The Winds of Winter [PLOT FINALE]

The rain cleaned his fur as it poured down his tired the body. Jaystar stood up and looked at how many cats were tossed into the sky just like he did. He was afraid but then something unexpected happened. It all happened too quickly. Lichenmask on the top of the rock... giving one of his typical pointless speeches and then... the branch. It fell down like a lighting, crashing the body of the one that was destroying everyone's lives for a misguided vision. Suddenly, Lichenmask was gone. Was this Starclan's will or just a coincidence?

The leader walked, wounded, tired but when he first saw the first rays of sunlight, he knew there was hope. They survived... his clan truly survived to this madness. It cost him one of his lives and painful revelation... to other clans... it cost them blood and important losses. He looked around wondering if it was worth it. The dawn returned with promises of a new chance to rebuild their lives yet there were inner wounds and scars that were not yet healed. The question about Lichenmask's knowledge and power kept bothering him. Was this Starclan all the time? Was this the clans' punishment for breaking the rules? Was this because of his forbidden romance... because he was also the descendant of a forbidden relationship that was hidden through moons until now? Would the stars come back to answer all these questions?

The large RiverClanner stood up, trying to earn his remain forces to held his tail up and find his voice. The battle was over and his clan needed to get back. "Riverclan! Those who can still stand up on their paws, help those who can't and let's go back home! Goldeneye, Fallowpaw... I need one of you to get back to camp quickly to prepare everything for the wounded warriors and apprentices that need help." He said those words stepping closer to both Riverclan medicine cats. It was up to them who would go back earlier. He trusted in their decision.

Jaystar then turned his face to the rest of the leaders. He barely bowed his head to Leopardstar and Tinystar. He barely looked at Brindlestar but when he saw Scorchfang, he made his way to him to say goodbye. "Your clan fought well tonight... I'm sure Littlestar would be proud of you. I wish you the best, Scorchfang and if you need anything from my clan, don't be afraid to ask me. I hope next time we see each other, I can call you Scorchstar. Until then." He offered him a respectful nod and then he returned to the side of his clanmates to help those who needed him most. He reached Lightstep's side and offered him his shoulder so he could walk better. It was time to get home... the answer he sought could be answered after he made sure his clan was safe and sound again.

The end. It came abruptly. Dewshine listened to Lichenmask's words with a wide eyes and a terrible feeling in her chest. As if her very breath was being taken towards the maniacal tom... until the rains fell. Until peace suddenly flooded through with a crash so thunderous it hurt her ears. She collapsed to the ground in an effort to avoid all the splinters of the mighty branch that fell. Her blue eyes peeked from mud and blood stained paws to see the High-rock no longer occupied. Just the field of bleeding, wounded and dead.

She'd be all too happy to never witness this scene again. Slowly, she pulled herself to her paws. Her blue eyes looking desperately around for Gingerstripe, who's pelt was obscured by smoke and haze that seemed to linger even though the battle had ended. She padded towards the High-rock, concerned about the cats who had been injured there. Though a dark furred tom was hauling bodies away from where the blaze had been. She stopped when she reached a piece of hot coal that was cooling under the droplets of rain. For a moment, she recognised no pelts... until she spotted it. A glimpse of silver and ginger.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she ran towards it. It couldn't be. No... no it absolutely could Not be. Yet as she reached the smoldering pelt... with those all too familiar eyes. The face of a young apprentice. Her kit, whom she had carried once... who she had protected, cherished and loved... there were no words.

The yowl that ripped from her throat was wordless, nothing but pain in the noise as she collapsed next to Firepaw's seared and burnt body. She nosed his face, licked his cheek as tears streamed from blue eyes.
"Firepaw! It's time to go home." She whispered, her voice broke beneath the strain. A sudden thought flooded her mind. Goldeneye. If any cat could save him... it would be her. She grabbed the burnt body by the scruff. Ignoring that the poor tom's pelt was ragged beneath her as she dragged it towards the departing medicine cat. " GOLDENEYE!" She yowled, voice cracking beneath the strain of what felt like a river rushing through her chest. Taking her heart with it. "HELP HIM, PLEASE!"

Goldeneye watched helplessly as her son was lifted into the air by an invisible force as it contemplatively rested him on the edge of the clearing. Goldeneye watched as a storm of rain slammed the clan-cats, fighting the fire down, Goldeneye watched as a branch slammed down on Lichenmask with a sickening crash and thud that she could hear all the way on the other side of the clearing. Goldeneye's face was slick with blood and water, but she was quick to start ushering the injured along, those that could move she sent on their way with their heavily injured clan-mates. Goldeneye was about to turn to speak with Fallowpaw before a cry of her name had her head turned so fast droplets of her blood flung against the leaves. With less-than-stellar vision, Goldeneye picked out the voice of Dewshine and rushed down to meet her. In her jaws was Firepaw, her son.

