Makings of Greatness [Closed]

Twin emeralds seemed to glow amid the backdrop, one that consisted of the deadened marshes, frozen over by the demand of nature. On this particular night, the moon failed to reflect any pale light that refracted from the sun. No, the clouds shunned any attempts at lighting the forest below. And this was where Burntpaw found his solace. Something about the pitch blackness seemed to soothe the tom's soul. He was truly a creature of the night. Despite it being early for the Shadowclan cats that had begun to shift in their nests, every other clan was settling down for the evening. It was a comforting thought, to be aware while no one else was.

Although the tom could get in trouble for being out alone, he doubted that Scorchstar would care much. They had grown to trust each other, even if his regard for the clan leader was done from a taillength away. A mask of seeming closeness was more... comfortable. No matter how much he genuinely loved the clan. Burntpaw simply peered out over the Thunderpath, waiting for something. Maybe a monster? They were oddly silent tonight. His tail flickered with a stretched patience, one that could have lasted several moons. For once, he considered how strange everything seemed when not illuminated by the eerie red glow that had once overtaken the forest. He had been born into it and spent his kithood in it. Any pondering was cut short. Something he would come back to later. But a flash of fur, the outline of a cat, was just barely visible. Could it be a dusk patrol from Thunderclan? Was this what he was waiting for?

Burntpaw stood. What little obtainable light outlined his claws. They slid from their sheathes solely for gripping the earth below. And he crept closer to the thunderpath, staring intently at the other cat, waiting for what they would do.

Tonight was one of those rare nights, where the storm that constantly raged in Flintpaw's mind was calm. His paws had found their way to the ShadowClan border, and stopped tail lengths away from the Thunderpath. Even subconsciously, Flintpaw yet again found himself flirting with death. His claws sheathed and unsheathed into the gravel that lined the black stone. It was a special night. Tonight, the moon was covered by clouds, and there was a foreboding feeling in the air. A haze that seemed to clog Flintpaw's senses and put him at ease. Perhaps it was the night that calmed his mind, or perhaps it was another, unforeseen force that brought him here. Whatever it was, Flintpaw relished it.

He was on the verge of something. A realization. A eureka. So close he could almost feel it. But what the apprentice could not feel were the green eyes staring into him from the other side of the Thunderpath, as well as the predatory bird that was now swooping down above his head.
It was only when the owl let out an ear splitting screech did Flintpaw turn around.

"F-Foxdung!" The gray tabby hissed from surprise, rattled with shock. The bird had raked a claw through the apprentice's pelt before he could react, sparking a yowl of pain to spill from Flintpaw's jaws. Cornered and hurt, the apprentice knew his only choice would be to cross the Thunderpath and make for the trees. His paws drummed against the black stone, blood spattering in his wake with an angry owl behind him. Maybe flirting with death was an understatement... With a monster zooming by, Flintpaw found himself in ShadowClan territory, talons clasping together just above his head. Remembering how he fought an eagle with Swoopnose, Flintpaw launched himself into the sky and raked his claws across the owl's chest. He growled in satisfaction as chunks of feathers were ripped from the beast. Contact In the flurry of things, Flintpaw didn't register the second cat. It was only when the calico body moved did Flintpaw whip his head around.

"When did you get here?" He panted, audibly wincing from the pain. He hoped, for his sake, that this cat wouldn't churn him into the dirt like those Windclanners last moon. That, and they still had the bird issue.


Owl used Talon Strike on Flintpaw, dealing 10 damage and costing 10 stamina.
Flintpaw used Front Paw Strike on Owl, dealing 6 damage and costing 10 stamina.


