his claws to tear through the flesh of an opponent. He longed for the release and adrenaline of a fight. He needed a successful one. But would that really fix this feeling? Slatethroat stopped with heaving sides. The warrior had pushed himself on and on for the past while. Staying in camp had become unbearable, even if just for a short amount of time. Since the gathering, everything had felt wrong. Yet, he couldn't put a claw on it. All he desired was release from this. A frustrated growl rose up in his throat and he lashed out at a patch of heather to the side of him. Claws easily tore it down and scattered the bits of plant.

He wanted to yowl at the sky and scream at Starclan, if there was a Starclan. The power of the Dark Forest had been made obvious at the gathering. All of his hatred for the tribe and Swoop had only increased in that moment. But, he found himself admiring the power of the dark she-cat. Slatethroat would of killed her again and again for trying to destroy his clan, the thing he prized most, but he had to respect the raw power behind it all. This was the kind of thing Starclan had never done. They had never favored or helped him or his clan as they deserved. The belief in Starclan had torn his sister away from their true path. Instead of fighting at his side, she traded secrets with the invisible cats of the stars. This had all plagued him for some time. That combined with Smokepelt's demotion and Hazefur's death. Nothing had gone right. In fact, his clan seemed to be failing in strength. Ashstar, a cat he had once respected, had been mousebrained enough to let the impure tribe cats join them. It was because of that their clan had lost cats and been made a victim to the mist and tribe.

It appeared they were simply victims now. Growing up, he had heard tales of the Riverclan attack in their own camp. Now, they took blows from cats who couldn't even manage to learn the skills of both hunting and fighting. The other clans, it made sense that they would be so foolish. But, all of them had to fight as one to drive out the threat. Once more, victims. Windclan was supposed to be great, not a clan of weak fools. That thought had seemed to only echo more frequently. It threatened to boil over and spill out. There needed to be something done. Things could not continue like they had for all of their lives. If anything, Windclan should be the ones strong and bold enough to walk into another clan's camp and take them. They were far from that. An aggravated yowl broke from his chest as he lashed out at the sparse undergrowth again. His thoughts raced searching for an answer. Something caught the corner of his eye, a familiar pelt. The tom sat up and craned his neck to lock eyes with the other cat. A crooked grin peeled up his lips as the anger subsided and little and he meowed, "Dewtuft."

Dewtuft was surprisingly well-adjusted for a cat born of a teurbluous relationship of a disgraced deputy and a scorned she-cat whom resented their father. Smokepelt's irrationality had followed him for a while, especially since Kindleblaze turned out to be of the same stock. Though he'd been named after his father's father, Icestorm, who had been known for his level headed ways, he looked too much like Smokepelt that cats expected the aggressiveness of his kin. At first, he seemed to be following in his footsteps, until the faithful day when he saw a kit yelp at him.

He'd done nothing to the damn kit, but it flinched at him. And that was when he'd known that he'd gone too far.

In a public dismissal of their father, Dewtuft took on a new name, and then slowly, but surely fell in love with Brindlewhisker. It was a romance that bloomed out of nowhere, but left him more certain of his decision everyday. She was his love, and he was hers. His only regret was that it had made him distance with his kin, though Slatethroat wasn't like the rest. They had a bond, marked in their similar pelts and eyes. They'd both admired father once. And when the mist had come, they'd both stood tall, not shrinking back like many others. They were proper warriors of WindClan, they made their clan proud. Though it seemed Ashstar wasn't doing much in that way these days. "Slatethroat. I knew that caterwauling was you. Who stepped on your toes now, brother?"

There had always been something between the two brothers that no one else understood. Dewtuft had been born from the same litter as he and Sageleaf. However, the she-cat had veered away from them at a young age when she took on her role as medicine cat. That left them. Both were true warriors of Windclan. A rare feeling of companionship swelled in his chest and the tom stood taller than before. Dovespirit had been the only other cat to help fill the void inside of him. It was an endless pit that thirsted for... something. Regardless, both sons of Smokepelt now had their own mates and were respected warriors. They had done well despite their interesting heritage. His brother had disowned their father with a name change, something Slatethroat had struggled with. But, their relationship had remained the same. Sageleaf and him had been inseparable as kits, but now Dewtuft was the only sibling worthy of standing at his side.