Goldeneye's gut dropped as she examined the ragged and charred form of the apprentice, her ear pressing against his chest. Her paw wavering by their nose, looking desperately for any signs of life. Goldeneye licked the burnt fur backward in an effort to stir life, her paws pushing to get his lungs or his heart working but everything she did, everything she knew proved futile. Goldeneye tried to shake her head as it to stir ideas to come to life as if medicine could work on a dead cat. The ragged golden she-cat stilled as she took in a deep breath, urging herself to tell Dewshine that her son was dead, to shove aside the cowardice that made her chest feel cold and empty, grief accompanying it.

She had to do something more, her pelt prickled. But no, there was no way she could bring a dead cat back to life. "Dewshine, I say these words so that our ancestors may hear them. Firepaw was a strong, noble apprentice that had a heart like none other. He did not deserve to... part with us the way they did, the cruelty of Lichenmask taking away such a young life is a sin in of itself. We will...-" Goldeneye's voice cracked and her breath hitched as she continued. "We will give Firepaw the utmost care and attention that such a brilliant star deserves, I have no doubt she will have the brightest place in silver pelt tonight." Goldeneye meowed, tucking her bloody head just under the she-cats head.

"I'm very sorry, there was nothing I could have done. I have failed you, just as I have failed every cat here... if I had just torn Lichenmasks throat out as a kit when I had first received the prophecy, then perhaps Firepaw would still be here, alive. Starclan would have been safe, we would not be suffering. But I was weak, I'm the sole reason for all of this destruction if there is some cat that you must blame for the death of your kit I am to blame." Goldeneye meowed softly, her voice tinged with grief but did not change in pitch or tone, everything feeling numb.

"No..." The word came out as a hoarse whimper as Goldeneye looked over her son. The moment the medicine cat began speaking, she shook her head in defiance. "No... no he can't be..." Her jaws clenched tight as she took a deep breath once, twice, her throat swelled with sobs that finally broke through as the she-cat rested her head against her. Any self-control over the loss of her son was gone as she pulled away from Goldeneye to rest her body against her battered son's. The rain soaked her pelt, but she barely felt the chill. Her wet silver fur brushed against his black and silver.

"Firepaw... Firepaw my sweet, sweet son... Nooooo" Throat aching with tears, she curled up with his prone form. Unwilling to move from the spot she had managed to drag him. This was her fault. She should have insisted he stay at camp. She should have made him watch after his sisters... now she would never see the three of them playing. Never again would she greet his smiling face in the morning, or groom it after a rough bout of play. His sisters would wonder about him, and now she had to tell them that he was gone...

That he walked the same StarClan that cursed them all to this in the first place. If anything that Lichenmask had said was true, this was StarClan's will... but how could it be? How could they take her precious kit away? It made no sense, and it churned her belly worse as she continued to sob against his body even as hers began to shiver with chill.

Wordlessly, Nutfur picked up Flamewish's body by her scruff, and began following Jaystar out of the clearing. Her eyes were glazed over with shock, and her features didn't seem to show any other feeling. Her body trembled slightly as she walked, and she could barely feel all the dead weight she was carrying slow her down. Grief and pain had not set in yet, not even anger. Just disbelief that her friend had died. Nothing else around her had been comprehended yet. It was like when Fawnsong had died all over again. Yet this time she was crying over the murderer of the first one. She didn't notice the sunrise, or the blood-soaked ground around her. Just Jaystar telling them to go home and the the grieved cry of Dewshine.

Gingerstripe was staring up at the Great Rock, fighting his natural impulse to go and attack the fox-heart who'd caused everything, when he heard his mate wail. Struck with a bolt of fear that hit him at his core, he immediately began to race through the clearing, looking for Dewshine. When he found her, though, he stopped in his tracks. His son's body. On the ground. Unmoving.

"No!" The rejection of what he saw right before his eyes was overpowering, not wanting to believe it was true. It couldn't be true. His son couldn't be dead. He was supposed to become a warrior, get a mate, have kits... go on hunting patrols with Blossompaw and Foxpaw. But the look in Dewshine's eyes.... Wordlessly, the ginger tom walked over, staring with horror at Firepaw's dead form. He should've been able to save him. He could have saved him, if he hadn't been so preoccupied with his own failure at killing Shade. He... this was all his fault... Not fighting against the tears that streamed down his face, Gingerstripe just curled himself around Dewshine, trying to comfort both of them. It was his fault that so much pain had come into this beautiful she-cat's life. Maybe if he'd just been content to stay a rogue... "I'm so sorry, Dewshine," he whispered hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut. "You don't deserve this pain."

