The Beginning of an Ending (OPEN Clan topic; leader needed)

Gingerstripe had been making his way through WindClan territory for quite a while, despairing of what seemed to be only endless moor, the scruff of Fernwing's limp form in his tired jaws. He wasn't sure how much longer he could carry the she-cat- despite his greatest efforts to be gentle, if she took much more rough handling death would come even sooner for her. Where on earth was their camp? Thank StarClan, there was a cat in the distance. A young-looking gray tabby, obviously WindClan from her lithe form and the easy way she moved about the grassy plains. She wasn't as lithe as some other WindClan cats he'd seen, however. Wait, was she pregnant? That didn't matter. She looked stunned to see him, and her hackles raised almost immediately in fright, until she saw the wounded she-cat dangling from his jaws. Then her shock turned to panic. The raw emotion in her eyes almost surprised him- he wasn't used to seeing cats look that desperate. "Oh no, oh no, what happened? Who are you? Why- what happened to Fernwing? Come on, let's get her back to camp!" Without even waiting for answers to her questions, the obviously frantic she-cat ran up to him, not afraid of him anymore- or just more afraid for her friend's life than for her own- and helped him support her weight. Then, shakily but with a surprising amount of strength, led the two cats towards what the RiverClan tom assumed was their camp.

When they finally got to the camp- a simple dip in the hills, something Gingerstripe would have missed entirely if not for the younger warrior- they gently lowered Fernwing to the ground. There was no time to get her situated in the medicine den, wherever that was. The gray tabby ran off to a hollow under the giant rock that was probably used for meeting, yowling "Brindlestar, Swiftstep, come quick!" While she did so, the flame-orange tom stayed sitting where he was, somewhat uncomfortable with all of the eyes on him but determined to stay by the wounded young warrior's side. "You're home, Fernwing," he whispered to her, nudging her shoulder gently, to wake her up- her weary, dimming eyes had slid closed.

"What happened?" Thornleap raced forward, his pale eyes wide with horror at the sheer amount of blood that was pooling on the ground and draining into the dry, golden grass. "Graybriar... what is he doing here?!" He turned to Graybriar with a nervous expression before rounding on the ginger tabby tom that was sitting nearby. A stranger, smelling of Riverclan nonetheless. The answer was clear: This stranger had gravely wounded one of his Clanmates. "What did you do!?"

Fernwing’s breaths were short, raspy, and deliberate as she clung on to dear life, as painful as it was. Her belly was in absolute agony, and Gingerstripe dragging her along by the scruff certainly wasn’t helping it. She heard the terrified cry of her friend and Clanmate Graybriar, and she was relieved when the expecting queen began helping Gingerstripe bring her back to camp — now her belly didn’t sting quite as much anymore.

She was gently deposited in her camp, and as Graybriar ran off another cat she recognized as being Thornleap stalked forward and began accusing the cat who saved her from meeting her end without saying goodbye to her friends, family, and Clanmates of being the one who attacked in the first place. She could barely breathe anymore, let alone speak, but she had to defend the tom who had saved her. “N-Not h...him!...” she managed to squeak out desperately. ”Sh...Shade...”

"Thornleap,"

A forepaw, roughened by seasons of trekking upon the harsh and unforgiving earth of the moorland, gently pressed into the young tom's shoulder in a bid for his divided attention. Brindlestar's features held none of their usually stoic disinterest, but instead donned a rueful acceptance. Gazing down at Fernwing and the copious amounts of viscous liquid that crept from the oddly clumped mats of grey fur in sticky rivulets, a stinging pinprick of grief blossomed within her heart. So little was given in life in comparison to how much was taken. First her mother, and now this? "Fetch Swiftstep." A chilly sense of despair crept down her spine at the mention of her Deputy, who was also the father of the mortally wounded young molly. Paying no mind to Gingerstripe, who lingered about uneasily, the pale-furred Leader instead leaned forward slightly, head twisted slightly so that she could properly catch wind of Fernwing's quiet words. Shade. Whiskers twitching in a hardly discernible display of anger, the molly pulled away suddenly, a spark of rage kindling within her chest with enough intensity to nearly unravel the sorrow she felt.