"Everyone steps on the toes of Windclan these days..." He growled lowly, thinking about everything that had happened over the past few moons. It felt strange sharing the thought aloud, but this was Dewtuft after all. They bore similar pelt markings and eye colors. Meeting the other warrior's gaze he continued on, "First, as the stories go, Riverclan waltz straight into our camp and destroyed the whole clan at once. Now, we have been challenged by cats who cannot even manage to both hunt and fight. No cat respects the true power of this clan, and certain leaders seem to stifle it. I'm afraid the great Windclan of the elder's tales is at a loss, Dewtuft." As he spoke, his bi-colored tail lashed in frustration. Slatethroat did not even notice as he claws dug into the earth. The words only grew more and more bitter as they poured from his maw. All were laced with a frustrating truth. He had not intended on speaking so freely, but it all seemed to come out at once. His eyes shone with a mix of fire and question as he awaited his brother's reply.

As he listened, Dewtuft nodded in agreement, knowing the insinuations behind his brother's words well. He wasn't blind like others in the clan, he saw the weakness, the fragility their clan projected now, nothing like the strength that he'd been told that they once projected. He remembered SkyClan cats hissing in distaste, calling them land thieves, but that was a compliment. They were strong enough to take lands without fear of retribution once. But now, what where they? The laughing stock of the clans, a weak kit mewling for scraps. They even took in the needy, only to be spat in the face by these tribe cats. He understood his brother's anger well.

"Brother, as long as you and I exist, WindClan isn't doomed yet. And our mates are strong too, our seed will make WindClan fierce, certain leader's actions cannot taint us. Brindlewhisker will lead us next, and she will make us strong again." He spoke in a placating manner, he knew better than to stoke his brother's fire too much. He saw how easily Ashstar dismissed even family, he would rather kill Slatethroat himself than allow his brother to endure humiliation like their father had once. His father had been all but neutered, mocked, turned away by she-cats. It was no life worth living.

"Who is to say we won't fall before than?" Slatethroat began to pace. Sharing this aloud only made him linger on it more. There was an itch in his paws and his chest for something. Something had to happen. He just couldn't sit around idly and watch the downfall of their clan. Sure, what Dewtuft says was true. Between the two of them, there would be many more of their kin to bring strength back into the clan. But, the mousebrains and fools would only multiply in numbers too. There was so much potential for failure. If they simply watched and waited, there was no telling what would happen during that time. The other clans could choose to attack at any time in in their current state, Windclan would fall like fattened rabbits under their paws. No, there was no way they could just accept it. And he needed Dewtuft on board as well.

"Don't you see, Dewtuft? This is what the clan has been waiting for. There is no doubt others feel as I do. The whole clan has suffered for far to long. We could fix it. But, we have to play it smart. Smokepelt allowed himself to be stepped on for defending the clan. We can do better... but how?" At some point during his manic pacing, Slatethroat had stopped. His eyes fixed on the ground briefly as he tried to sort through everything it his head. It was all too rapid that he barely had time to think about how potentially mad he sounded. Despite the huge risk they would be taking, there would be so much reward that came if they did. This was not for him, no, this was for the good of the clan. If his brother did not see the path that was being laid before him, he had to take matters into his own paws. There were cats whose brilliance he had seen, they would help him. He would find them and together they would save the clan. A decided smirk began to curl up the edges of his maw, "There's something here. I feel it."

He was no fool, he knew exactly what Slatethroat was implying and it was no good. A path that would lead to only pain and destruction, but he was never good at being wise or smart when family was concerned. And if this was the path Slatethroat was set on, it was not a path he could let his brother walk down alone. He'd grown up with stories of Saltpelt and Breezeheart, kin that fought and died together for a future that they believed in. Where they wrong? Yes, but family was family, and he'd always admired their dedication to strength.

After a long pause, the grey tom looked around to doubly make sure no one was watching before speaking. "We aren't the only cats with this sentiment... If we were to band everyone together, and maybe even get my mate on board. We could overthrow Ashstar. After all, it is our duty to challenge a leader that is weak and a detriment to our clan. But brother, if we do this, there is no turning back." It felt odd being the voice of reason, but someone had to say it. He wasn't afraid of sounding like a coward if it meant that his brother was not throwing their lives away. There was much at risk, but were they ready?