Heavy droplets of frigid rain clung to Brindlestar's pelt, steam practically festering from where the moisture collided with the angry burns that snaked through across her bloodied pelt. Perhaps it had been several hours since she had initially stumbled upon Thornleap's stiffening body, perhaps it had only been a few moments- it was highly difficult to discern the passage of time whenever every last moment was wrought with bloodshed. Even as cats were carelessly tossed all about, colliding into the unyielding earth at various different points and intervals, she did not stir. Even as the earth itself screamed under the abrupt weight of the branch that swallowed Lichenmask's being whole. The terrible wound still remained within her chest, raw and festering, aching more profusely than any of her physical wounds. "If those are truly the words of our ancestors, then WindClan shall no longer listen to the words of dead fools!" Brindlestar's own words rang sharply within her aching head, resonating softly within the chaos of the night. So StarClan had forced these cats to blindly follow their will, only to lead them to a slaughter? What was the point of this... suffering?

Perhaps the dead were just as useless and foolish as she had claimed, mayhaps the light of the stars was just nothing but dead light.

Tired gaze drifting shut, Brindlestar's voice was harsh from inhaling such great amounts of smoke, "WindClan! Help gather the dead and the wounded, search the flamebeds for those who might have fallen because of Lichenmask. We'll leave once all cats are reunited with their Clans, but return on the morrow to bury the dead." It was easy to say that heartless cretins like Jaystar, or blind fools like Tinystar and Scorchfang would be content to leave their turncoats behind to rot out in the open, but she would not condemn the innocent to a fate without rest.

Fernpetal didn't make out who it was that finally aroused her after what felt like an eternity of drifting in and out of painful consciousness but as the battered bicolor tabby she-cat unsealed her ash-coated eyes she was greeted with a world that spun in unnatural ways, strangely blurred at the edges like looking into a puddle of muddy water.  Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled into a sitting position, the scent of rancid blood and burnt fur making her stomach churn worse than ever; her bleeding head throbbed painfully in line with her heartbeat, at least letting her know that she was alive.  She had lost though...they all had.  Even through her weak vision, she could see the gruesome remains of Lichenmask's once powerful body, but she couldn't seem to fathom any sense of victory or joy.  This was a win for her; StarClan's supposed 'chosen one' had been a filthy lier after all...or had he?  It was unclear, which infuriated the conflicted she-cat even more.  Uhrg...why can't I just find a straight answer!  They're not going to listen to me if I don't...  Resisting the urge to retch, Fernpetal very slowly began to pad across the clearing, looking around with careful movements for any of her clanmates.  "T..Tiny- ugh...star...Mistyrain?"  Her voice was weak and horse from breathing in smoke, but it managed to reach the ears of at least one SkyClan cat...

---

"Fernpetal!"  Catching sight of the soot-covered young she-cat, the dark pelted warrior broke away from Firflower - resting his tail comfortingly on her back for a heartbeat - and dashed up to meet his injured clanmate.  Offering his shoulder to lean on, she accepted with hesitance, as if not quite convinced that she wanted any cat's help to so such a simple thing such as walking, and he slowly helped her make way towards where the medicine cats were gathered.  Leaving her in their paws - ignoring the annoyed grumble that came from her maw - Nightstorm returned to the clearing, gazing around while trapped in a sense of melancholy disbelief.  Lichenmask was dead, but so were many others, the young and old alike.  His heart aching for all those who had been lost to the cruel talons of death, he finally faced the fact that he knew he would have to face eventually.  Jaysong.  Her body had been joined by her mate's - Falcongaze - which only made the cracks in his fragile soul split even wider.  They could've been so much happier...they deserved more than this.  Feeling the all too familiar tingling of tears in the corners of his vivid green eyes, the former Tribe cat bent his head to nuzzle his daughter's freezing forehead, closing his nose forcefully against the haunting scent of death that came off of her in waves.  He had promised to remember her, to honor her destroyed legacy...he couldn't leave her here for the crows.  "They should be buried in SkyClan...beside their kit, as it should be."  He spoke to no cat in particular, but as he grabbed hold of Jaysong's scruff in his jaws he noticed Elmcloud nearby.  Had he been the one to fell Falcongaze?  At any rate, the tom's eyes narrowed as he spoke around mounds of calico fur.  "Do you agree?"