"Shadefang... is a cat who's willing to kill everyone in their way to accomplish his goals. He not only killed my Clanmate but maimed one of our finest warriors and attempted to murder my deputy too."

It always came back to RiverClan, didn't it? Those inbred fish-lovers were truly the bane of her existence- perhaps their true purpose in this life was to simply cause misery and unwarranted suffering wherever they went. However, instead of acting upon this newly awoken sense of hatred that burned with enough heat to scorch her lungs, Brindlestar merely brushed her tail across Fernwing's heaving flank in a soothing manner. "Save your words," She urged softly, throat tight with grief, "Your father will be here soon." One could deem her efforts to hush the younger molly futile, as the act of trying to save what little breath she still clung to wouldn't spare her from the inevitable death that was waiting. A slight shudder ran down the pale-furred molly's spine at her own memories of death, and she couldn't help but gaze down at Fernwing remorsefully. Her own first death had been so bleak and frightening, and yet one could only imagine how Fernwing felt in this moment. Continuing to gently run her tail across whatever uninjured section of flesh she could encounter, Brindlestar's gaze lifted to bore a heated glare into Gingerstripe for an agonizingly long moment, before falling upon Graybriar as well.

"Tell me your name, strange one," Brindlestar challenged quietly, "And what happened to my Warrior."

At the sound of urgent voices and the horrid scent of blood, the brown tom-cat raced over but he never imagined to witness a familiar sight that would have him sob like this again. He had experienced this breaking emotion when his last mate had died. The memories had been haunting him and would never go away. Seeing Fernwing lay there, bleeding out, caused the suffering tom to desperately cradle his dying daughter, praying for the heavenly cats to not strip him of his ray of sunshine, one big piece of him. He wasn't ready to see his baby leave. She had so much life. Why was it stripped so soon? Nothing mattered right then. He didn't care if he was seen crying. Attempting to soothe Fernwing's passing was the only thing in his mind. He knew she wouldn't make it. It had been the same way with Fernfeather. He could only try to make her final time as peaceful as possible. "F-Fernwing m-my darling, my p-precious daughter. Y-You'll be happily r-running w-with your m-mother in S-Starclan. You'll b-be alright. D-Don't you worry a-about your old p-papa. I'll m-make sure our clan will prosper." He couldn't quit now. He was going to defend Windclan from cats like the one who did this to his daughter.

After a his eyes were deprived of tears, he looked up and asked, "W-Who did this?" His voice was hoarse and the question had come out barely above a whisper.

Gingerstripe took an involuntary step back as some young warrior almost immediately accused him of mortally wounding the cat at his feet- he would never, never again!- but he couldn't deny that it was justified. At least poor Fernwing was lucid enough to defend him, in whatever way she could. It was hard to keep stinging tears of sympathy from his own eyes as the she-cat's father, deputy of WindClan he believed, mourned his only daughter... and the leader of WindClan herself appeared as well. Her gaze was accusing, at least somewhat, most likely judging by the RiverClan smell of his pelt and the fact that he'd brought the dying warrior back to her camp. Well, her family was definitely owed an explanation. Mustering the small amount of bravery he had, knowing full well that even his name might get him kicked out of the camp with bloody scratches like his friend's, he began to speak.