Owl
HP: 44/50
SP: 110/120

Flintpaw
HP: 10/20
SP: 70/80

Everything happened in a mere matter of moments. It was pure luck that the rumbling of the Thunderpath had ceased, given how rapidly the Thunderclan cat tore across the black stone. His eyes widened in a mild shock, drinking in the near non-existent light to watch the scene unfolding before him. With his keen gaze, the calico easily picked out the descending barn owl's glowing pale face. It appeared that the claws were justified. Burntpaw braced himself with long-fur bristling. He was unphased by the fact that a supposed enemy was charging towards Shadowclan territory but concerned with the screeching foe that swooped down towards the slate-pelted apprentice. Right as Flintpaw noticed him, the Shadowclan cat bunched the muscles in his hindlegs and sprang.

Outstretched claws tore through the feathers and fur, scattering below like a shower over top Flintpaw's coat. Spinning in a quick circle to run back to Flintpaw's side, Burntpaw thudded to the ground, landing with ease. When the other cat spoke, his ear flicked. Flashing the other tom a brief grin, rather pleased to note how little other clans noticed in the dark, Burntpaw's melodious voice rang out, "I've been here the whole time, Thunderclanner. You didn't notice?" There was a light teasing to his tone another ear-piercing shriek caused his gaze to flicker to the owl once more, "Now let's take this piece of crowfood down." With the feathery tail lashing behind him, the calico tom prepared to continue the fight.

Burntpaw used run and tackle, dealing 6 (+3) damage, and using 10 stamina.

Burntpaw
HP: 20/20
SP: 70/80 (-10)

Owl
HP: 35/50 (-9)
SP: 110/120

Flintpaw
HP: 10/20
SP: 70/80

There was no light to illuminate the battle taking place. Only different shades of dark. The two cats leapt in between the shades, striped by the shadows of the trees. Flintpaw noticed the calico pelt first. Very distinct in its markings, not something to forget. It was the dry, teasing voice the tom noticed next. He heard a bit of himself in there, like looking at a more confident version of himself. In a matter of seconds, Flintpaw came to the realization that he liked this tom. The fact that the calico cat could rip his pelt off at any moment was not taken into consideration. Strange, how that happens. Flintpaw found more in common with this stranger than he did with cats he had known his whole life. But then again, Flintpaw was impulsive and trusting this tom could all go horribly wrong. Not that Flintpaw cared. Things had been going wrong his whole life. At this point, the tom was an expert.

Testifying to this statement was the owl that circled above the cats' heads, swooping in for another attack, seemingly unfazed by the apprentices. It shrieked again and dove through the trees, its precision and grace almost awe-inspiring. But it wasn't coming for Flintpaw. The bird turned sharply and made a beeline toward the calico tom, talons outstretched.

"It's coming for you!" Flintpaw shouted, ears flat against his skull. The gray tabby tore after the bird, hoping to stop it before it could land a hit. Too late. The owl closed his long talons around the tri-colored tom's back, letting go quickly as Flintpaw sunk his claws into its feathers. Another ear-splitting shriek and the bird lifted into the sky again. It was unclear whether it would come back for an attack.
Panting, Flintpaw cast a glance to the tom, making sure he was alright. The gray tabby gave him a curt nod, a hard breath coming from his nose. We're almost done...

Owl used Talon Strike on Burntpaw, dealing 10 damage and costing 10 stamina.
Flintpaw used Run and Tackle on Owl, dealing 6 (+3) damage, and using 10 stamina.

Burntpaw:
HP: 10/20
SP: 70/80

Owl:
HP: 26/50
SP: 100/120

Flintpaw:
HP: 10/20
SP: 60/80

The creature's speed as it lofted itself through the air was unmatched by the pace of a cat. Even in his knowledge of cats from all clans, and even those without, Burntpaw had never seen a foe with the ability to move as it did. In a flash, the owl was over his back. Fur whipped over his neck as he attempted to dive back to face it. But the ripping of talons was felt in his flesh before that time could come. Flintpaw's warning had come a hair of a second too late. Only when the Thunderclan cat lashed out and there was another shower of pale feathers was the apprentice release. A snarl built up within his throat. Pain was secondary to the adrenaline that pounded through his veins, the will to drive out this winged-beast. It was just for his own sake but also for that of the strange, grey tom who now wrestled at his side. This needed to end. Now.