---

The rainy dawn shone brightly upon the tom's singed face as Leopardstar opened his eyes, every inch of his body aching and covered in blood, bruises, and burns.  With a deep groan, the leader heaved himself to his paws, wincing as he stretched out the side where his burns were most severe and looked around the clearing.  Cats were gathering around the medicine cats, dragging their clanmates - alive and dead alike - away from the carnage.  Looking upon the Great Rock, he finally saw what had become of Lichenmask, crushed to death by the very forest he had tried to claim for his own.  For a long moment, he took in the scene, before finally turning away.  There were other more important things to do than look upon the body of that wretched traitor.  As he began to pad away towards where his clanmates waiting, he heard Brindlestar's voice sound from nearby, shouting orders in a voice touched by smoke and heartbreak.  His tired hazel eyes turned towards the WindClan leader, and a sudden memory played within his mind's eye.  She was in the fire too...she ran out before me!  Taking in the damage the flames had left on her pale pelt, he walked towards her and asked in a low voice, also hushed by the acidic tang of soot.  "B..Brindlestar, are you o-okay?"  He coughed, his chest spasming wildly, but it soon quelled.  "I..I saw you...r-run out of the flames...did Lichenmask push you down too?"  His worry was validated; their clans were allied, and the last thing he would wish upon WindClan was for their leader - and his friend - to be weakened.

One second he was clinging to the back of Lichenmask, snorting at his inability to be selective in what words came from his maw, nor timely in the matter and the next he was being lifted by some unseen force. It knocked the wind out of him and caused his muscles to ache but the tom barely noticed underneath the shock of the whole ordeal. Any of the other cat's fur that had seconds earlier been desperately grasped in his paws were scattered over the clearing below. For a moment, he simply hung there, lofted up by nothing apparent to the visible eye. There was not a hint of terror on the apprentice's face but rather he wore a mask of pure and unadulterated shocked. Nothing that was happening made comprehendible sense. So, Sparkpaw merely returned the exile's gaze with one much more readable.

The appalled look upon the dilute calico's face relaxed slightly and allowed for something akin to his own curiosity to come across his face. Although his heart still pounded in his chest and he was still stunned from the sheer impossibility of the moment, Sparkpaw found himself wondering why this was happening. Scrutiny was obvious even if the older tom's expression did not betray such an emotion. Beyond that thought, his mind seemed to not be able to process any further and his dull green gaze matched Lichenmask's. He could not turn away. Just as the moment seemed like it could stretch on for no longer, the tom felt himself be gently rested upon solid ground once more. His paws welcomed the feeling. Despite the deeply rooted relief of being on something firmer than air, Sparkpaw still watched the former Riverclanner with a curiosity and made no move to resume his position on the rock. There was no time for the realization that he was the only cat to have survived Lichenmask's wrath.

Throughout the duration of the final moments, his eyes were as wide as the moon that was slowly revealed for the first time since he had taken on the apprentice title. The events unfolded as he drank in the sight of smoke and rain. Underneath the haze, he was still able to make out the form of the exiled cat, something that he still could not muster up the strength or desire to tear his gaze away from. There was a sickening crack as the ancient branch, seemingly older than time itself began its descent towards the rock where he had been not too long before. Almost instinctively, Sparkpaw outstretched a forepaw in the direction of the cat who was inevitably to be crushed by the falling debris and a cry choaked in his throat. And then it was over. Lichenmask was gone. Seemingly coming somewhat out of the daze that he had been entranced in since being lofted into the air, he took a step in the direction of the great rock.

A blink of his eyes caused Sparkpaw's world to come back into focus. He gazed over the carnage of the battlefield, a place where he had sat only days earlier under the promise of peace with other clans, and remembered where he was. There was a strange feeling settled within his chest, one that in his youth he found himself incapable of identifying. It was the call of Jaystar that finally caused him to move and brought a much welcome half-smile upon his weary maw. Even if the leader had lost a life, it appeared that the great silver-blue tom was still standing at the head of their clan. After seeking out Icepaw, Sparkpaw followed after the rest of his clanmates silently, without so much as a look back at Hillfire's body.

***

As the battle dragged on, Bearpaw had been able to do little more than watched helplessly. After attempting to struggle to his paws and fail on several occasions he had unwillingly resigned to laying in a temporarily immobile mass. His eyes had widened at the impossibility of everything that he witnessed in his semi-conscious state. Cats were thrown away as easily as the crisp, leaf-fall leaves were scattered by the movement of paws. Undeniable strength radiated from the tom who had been supposedly chosen to do Starclan's will. To his knowledge, the code written by the very ancestors themselves did not require such awful marring of flesh nor the theft of young lives. Bearpaw was not one to think too much over things, but at the moment there was nothing else to do. He was unable to conjure up any actions in response to what he was seeing. So, he simply made up his mind on something. This was not a Starclan that he wanted to follow. Even if it made him less of a clan cat, this was not in the code, it would not impede his ability to be a warrior that defended his clan with his life.

