blood // water [closed]

Rings of soft, pale moonlight radiated from the luminescent rock as it hung low in the sky. The night was young, enough so that most of the marsh-dwelling cats were still tucked safely within their nests. A light breeze stirred the one settled flakes that had accumulated in a thick veil over the territory. It covered any trace of disturbance. With each step that he took, the calico's markings were quickly whisked away as if they had never existed. To aid in the efforts, his long, feathered tail swept back and forth behind him. There was almost a giddiness to his cantor but it was well restrained. Burntstag had waited for a moon for this moment and it finally came. He had no doubt that the tom he had met would be making the same journey tonight, from the opposing side of the acrid Thunderpath. Thunderclan would be headed to rest just as Shadowclan was preparing to rise for the night and go about their clan duties. The thought that they were so different, one existing underneath the light of the moon, the other the blaze of daylight sun, was intriguing. Vastly divergent in their methods and yet so much the same.

Flintpaw knew. He understood. Behind the intensive and determined eyes of a young warrior were brewing thoughts of future potential. His father had once sought a revolution. It was supposedly for the good of the clans, a return to this code that had long run through the veins of generation after generation. Just as so many fought so futilely to preserve the lives of cats under the pretense that it was demanded of them by the code, the exiles had fought to preserve the code in their own strict way. What substance did those words really hold if only left to be interpreted in whatever way the user decided and to be fought over with such infantile lunacy? Burntstag found himself increasing disgusted with devotion to the very vows he had just taken, especially in considering what it had done to generations upon generations of cats. There could be great strides towards progress, a forest stronger than ever before. But that was constantly forsaken under the ideals of clan pride and personal territory. Lost underneath claws and blood and torn flesh.

He did not even realize that his head shook quite briskly back and forth as he approached the tunnel. The slight break in the snow was surrounded by the soft slopes of snow that had drifted around it, further hiding it from the naked eye. As he slid into the darkness, his fur was snagged slightly by the stone walls which brought up the irksome sensation of disturbed fur. But as he saw the very cat he had come to meet, all else was forgotten and a soft smirk came across his features, "Greetings, Flintpaw. It's good to see you again."

Freshly fallen snow had covered the forest in a thin veil of white. A gray tabby warrior sat alone by himself, watching as it accumulated. There was something beautiful about it, fresh, clean, innocent. It fell upon Thunderclan's undergrowth and the long fern the warrior was settled under. From here he could view the Thunderpath with ease. Sleep was not a necessity tonight. The light of the low moon lit the warrior's fern with light, and in turn, the fern cast a striped shadow onto his face. Only narrow slits of calculating eyes could be seen. Thinking. The tom's clanmates were sound asleep at camp, wildly unaware of how he strayed. They would call him indecent, dirty, and deceitful.

This warrior was Flintfang. Thunderclan's scoundrel. And the judgemental words meant for him, spoken in secret, only seemed to fuel the tom. If maturity had brought him anything, it was confidence and a cutthroat cunningness the tom had found useful. Flintfang's new warrior status would never insure a blind, code-following mindset. He was better than that. Smarter than that. And although the tom was shocked Leopardstar had even gone through with the naming ceremony, it was not something Flintfang would take for granted.

Deciding it was time, Flintfang rose to his paws and shook out his pelt, his pawprints breaking the purity of the untouched snow. Symbolic. The tom made his way into the tunnel, highly anticipating a meeting made a moon before. A cat who not only understood him, but who Flintfang understood as well.

Moments later, a long-furred tom emerged. A grin slowly rose on the gray-tabby's face. It had been too long. "You as well Burntpaw." Flintfang mewed, tail twitching with curiosity. "But I should tell you it's Flintfang now." Whatever was to happen during this night with the low moon had Flintfang's interest peaked. He had found a purpose, and was with the very cat who had the potential to exploit it.

"Flintfang." He tasted the name on his tongue for a moment, breaking the silence of the snow-frosted night, before a smile broke out across his maw, "Congratulations. You were more than qualified for the title." Burntstag found himself once more amused by the idea that he was as comfortable with this supposed enemy as he was with a clanmate. This was merely another cat. The thought wrapped itself around his mind for a moment and prevented him from an immediate admission of his own promotion. But pleasantries could not be forgotten even if there were bigger things at paw, "I've also earned my warrior name. Burntstag." Calico fur rippled slightly as his soothing tone shared the news with the grey Thunderclanner, as if he were speaking to an old friend. Their first meeting had proven that. If anything, there was a kinship between the pair of them that could not be denied. It was a feeling he hoped would eventually spread to the rest of the forest.

"We have their names," the tone of this sentence diverged from the previous candor, something edged its way into the fringes of his words, "but there is something different about us, Flintfang. That's why we are here tonight. The clans would brand us traitors for forging friendships beyond the age-old borders of our clans but their nearsightedness is something that could eventually bring ruin to the whole forest. You saw the last gathering, the mess it became over merely the birth of kits because of the circumstances of their parents. Before the knowledge was brought to the forest, nothing was affected. So what is the point of these laws?" Originally, Burntstag had only intended to speak for a moment. He'd planned to lead into these thoughts of grandeur but it slipped off his tongue like the snakes that slid through the marshes during greenleaf. And, oh, did it feel marvelous. With each breath, his head rose. The pounding of his heart became more rapid as blood rushed in his veins and seemed to invigorate his muscles.