With another powerful caterwaul, Burntpaw's voice rang out into the frigid night air. Despite the fire that burned along his back, the apprentice once more prepared to swing. With a wide arc, the bird turned back to swoop down on them once more. It was a persistent being. This time, the long-furred tom was ready to fight back. He sprang. Catching the down and flesh between his thorn-sharp claws, Burntpaw felled the animal. The pair of them thudded to the ground. He was able to tear at it for a moment before the struggle of the barn owl became too much to bear. Leaping away, he allowed the panicked bird to fly wildly, ungracefully, back into the black night from where it had come. His sides rose and fell softly as he regained his breath and calmed the pounding in his chest from the fight. This was the last thing he had expected to stumble upon during such a night. But the waiting was over.

After a moment, he turned to Flintpaw, "The name is Burntpaw. It was a pleasure fighting alongside you. You certainly have skill, Thunderclanner." Behind him, Burntpaw's feathery, long tail flickered. Annoyance flashed through his mind as the stinging sensation in his back became more evident. Instead of making it known externally, the apprentice settled back onto his haunches and began to smooth down his coat, swiping over the clawmarks gingerly with strokes of his tongue, "What were you doing out so late? It's not often Thunderclan cats are out to make prey for the owls." He considered Dawnpaw and Duskpaw for a moment, thinking whether or not they would ever be able to adjust to the nightlife like he had like their mother had been born into. Did this gray cat know them? Pushing the thoughts aside, for now, he fixed Flintpaw with a curious gaze as he awaited an answer.

Burntpaw used front paw strike, dealing 6 damage and using 10 stamina. Owl was driven away.

Burntpaw
HP: 10/20
SP: 60/80 (-10)

Owl
HP: 20/50 (-6)
SP: 100/120

Flintpaw
HP: 10/20
SP: 60/80

You certainly have skill, Thunderclanner

"Thanks. And it's Flintpaw… The name..." The gray tabby panted, watching the sky warily. This cat is strong... Flintpaw thought, remembering his early apprentice days, where even he and Swoopnose couldn't drive off their bird as fast as he and Burntpaw did now.
Maybe you've just gotten stronger... Flintpaw told himself, meeting the apprentice's green gaze with one of his own. His wounds opted to disagree, searing through his pelt like a wildfire. It wasn't a new feeling, but it wasn't a welcome one either. Flintpaw caved when Burntpaw did, taking this time to mimic the calico tom in licking the blood clean. A ripple of satisfaction shot through him then, knowing that the bird had been defeated, with only two sets of paws. It felt good. It felt really good.
When Burntpaw confronted him about being out so late, he wanted to shoot back; I could ask you the same thing. But this was a ShadowClan cat, and Flintpaw was in ShadowClan territory, he was in no place to argue. Although the calico tom's jab did make him smile. It's not the first time a giant bird has taken a liking to me...

"Just a midnight stroll to clear the head." There was a tinge of sarcasm in Flintpaw's reply. He didn't think "stroll" would ever be a part of his vocabulary. "I'm sure you, a ShadowClan cat could understand." The gray tabby opted for a more friendly approach, hoping to find similarities between the two of them. He had taken the defensive side out of habit. It seemed like that was the case for every conversation Flintpaw had. Defending his circumstances, defending his actions, defending his ideas. It hadn't gotten him far, but it had kept him safe. There was no telling how long this exchange would last. Perhaps he'd be told to go back to Thunderclan, or perhaps the mysterious night had more in store for the two. But either way, Flintpaw decided to play it smart and wait for Burntpaw's verdict. The last thing he needed was more scratches on his pelt.