After coming to a decision on that matter, Bearpaw allowed himself to soak in the scenes before him. It all played out in dim-flashes as he slipped in and out of bouts of intensive agony that threatened to send him into an unconscious state. When the crack of the branch rang out through the clearing, his ears pricked and he was dragged back into attention. With a twitch of his tail, Bearpaw rediscovered the ability to move, an ability that was paired with the sensation of pain. But he managed to at least push himself into a sitting position with some strain. Somewhere along the way, one of the medicine cats had offered him a pawful of poppy seeds to which he only accepted a couple. Even those few seemed to help dull the anguish enough for a couple moments. After what seemed like an eternity, Bearpaw rose up onto all four paws. Progress was slow and his muscles were stiff.

It took a few laborious steps before he cast his gaze over the clearing. Everything was a mess. The bodies of unconscious and unbreathing cats were strewn about in no particular order. After a moment, he was prepared to turn and rejoin the gathering Thunderclan group but one particular body caught his eye. There was no name that he could conjure up but upon seeing the unholy, empty socket, Bearpaw knew undeniably which cat this was. It was the first cat he had ever fought, the one whose gaping hole of an eye had been caused by Bearpaw's own paw. Although it meant a far and strenuous trek, the apprentice headed towards him. He half expected the corpse to leap up at any second. But to his relief, it did not even twitch. For a long moment, he just stared at the body of Aspenpaw. The blind belief in a Starclan enthusiast, supposedly guided by the stars and thoughts of grandeur, had lead to this dishonorable death.

Finally, a grunt, a mixture of another sharp shot of pain and some sense of finality, left his maw, "You will find no solace among the stars tonight."

The final blows came too quickly for him to comprehend. Stonepaw was left sprawling on the bloodied ground, head spinning. He was barely clinging to consciousness, watching the still-living cats move about like they hadn’t just killed every cat he’d known. It took several long minutes for his brain to settle enough to process normally again. One last shot of anger had him try to stand up and fight back, but he was out of energy. Dirt, ash and grit dug into his stinging wounds and his breath came shallow. The words from the RiverClan deputy almost went over his head. Almost. ‘Have mercy on me? Out of everyone else, you decide to spare my life?’ He shuddered, whether from an overpouring of emotion or the physical agony he was in he couldn’t be sure. How cruel could this cat be?

Muted green eyes moved over the lifeless bodies of his comrades, necks slashed or broken by their former Clanmates. Was there really no one left? What could he possibly do without them? He couldn’t go home anymore, he was a traitor for StarClan’s sake! One body caught his half-opened eye. His stomach grew cold as he dragged himself to his paws, gaze locked on someone painfully familiar. At that moment he couldn’t care less if someone retracted the mercy granted to him. Or curse, rather. Not even the mangled and contorted corpse of Aspenpaw could divert him from his course.

“Brushgaze?”

Slow, shaky steps brought him to the motionless form of his sister, her once-sharp eyes now dull and unseeing. His face twisted into a silent wail as he kneeled before her. “Brushgaze! Come on, get up. Please. Don’t leave me here. I know we’ve lost, but we need to go, we can still run away from here.” His mind’s eye imagined the blackened, unrecognizable form of Fallowpaw not three tail-lengths away, mere bones in the extinguished coals that once swallowed what she used to be. He had to have at least one cat left close to him. They’d all betrayed what other family they had for this blood-smeared cause they stood for. “We can take your kits from the barn and get to safety, you just need to get up.” But, as corpses do, she could not move nor respond to his pleas. He couldn’t look upon the fatal wound directly. He bowed his head and trembled, mouth twisted in a half-snarl. Why had they come here? Were they really so loyal to Lichenmask that they’d follow him so blindly to this doomed battle? Or were they just too scared to question him?

He raised his head at just the right moment to witness their leader, behind the swirling, acrid smoke, be crushed beneath one of the mighty boughs of the oaks. The launch of shrapnel, on the most part, didn’t penetrate his fur, but it did give him a few new wounds across his already slashed face. Bloodsoaked, overwhelmed, disgraced, and grieving, Stonepaw let out an involuntary cry that ripped through his weakened body. The tom looked small, shrinking into his blood-matted fur as he lost his ability to hold himself back. Not when his siblings were better than him in every way had he unveiled the emotions raging in his heart; he had to have at least one redeeming quality in this elite-only family, right? What else could these cats do that they hadn’t done already? Kill him?

Though in this moment where any other cat would easily throw away all they had left – Stonepaw being one of them – he couldn’t. He was utterly drained.