"My name is Gingerstripe. I am from- from RiverClan. I was patrolling along the Gorge when I saw cats fighting in the distance." It was odd, saying that he was from a Clan that had not yet fully accepted him, but he didn't have time to explain his full backstory. "I was reluctant to trespass on your territory," he admitted, "but when I got close enough to see that there was a rogue mauling one of your warriors, I couldn't stand by and let it happen. When I ran over, I immediately recognized the rogue as Shade- I'm sure Jaystar has warned you about him. He's the monster who was exiled for maiming and attempted murder of his own Clanmates, and has been terrorizing the forest ever since. I chased him off, and I would have killed him myself if Fernwing hadn't been so badly wounded." He looked down at her bloody form with dark eyes, guilt and grief choking his throat. "If only I'd gotten there earlier... I could have saved her. I wish I'd ended Shade's life, then and there- but she needed to be taken back to her family. She needed to see them one last time.... she needed her pain to be eased. I'm afraid of what would've happened to her if I hadn't come when I did." Though the tabby leader, and what she had the power to do to him, frightened him, the warrior raised his head and met her eyes. In their green depths, determination broke through the sorrow. If he was punished for what he'd done, it would be worth it. "I'm sorry for trespassing, Brindlestar, but I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hadn't done something. If you wish to discipline me, I will accept your punishments- I only ask that you don't take it out on RiverClan, or on the warrior who helped me bear Fernwing over instead of driving me away. You have good cats in your Clan, Brindlestar."

--

Quailfeather spent her days in the elders' den in a haze of misery, occasional moments of happiness with her mate or with apprentices who came to visit breaking through the tired, sad monotony. She loathed her injuries, and longed to be out on the territory- hunting, patrolling, fighting, serving her Clan. But due to her ruined eye and mangled leg, she had to sit here in this cramped old den and let her Clanmates take care of her. She hadn't left the den in a while, since the weather was beginning to cool and sunning out in the camp was no longer much of an option. But when she heard Graybriar yelling for the leader and deputy, and smelled the all-too-familiar scent of blood, she had to see what was going on. When she came out, however, she lost any sense of emotions in the absolute shock and disbelief that followed.

Fernfeather's only daughter lay bloody and immobile on the ground.

With a shriek of horror, the speckled gray she-cat tried to run to the center of camp- only to fall flat on her face, inhibited by her injury once more. She had forgotten herself- she was no warrior, only a cripple, a disgrace. How could she even face Fernwing like this? Who had done such a thing? Why did every thing she loved get destroyed? Undignified and not caring, the elder dragged herself towards the congregation of cats, sobbing both in outward and inward pain, needing to know what happened. When she finally reached the circle, she stared unmoving at poor bleeding Fernwing, letting hot and salty tears drip from her face as she took in every word of the intruder's story. After its end, she looked up at Brindlestar, a boiling and unspeakable rage that she hadn't felt since Wolf murdered her apprentice building up inside of her. "I'll kill him," she seethed. "I'll rip his body to shreds and claw out both of his eyes before granting him the miserable death he deserves. I'll throw his lifeless form off of the Gorge, where it can lie and rot in the filthy waters where it belongs! Let me go after him, Brindlestar! I'll rid the forest of this menace once and for all!" Injuries completely forgotten, tears of anguished fury streaming from both whole and ruined eye, Quailfeather stood with claws unsheathed, tearing up the soft dirt below that was stained with Fernwing's innocent blood.

(OOC: Even though I'm waiting on at least one other person to post here, I'm gonna go ahead and send Fernwing on her way to StarClan. :3)

Fernwing looked up weakly at the cats beginning to surround her, and her eyes began growing heavily misty. She was going to leave so many cats behind. Swiftstep, her dear father who was already still trying to recover from the death of his mate; Quailfeather, her late mother's mentor who was almost like a mother to her in her own right; Cedarfur, her beloved great-grandfather whom she had bonded with as an apprentice; Lilypaw and Littlepaw, her two talented apprentices who now had to deal with the death of their mentor.

Her green eyes tilted up to Gingerstripe as he began speaking. So that's why his scent seemed so familiar. He was from RiverClan. ...That's right. She couldn't die, not just yet, not until he heard what she needed him to know. "G...Gingerst-stripe... Please... F-For my dying w-wish..." She weakly coughed. No, she couldn't give up yet! She had to make things right! "T...Tell Cinderf-fall... I... f-forgive... him..."