"We tend to do a little more than stroll at night." Burntpaw's whiskers twitched in amusement as he picked up the obvious sarcasm in the other tom's tone. His rough tongue ran gingerly along the stained fur of his forepaws. By clan code, this was an unusual occurrence. But he was surprisingly unafflicted by the fact that a supposed enemy warrior was a mere tail-length away, and the pair of them were settled back as comfortably as clanmates. The calico studied the other cat for a moment just as he placed his pads back down on the frozen marsh earth. It was an eerily silent night, a silence that had been shattered by the screeching of the owl and their owls only moments earlier. Now that peace was restored to the night. That felt right. As he mulled over the circumstance, feeling very little conviction to drive this other cat away given the lack of hostility, his feathery tail flickered slowly back and forth.

Along his back, the markings stung, causing the pacing of his tail lashes to increase for a mere moment. Giving them any more attention would show a weakness he desired not to have. Strength. Every cat saw something different in the word. His reckless ingrate of a brother, Slatepaw, saw it only as brute strength, seeing little in any cat around him. Lichenmask had seen it as a restoration of the clans, a wiping out of any with blood deemed impure by the long-dead clan ancestors. And for Scorchstar, perhaps it was a dedication to the clan through the code that comprised the leader's strength. He found it funny, how hard each fought for their own ideal, namely the two actual leaders and not his mere apprentice of a brother. And yet, the forest still seemed to be wrought with dangers, anger, talks of war, and disease. What did any of it accomplish? His thoughts had wondered like this so many times before but he mostly kept it inside.

Finally, he locked eyes with Flintpaw and spoke once more, dragging the conversation to a place seemingly vastly different from what wrestled within his own mind, "Do you know Dawnpaw well? Or Duskpaw? It seems strange to be invested in cats from other clans but they are my kin after all." Originally, the idea of bringing this up had seemed unappealing but another thought flickered in the back of his conscious. A pale ray of winterstruck moonlight seemed to illuminate the pair as it broke through the clouds. Burntpaw's intense green stare was now visible as his smooth intonation drifted across the nearly stagnant breeze once again, "So you know, then. Who I am. Does it bother you to know that I am my father's offspring?" Because it seems to matter little that I am a Shadowclan cat. Something had hooked his curiosity and he prodded Flintpaw with it, eager to see if his assumptions were correct.

Burntpaw's flickering tail seemed to count time as it passed. The trees overhead rustled with the wind, and Flintpaw closed his eyes for a brief second to feel it. The leaves clattered together as if they were speaking to him, and the new ray of moonlight that shot through the clouds illuminated the two. The lack of tension that surrounded the encounter seemed to claw at the gray tabby's mind, it was strange but it wasn't unwelcome. Flintpaw had already begun to grow a strange curiosity about this calico cat, and leaving now seemed wrong somehow. It was as if the forest itself was beckoning him to stay.
The taste of blood clung to Flintpaw's tongue as he lifted his head from his wounds. They still stung badly, but this was not the time to tend to them. He found himself meant with Burntpaw's green eyes as he lifted his gaze, ears twitching. Flintpaw's senses were heightened, not wanting to miss a beat, and when Burntpaw asked about Dawnpaw and Duskpaw, the tom's ears caught it. The gray tabby's brow furrowed involuntarily, he tore his gaze from the calico and stared at the frosty grass instead. This cat is Lichenmask's son... Flintpaw thought, trying not to show more emotion than necessary. Burntpaw was smart, and addressed his father soon after Flintpaw made the realization. Tail twitching, Flintpaw decided to answer the former question first. "I know Dawnpaw and Duskpaw…" He began, meeting eyes with Burntpaw again. "We're not friends, but I see them around."