The clearing was deathly quiet now. “Your words were all too empty, Lichenmask,” he muttered, voice breaking and eyes clouded from both the smoke and grief. He would look dead if his mouth weren’t moving. “You promised us a new world, but all you’ve done is sent us to StarClan.” Too gently did he clean the crusted blood off Brushgaze’s still face. Would they even let him bury her? He twitched as rain began to fall, soothing the rips and tears in his flesh. But he didn’t want this pain to go away. Otherwise he’d be left to the cold, blank feeling he felt sitting in his chest. A familiar scent behind him made his head turn slowly around, fixing the black tom behind him with an emotionless stare unbefitting to his kind face. Crowfur, his father though he may be, lost two children on this night without a final saying, and would not receive any chosen last words from Stonepaw either. And so he rose and limped away, around Brushgaze’s cold form. He stopped beside each corpse he passed – though with how slow he’d been walking, it could’ve just been a long pause between steps - and found himself passing Brindlestar. At any other time, even half an hour before he would’ve been more than willing to rip her throat out for what she’d done to Fallowpaw, yet now he felt nothing. He opened his mouth ever so slightly, but found little to say. Whether it was for her to hear or just something to say as he left Fourtrees for the very last time, he wasn’t sure. The ragged tom moved on without even passing her a glance.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, taking in every smell he could from where he stood. The forest had no place for him any longer. He limped off, out of the territories, and towards Highstones. Away from ShadowClan, forever, without even earning a warrior name.

When Stonepaw stumbled up to his paws, Scorchclaw didn't stop him. The young Exile's gaze was fixed on a distant form. A single name fell from his lips, and his tone was filled with the weight of an unspeakable emotion. It was strange how the RiverClan deputy knew, but he sensed that Stonepaw would not be fighting back any longer. No cat moved to block the apprentice's path. Green gaze sharp, Scorchclaw watched in silence as Stonepaw knelt by a battered, bloody corpse. The she-cat was one that he only faintly recognized; she had been one of Lichenmask's followers. "Brushgaze! Come on, get up. Please. Don’t leave me here." Borne by the ash-laden wind, Stonepaw's pleas were strewn aside unanswered. It didn't feel right to witness this scene. It wasn't his place, his role. A dull pain seized his heart in a vice-grip, and he turned aside. Why? Why did he feel this way? It hurt.

With a furious roar, similar to that of the ongoing thunder, the massive branch crashed down upon the Great Rock. Scorchclaw was barely able to get a last glimpse of Lichenmask, before the self-proclaimed Prophet disappeared amidst the violent collision. Splinters shot across the clearing, striking any cat within their reach. One would have caught the RiverClan deputy in the eye did he not sidestep in time. When the debris had settled, Lichenmask was nowhere to be seen. The sky's floodgates had been thrown wide open, and now rain poured down upon the gathered cats. Standing in the middle of the ravaged clearing, among bodies that had been scorched beyond recognition and terribly wounded warriors, Scorchclaw felt as if nature itself was bewailing the tragedy that had befallen. His thick pelt, already slick with blood, welcomed the relieving rain. A familiar voice reached his ears--that of his leader's. While he had been unable to catch sight of the gray tom earlier, Jaystar was still standing, his green eyes glimmering faintly in the darkness. At the sight, Scorchclaw felt the realization sink in. It was over at last. They were returning home.

His paws were heavy with weariness, but there were places he had to be. Slowly, tiredly, Scorchclaw shuffled to the row of bushes where the medicine cats were camped. Through the pounding of the raindrops, Dewshine's heartbroken wail rose. As he approached, he took in the sight of the silver warrior and her mate. They were curled around a body--burnt and unmoving. Firepaw. Scorchclaw made a low, unintelligible sound of grief. Words choked in his throat. There was nothing that he knew to say in such a situation. Then, through the gathered crowd of injured, he made out a familiar form. She was safe. She was still alive. Relief welled up within him, and he almost felt guilty. No one that precious to him had been lost. He approached to stand before Adderfeather. When their eyes met, he simply leaned forward and pressed his face into her fur. "You're safe. I'm glad." He murmured. The moment lasted only a second or two. Pulling away, he padded off towards Goldeneye. There would be time for further conversation later on. Wordlessly, he hoisted an unconscious clanmate against his shoulder.

After too long a period of time, dawn was finally breaking. The war was over, but some things would never be the same again.

The image of Lichenmask tossing cats around as if they were feathers would be burned into his memory for a long time. After his opponent was defeated, the apprentice just stood there in slowly-increasing shock, watching the world burn around him. There were yowls of cats in pain and cries of anguish and a horrible, horrible stench of death and fire. Elmpaw found himself trembling, paws rooted where he stood. He couldn't help but stand there and watch helplessly. And then the sky came crashing down around him as Lichenmask, with a thunderous roar, simply...disappeared. Was that it? Was it over? What if he came back?

The dark tortoiseshell tom's thoughts dissolved into a series of repeating, panic-filled questions. He struggled to breathe, the smokey air clogging up his lungs. He couldn't shake the feeling that he might die at any moment. Shaking, he lowered himself to the ground, curling up tightly in an attempt to make himself feel safer.