She wanted to say more. She wanted to do more for her family, for her friends, for her Clan. But she knew she couldn't. All because of Shade. She just hoped and prayed that WindClan wouldn't declare war on RiverClan after this. Not that she'd have much choice after this. Broken up inside that she couldn't use anymore breath to bid her family and friends goodbye, she heaved a soft sigh and closed her eyes.



"I will take good care of our kit, my love," The whisper of a voice seemed to whisk past Swiftstep's ear, and it was almost as if the bright, dark green eyes of the fluffy green cat the deputy had lost was standing before the still body of Fernwing. The ghost was gone in a blink of an eye, however.

Tail curling its way across Swiftstep's shoulders, Brindlestar's impassive gaze reflected nothing within their exhaustion-hardened depths. The pale-furred molly remained silent for several long moments after Gingerstripe finished explaining himself, her attention only truly focusing upon her grieving Deputy and his dying daughter that was sprawled out before them. She wanted to speak to Swiftstep, to offer her own words of experience- but what could she say? There was no remedy for the grief of losing a part of yourself, no words to lessen those sleepless nights. Pressing herself closer to the tom huddled beside her as the final breath rattled from Fernwing's chest, her eyes drifted shut in a non-expressive display of her internalized distraught. RiverClan would burn in the darkest depths of the Place of No Stars for this, down to the very last kit and Elder. They wailed for justice the minute one of their own cats got a nicked ear, but they freely let a cat from their own Clan go on a murderous rampage without lifting a single paw? The beginnings of a snarl pulled at her scarred features, her icy gazing frothing with a hateful fire as she glared over at Gingerstripe. "Gingerstripe, murderer of Medicine Cats and traitor of your own blood- it's no surprise you ended up in RiverClan." Her voice was raspy under the strain of her wrathful state of mind, her nape fur prickling as heat throbbed through her veins.

"The only reason I do not make good upon my promise to hunt you down like the diseased vermin you are is because there has been too much blood wrongfully spilled on this day." By the Clan you now reside within. Accusation flashed briefly upon her features, mingling hotly with contempt as she gazed over at the forlorn outsider before her. Gaze dropping to the cooling form of her Warrior splayed limply at her paws, her ear gave a disgusted twitch as she caught sight of the blood that soaked into the dry earth, drying upon the stiff grasses below her paws. They would pay. "You have done what you came here to do, now leave us unless you'd prefer that I deliver on my vows to Nettlesting immediately." Roughly jolting her chin in the direction of the prickly barrier that marked the entrance to the sheltered clearing, Brindlestar did not spare a further glance at the runaway ShadowClanner as she spit her parting words, "Honor Fernwing's wishes and never return to my territory again."

Paying close attention to every word that Fernwing spoke, Gingerstripe committed them to heart. He didn't know why he needed to, but he was determined to do at least something for the she-cat he had failed to save. A sigh of sorrow escaped from between his lips as the WindClan she-cat exhaled her last breath. He put a paw over her closed green eyes gently, smoothing the fur down so that her face, at least, looked like she was just going to sleep. The last sleep. Grieving, he stared down at her, wondering why the she-cat had taken so much of a hold on his heart. However, he was abruptly and rudely snapped out of the reverie as Brindlestar snarled at him, words ripping at him with a different kind of pain.

"Gingerstripe, murderer of Medicine Cats and traitor of your own blood...." A mocking echo rang in his ears as he stared up at the leader, eyes full of fear. Gingerstripe, killer of a rogue and betrayed by your own blood. His ears pinned back in a mixture of emotions- anguish, disbelief, dread- as she contemptuously insulted and dismissed him, before turning away as if he hadn't just saved the she-cat from who-knows-what end at the claws of Shade. And mentioning a vow to Nettlesting into the bargain. Shaking with repressed anger, grieving as a pang for Fernwing hit his heart- the former loner turned and walked away, shaking his head at the foolishness of leaders and wishing he was as blind. Maybe then, it wouldn't hurt so much.