The latter question was far more difficult. Flintpaw didn't like Lichenmask, or his cause, but that didn't mean his son was a foxheart. Flintpaw was a very young apprentice when Lichenmask and his followers battled with the clans at fourtrees. The tom didn't get the chance to go himself, but the stories that came from the encounter were enough to detail what took place. He had formed his opinion based on what he heard. Lichenmask wanted to "purify the clans" and "kill all half-clanners." Half of Flintpaw's distain toward the cat was based off the fact that Flintpaw was half-clan himself. The other half stemmed from the fact that Lichenmask's ideals went against everything the apprentice believed in.

"Lichenmask was a foxheart." Flintpaw started, a little dismayed at the words that flowed from his mouth. "But family can mean as much, or as little as we want it to." Flintpaw's claws dug into the dirt and he knew he could go farther. He could provide an explanation, release some of the storm that was his mind. It was the curiosity of Burntpaw that finally pushed the gray tom over the edge, and this particular night seemed strangely opportune."We're all the same really... the clans. Some of us have pureblood and some of us don't, but in the end we all bleed the same color... Thunderclan lives in the forest and ShadowClan the pines, but we all worship the same cats, follow the same hierarchy. It doesn't matter who your parents are, because we're all the same." Flintpaw's eyes were narrowed as he ended his sentence. He watched Burntpaw with interest, taking note of every little detail. Perhaps he went too far in scrutinizing Burntpaw's father. Maybe the calico would give him a logical explanation like Beartooth did. Or maybe Flintpaw had wildly misjudged the situation.

Their eyes met and Burntpaw's curiosity peaked. One eyebrow raised in question, barely visible underneath his long coat as he awaited the inevitable response. Would this tom have the same response as the rest of the of the forest? It wasn't that the calico held any sort of regard for his father's cause like he once had. Rather, he had a unique opinion. His own thoughts were constant, always running, mulling over the many-faceted details of morals and logic. Most cats simply saw Lichenmask's tyranny as a violation of the warrior code they all held so precious, one that influenced their ideal that the murder of innocent lives and a change in their long-held system of life were wrong. Perceived flaws with his undertaking were colored by what the clan cats had been taught and not from conclusions they had discovered themselves. But he saw something horribly disdainful in his father's legacy as well, a violation of one's own ideals. There was only shame and lack of honor to be found in such an action.

Although sifting through the recesses of his own mind once more, Burntpaw's ear flicked in an acknowledgment of the other tom's words. To his chagrin, it appeared Flintpaw knew little about his kin within Thunderclan, but he tucked away the disappointment and prevented it from showing across his maw. There was still more to be said. Underneath the fractured rays of diluted moonlight, the apprentice shifted ever so slightly the weight on his paws. To the untrained eye and mind, it could have seemed he was seeking out more comfort within the position he was seated. But the way he subtly leaned forward betrayed the anticipation. Flintpaw had caught his attention and only further drew him in with what came next. Few cats within Shadowclan had expressed such fully-formed thoughts as the grey tabby that now sat across from him. There was no shared blood coursing through their veins, nor did they hold allegiances to each other in any way. Which is why Burntpaw was enthralled by the growing kinship he felt.

Any of the fire that raged along his spine seemed to cease as he was drawn in by the final statement. We're all the same. The words, their meaning, such a stark contrast to what he had been trained to believe in his kithood.  And yet, given a momentary thought, it was true. Each cat had the same potential as the next, dictated by their ability to learn, grow and seek out genuine success for themselves. Everything that Lichenmask had fought for emphasized a long-standing code that split the forest cats more than it had ever united them. And even so, cats of all clans had been brought together for the sole purpose of breaking apart the reckless code-breaking of generations of cats deemed impure. What a concept. Coming together for the seemingly quintessential goal of tearing everyone apart. A hardly audible snort of contempt left his maw with a sharp inhalation of breath through his nostrils. After that, there was a pause of silence.