Brindlestar's voice rang out to the crowd and he raised his head. Brindlestar. He had to make sure she was okay. He rose to trembling paws and slowly limped over towards his mentor. Wordlessly, he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, perhaps reassuring them both that everything will be okay now. Then he went off to do as he was told.

Ears twitching in response to both the stubborn droplets of moisture which clung to them and to Leopardstar's sudden words, Brindlestar turned to peer at the golden tom. It didn't come as a surprise that he was unknowing of how she had ended up alongside him, yet there was a faint flicker of shock within her chest at how genuine his concern was, the depth of his inquiry sounding as those he was merely addressing a Clanmate or old friend. Perhaps the immense history of peace and readiness to ally to one-another's causes had made their relationship a bit more genuine, a glimmer of friendship to be found within the roughened exterior of their stoic company they provided. "Something like that," There was a slight simper upon her weary lips, unsure of the best response to his question, "Truth be told, I haven't given it too much thought- nor do I want to. It was quite unpleasant, I don't wish to recount the memories just yet." Apprehension aside, the last thing Brindlestar wished to burden Leopardstar with was the fact that she had given up a commodity as precious as a life in pursuit of attempting to save him.

Startling slightly as Elmpaw rested his head a bit too close to a particularly section of scorched fur and flesh, the molly's face momentarily screwed up into an unslightly grimace for a heartbeat or so. Whether or not he was knowing of her previous actions, one thing was evident- she should've never brought cats as young as Mistpaw, Elmpaw, or Lionpaw into this... massacre. Tail reassuringly twining itself with the young tom's own, her gaze returned to Leopardstar's own, lightly apologetic. "This conversation must wait for a later day, I must find the rest of my Clanmates and daughter. I'm sure you must do the same."

---

The cold rain bled through Elmcloud's disheveled and grime-riddled coat, seeping down to the married flesh that hung in unsightly tatters. It soothed away the duration of his aches and pains, yet it could not wash away the sorrow that stubbornly resided in his heart without fail. With the blood quickly being rinsed away and left to percolate into the starving earth, Jaysong and Falcongaze looked entirely different from mere moments before- it looked as though they had drifted off into the clutches of sleep, not something infinitely more permanent. Too many emotions culminated within his weary heart, clashing like the river during a torrential downpour. Tired glaze flicking upwards at Nightstorm's quiet words, watching as he heaved Jaysong's stiffening body upwards with a sense of care only exuded by a love so unconditional. How could the tom be so calm, even whenever lifting the corpse of a child who had betrayed him?

Would Poppysong or Crowstar have loved him until the bitter end and beyond, such as this?

"I suppose so." Elmcloud did not understand the answer that his heart wished to give in response to the inquiry, so he merely responded in the way that would've been anticipated. Glancing back down at the relaxed features of Falcongaze, the turmoil that licked at his soul with the heat of wicked flames only heightened. Why did they have to decide? Ears, damp from both the rain and blood, pressed sharply against his skull as he finally leaned back down to grasp Falcongaze's scruff once more. Even though only moments had passed since he had initially hauled the dead tom, there was the sour taste of death upon the flesh between his teeth now. "Why did they do this? They said it was for a life together, but they didn't even get that." Elmcloud's words were muffled in a manner similar to Nightstorm's, yet the vibrant turmoil was still sharply evident within his quiet words.

---

There was a heaviness within Adderfeather; one that not only weighted at her flesh and bones, but one that burdened both her heart and soul. Desperately attempting to void Dewshine's chilling cry of grief, the molly was both eager and relieved at the prospect of returning Scorchclaw's gesture of affection. Although it could hardly be pleasant to press against her unkempt and bloodied fur, especially whenever it was soaked, but behaving in a self-conscious manner expended energy she no longer had. Resting her cheek atop Scorchclaw's head as he pressed against her, the grey molly only let out a soft hum of agreement in response to his statement. Tactful words evaded her in such a moment, and she did not wish to say how she truly felt for fear of squandering the quiet tenderness. Eyes drifting shut for a brief interval, she remained quiet for another heartbeat or so.

They were both fortunate enough to escape with rather minimal damage, but who had unwillingly paid the price for their survival? Perhaps her prayers for Scorchclaw's safety had been a bit too fervent.

"You... Walk so sloooowly... Hailpaw." The white she-cat's eyes fluttered open briefly, attempting to take in the carnage around her. Her hazy vision, making out bodies, Pricklepaw's in the midst. 'Prick..." Her eyes closed again.