"What we are going to do will be great, Dewtuft, I don't plan on turning back." A dark grin overtook his features as his brother spoke. They could do it. He was all in as well. His claws tore up the grass from the earth under his paws. The warrior could picture it now- Windclan standing tall and strong over the other clans. Brindlestar would lead them. While the grey and white tom had not liked her, he could not help but admit she was a strong enough cat to lead them all to glory. Now, it would be Riverclan's turn to quake at their paws; Windclan would be great once more. This era would go down in the stories that elders told their kits. Slatethroat and Dewtuft would be the leaders of this great  uprising. All of the confusion that had torn him up ceased to exist. He knew what had to be done now, what he had to do.

The desire to rush back to camp and immediately talk to the others was overwhelming. But, he held his ground. They needed to be smart about this. A list of clanmates names immediately started forming in his head. They could only talk to cats that they trusted, a small number of warriors. Others with the drive for greatness would follow in their cause. Even with half of the clan on board, there was a possibility of not having enough numbers. A thought began to come together. It was something he would normally never do, it was a little insane, but there could of been something there. His green gaze went up to meet Dewtuft's as he meowed, "What if we got help? Outside the clan? We could insure our success."

OCC: in class shite post. forgive me for its lack of goodness

"And be indebted to another clan? Sounds like a disaster. This whole mess with the tribe happened because we let in outsiders, Slate." Dewtuft was quick to shut down the idea of outsiders, he didn't want a repeat of the hellish experience with the mist. No one could be trusted, let alone some rogues or clan cats with no allegiances. Warning bells were ringing in his head at his brother's overeagerness, maybe he was backing the wrong horse here. "And who would help us? RiverClan loathes us, ShadowClan is indifferent to everything, SkyClan are all blood traitors, and ThunderClan is weak."

ooc: smol post is smol

"Don't you see, Dewtuft? The quarrel of the clans is with Ashstar, not our clan. If we can convince them that helping us will rid them or their problems as well, an allegiance will only be temporary. Once the clan is strong again, we won't need to repay any of our debts. No clan will be able to take anything from us! The petty quarrels will be gone. We will no longer play the victim. As soon as this is over, brother, the other clans will respect and fear Windclan. As they should." His eyes continued to gleam with an eager darkness. The words rolled easily off his tongue as he thought of all of the possibilities of the future. Dewtuft sounded doubtful, but Slatethroat merely shrugged it off. His head was filled with all of the visions of grandeur. For a brief moment, he cast his gaze over the open hills of Windclan territory. They were the only clan that was strong enough to hold the open territory. The rest hid in between the trees like prey.

The breeze gently rustled his fur and sent a pleasant chill down his spine. For the first time in a while, the warrior felt at peace. There was nothing that felt more right. His gaze settled on Dewtuft, his only loyal kin, and softened up. They were true Windclan warriors. He needed his brother on his side more than anything. If there was even a shred of doubt in Dewtuft's heart, Slatethroat knew he could not do it without him. Sageleaf would not understand, she never had. But, the other warrior had to get it, Slatethroat needed him too. The grey and white time sighed softly, letting the fire that burned within die down for a brief second so he could focus on speaking to his brother, "I need you in my corner, Dew. You're smarter. You're the one with all the plans. I can manage a battle, but big picture stuff? That's you. I know that this is what needs to happen so we can be a part of the clan we've always dreamed of. Nothing has every felt this right. I cannot do this alone." It was the most humility he had ever shown, but then again he had never felt this way. His eyes bore into Dewtuft as he waited for an answer.

"I-" He didn't know where to begin, this was really happening. Slatethroat sounded far more determined than he felt but Dewtuft couldn't deny his only kin this. If he refused Slatethroat, his brother would be alone against the world and that was something that he couldn't bear the shame of. Despite his apprehension, the warrior finally spoke. "I'll be by your side, brother. Can't let you take all the credit when we finally reform WindClan to it's former glory."

The warrior padded over to his brother, closing the small gap between him. His head butted Dewtuft's shoulder as it had countless times when they played as kits. After the brief display of kinship, he back away. Steel was set in his gaze as he nodded with pleased smile, "We shall start tomorrow. I'll gather all the warriors and apprentices we can trust, my own included. And you do the same. Then, we will pay a visit to our future... allies." Stalethroat said the last word as if it were a bit distasteful. It felt wrong to be considering other clans as future companions, even if only for a brief period of time. But, they needed to do what ever it took to restore Windclan to the glory of legends. As soon as it would over, they would never need help from another clan again. The future was too bright. It was almost blinding, but Slatethroat could not look away.