"You're right," Burntpaw remarked suddenly. His eyes had been focused on some far off point, beyond the Thunderclan cat's position, "Lichenmask was a fool. An idealistic coward at best. He struggled so hard to make others see and follow the strongly held beliefs that had been impressed upon him. And yet, he could not even uphold the basics of the precious warrior code. Riverclan and Shadowclan blood runs through my veins." Perhaps it was the strange feeling of the night, or that he was spurred on by the speech of his other-clanly companion, but Burntpaw felt comfortable in his musings. As he spoke, he thought. And as he thought he spoke. There was a mounting frustration in his words, some poison behind them directed solely at his father. It was an eloquent venom filled with fervor and not entirely devoid of zeal. Flintpaw had struck a chord with the Shadowclan tom.

After another momentary pause, the tom muttered softly at first, with his word growing into a more enthusiastic candor, "I like the way you think, Flintpaw. It seems the clans have gotten so wrapped up in what they do and don't believe that they forget the most basic factors of life. It's rare to find someone whose head is not filled with the fluffy down of elder's tales and the warrior ancestors. Part of me is wrought with the desire to speak with Starclan someday, the other is filled with bitter disdain for what they've created..." Burntpaw was wrapped up in the smoldering embers of something that had sparked deep within the pits of his conscious. Something that had likely been instilled within him before this conversation but had been set alight by the brilliance of this tom across from him. At first, his expression was a neutral mask. Yet it was slowly twisted into the hints of a contented smirk. There were so many things to think about.

Coming out of his fervor, the tom was prepared to say something more. His maw was parted in preparation for speech when a faint rustling came from some distance away. A quick inhalation of breeze that blew in their direction revealed the sound to be a patrol. Internally, Burntpaw cursed. It was as if this conversation had pulled him from the deafening depths of the river. He had seemingly found the very thing that had drawn him to the Thunderpath so early in the night. Rising quickly to his paw, the Shadowclan cat nodded towards the rancid black stone, "You need to go, Flintpaw. But we should meet again, not at the gathering. One moon, there is a tunnel underneath the Thunderpath. I look forward to it." With little more than a swift dip of his head, the calico tom disappeared into the shadows of the marshlands.

It was hard to describe the feelings that swam in Flintpaw's head. Every word Burntpaw spoke seemed to clarify the storm that swam inside the gray tabby. Flintpaw compared it to the morning after a hard rain, where sun sparkled off the dew left over from the night's turmoil. Beautiful. Everything seemed to come together, to make sense. Someone agreed with him. Flintpaw's eyes never left Burntpaw's as he spoke. He had to see if the calico was telling the truth, if all this was real. The apprentice's original reaction was that of disbelief, but the tri-colored tom's confident speech had made him a believer. There was so much wisdom in Burntpaw's words, beyond his moons. He spoke like a leader, and Flintpaw was enthralled with him. It explained the lack of tension. He had found more in common with this cat than he had with all of Thunderclan. It just drove home his point of all cats being the same. Flintpaw smirked at the coincidence. The cryptic night had indeed brought him to a mysterious place, and he felt better. All the change Flintpaw wrestled with, it felt palpable, and now, obtainable...

Flintpaw's ears pricked toward the rustle in the bushes, and he could tell Burntpaw heard it too. The gray tom almost didn't want to leave, but knew it was necessary. The first cat to understand him resided on the other side of the forest, in a different clan. It was cruel, really. The tom rose to his paws, wounds stinging. Flintpaw's ears perked when Burntpaw suggested another meeting date. There's more to this... The apprentice thought, eyes narrowed inquisitively. His thoughts weren't conventional, and those who agreed with them probably weren't either. What had Flintpaw expected, just a talk? But now was not a time for thinking. The gray tabby dipped his head to Burntpaw, a grin on his face. "It was good to meet you Burntpaw, I'll see you then." Flintpaw mewed, the rare tone of respect in his voice. With that, the tom turned away and raced back across the Thunderpath, filled with thoughts of what their next meeting could possibly entail. Either way, Flintpaw had found a friend today, and it felt good. The storm that racked his mind felt as if it had purpose, and the tom was very much looking forward to it.