The next time, she woke again, her eyes flickered to the Great Rock. A mass of splintered wood, in place of where Lichenmask once stood. Dull to the pain, Gladepaw smiled "I... I still killed him... I bet... No... It was definitely my... My tree." she mumbled, mostly incoherent jumbled, it made sense to her at that moment in time. A soft sob, caught Gladepaw's ears, causing them to perk up. She craned her head upwards, trying to get a better look at her sister. "Does... Does one, one tough, unbreakable sister, mourn me, while...While I live?" she muttered teasingly. "I... I feel blessed... Just like Lichenmask said he was... I... I, just me... Me alone, I... I am the soul salvation of the clans... Chosen by StarClan... Filthy... Disgusting..." Gladepaw trailed off her thought processing fading, just like her consciousness. Oh, Hailpaw... I... I'm... I-" Her head lolled, as she returned to he realm of unconsciousness.

~~~

Pumapaw's eyes, glinted greedily as she tackled Fallowpaw, or what she thought was Fallowpaw, to the ground. "YOU SLAUGHTERED MY FRIENDS, STOPPED ME FROM EVER RETURNING HOME, AND YOU... YOU DISGUST ME!" she shrieked, paw raised. Thorn sharp claws, glinted in the red light. "You-"

Her speech, like usual, was cut short as she was tackled to the ground. Amber eye widened as Goldeneye pinned her down, rather adeptly. Pumapaw squirmed under her grasp, legs flailing, helplessly kicking at the medicine cat's belly. It was just out of reach, so close yet so far. "You... How... You don't know me! I was sent by StarClan, I'm no mi-" Pumapaw let out an agonising screech as Goldeneye bit into her neck.

The pain, swept through her entire being, spasms running up and down her spine, causing her to kick out more desperately and wildly. Her claws sunk into the other she-cat's face, watching the blood ooze into her paws. Her teeth gnashed at her throat, catching stray hair, but no flesh. Was she really going to meet her end at the hands of some disgusting medicine cat?!

Her strength grew weaker, as she slowly drowned in her own blood. A death slow and painful, one she did not think she was deserving of. Her pupils were completely dilated with fear, Pumapaw tried to speak, nothing but gargles came out. The blood filled her lungs, and she began hacking violently, spraying the surrounding cats with her own blood. With the last of her strength, she lashed out at Goldeneye's face. Her claws sunk into the flesh below her ear, and she began to pull, tearing off the golden cat's ear with her claws.

Her movements grew still, each attempt to free herself, weaker than the last. White spots gathering in the corners of her eyes. Goldeneye, stepped off the dying apprentice, causing her to cough up more blood, but she found no strength to do anything else. She almost wanted to welcome her death now, to finally join StarClan.

In her last moments, she heard Goldeneye's speech, and the sickening crack of lighting, and then a distant thud. Everything began to swim, nothing making sense. She looked briefly at Goldeneye, almost pleading. She couldn't think, everything was so blank. She could barely recall her name. "Thank... you...?" she barely whispered, unsure if they were even words, or their meaning, but they'd come to her lips. At the effort of speaking she coughed up more blood.

The pounding in her ears stilled, her breathing ceased, and her mind was quiet, as the red night, was overcome with white. It was silent, and pristine, so calming.

Practically jumping out of his pelt when a branch from a tree crashed down atop Great Rock, he closed his eyes and prayed no one got hurt as wood chunks went flying every direction. After a few moments, he slowly opened his eyes and a long awaited, exasperated breath escaped his small muzzle. With so much build up to such a gruesome battle, it seemed to finally be over.

Stepping out from his spot along the edge of the clearing, Tinystar looked to Jaystar, who'd given him a curt nod. Returning his silent wish of luck, he made his way over to Amberpaw. "SkyClan!" he yowled as loud as his tired lungs would let him breathe in. "Gather the wounded together and help those who can't make it back to camp, we're leaving, he continued and after casting a glance to Fernpetal, who looked worse for wear, he turned to Amberpaw. "Amberpaw, I believe Mintwhisker is already back at camp preparing everything for you both, so I need you to help the injured as much as you can here so they're able to make it back to camp," the small, blood stained leader mewed softly.

Looking back to the growing crowd of SkyClan cats, he caught sight of Nightstorm, who had Jaysong's scruff in his jaws. Letting out a sigh, the little leader shifted his weight off of an aching paw before speaking over them again. "As far as the exiles who've been defeated... they will be taken care of tomorrow. While they are of SkyClan origins, they will not be buried on SkyClan land. I will speak with Mistyrain on a suitable place for their sepulture after we get back to camp," he finished. While they may have been of his clan's origins, he didn't want such wretched traitors laying next to his loved ones, whom were actual respected and valued clan members...

~~~~~~~~~~

Making his way over to Scorchfang, Daisyflame was extremely relieved that his friend got out of the battle alive and awaited instruction from ShadowClan's new leader.