Burntstag realized he had begun to stare in the space behind Flintfang, eyes drinking in what little light streamed into the tunnel. His tail flickered and he refocused to look over the other tom's reaction, "You understand my frustrations, don't you? I told you my father was a fool but he was not the only one. The forest saw the exiles dedication to the code as flawed, and yet they cling so firmly to the laws in their own way. No one seems to see it. They just accept it." There was exasperation that edged its way in. Thinking about how wrought with issues and denial of their own moral code. It was tiresome. How the clans had lived on like this for so many moons appalled him to no end, which was obvious in his claws unsheathing to bad touch against the stone of the tunnel. Undeniably, this was something that needed to stop. Lichenmask had only been the beginning, if this was allowed to continue, the clans would destroy themselves and the very lives they fought so futilely to protect. The clanmates he cared for would be lost. His eyes locked with Flintfang's.

"We have to be the ones to stop this."

Burntstag's last words sent a chill down Flintfang's spine, freezing his bones to ice. The tom's eyes had been cold and calculating, narrowing and dilating at Burntstag's every breath. The sound seemed to fill the whole tunnel, as solid as rock, pressing down on Flintfang, demanding an answer. The tri-colored tom spoke with purpose, a weighted speech, polished, the kind of talk that only stemmed from those confident enough to wield it. Every breath was pressed into the gray tabby's mind, healing him and understanding him with a force. It wasn't gentle like a mother to a kit, it was harsh, like a battle cry, one from leader to warrior. And it demanded Flintfang's allegiance.

"I agree." The answer had been spoken. Flintfang wielded his words now with purpose, following in Burntstag's stead. The tom's confidence had always been there, brewing, and now it emerged into the light, sensing a calling.

"The code forged the clans, but now they're rotting from the inside, like old crowfood. The familiarity of it has killed the forest. They won't stray because familiarity is comfortable. But that sense of comfort is a ploy. The clans will die Burntstag, you see it, and I see it too." The tom sighed, heart pounding. "Why do the clans strive for loyal blood, when all of it gets spilled anyway?" Flintfang's voice was wired with undertones of sadness, they told a tale of battles long before his time, wrought over birth circumstances and blood. It was all so...petty. The way the Clans clung to the code like it was their very lifeblood. It had to be destroyed. The Clans had to be freed from the very monstrosity they created.

Flintfang was no hero. Thunderclan thought him a rebel, a disobedient warrior, and a fool. But this was as noble of a quest as one could be. How deep could this rabbit hole go? How badly had the code ravaged the forest?

"What do you think we should do?"

He was ready to find out.

Liquid fire streamed through his veins and invigorated him with each word that dripped from the Thunderclanner's tongue. He had once considered the fantasy that plagued his mind just that, something so separated from reality that it was merely a dream akin to his own father's impossible desires. But this was real. Flintfang helped to bring it to the forefront and better yet, to life. So many words vibrated on the tip of his tongue. There were so many things to say and much more to be done. Thoughts churned at the back of his mind, becoming more vibrant and lively with each truth that passed through his companion's maw. The sadness that crept into his tone tugged at the calico's chest. It was the very reason he had first begun to obsess over such things, something that might have been written off as madness, much as Flingfang's clanmates had isolated him for his supposedly outlandish opinions. No, this had never been about self-preservation or wild dreams, it was for them.

As he considered the next words, Burntstag found himself pausing to drink in the moment. Pale moonlight bathed their fur, touched only slightly by the sun that was to come after it. It pressed up against the creeping darkness of the tunnel, pushing it away more and more. Offering hope. The future was laid out before their paws and the future had brought them together for this very reason. Perhaps the only two cats in the forest whose minds had not been poisoned by the venomous and StarClan forgive us lies had happened to find each other, to fight together, and to forge a steadfast and brotherly bond. This was only their second meeting and he could feel Flintfang's sentiment as deeply as the one that crawled underneath his own pelt and constantly threatened to surface. Burntstag had shoved it down to the recesses of his mind in wait, for the time to be right. It appeared that time was finally just over the horizon. The rays had begun to rear their heads against what had been a vast and depressing bleakness.

"We must wait." He finally meowed in a grave tone, dipping his head only slightly in an effort to tame the wild passion that flowed throughout his very being. Claws threatened to sink deep into the desire and not let go. But that would be reckless, and they could not risk that. Bringing forth the truth of the code, the maggot-rotten filth that it was, would not be something that would be easily be boldly proclaimed before the clans. Just as he and Flintfang had and would begin to grow in their unyielding belief of the future, others would come, one cat at a time, until the time was right to bring forth their message. It still struck him that so many cats still clung with desperate teeth to their belief in the warrior ancestors. Had those not been the very same who sent murder upon the forest? Burntstag shook his head as he realized once more that he had become enamored with his thoughts and forgotten his speech. Flintfang would understand, he grasped it all with such ease. The pair of them had been cut from the same cloth.

"So many are not yet ready to relinquish the comforts of the old ways. We must be patient. It will start with us, the planning of this new order. Abandonment of the code, of Starclan, these are just obvious needs. But it does not dictate a code all our own, one that will truly shape the future." Once again the impassioned tone crept into his voice as the words broke from between his teeth. Sides rose and fell with each raw, inspired, breath. He grinned towards the grey tabby, "It starts with us. And for now, it is simply us. But others will come when they see what freedom from such stifling tradition offers. Just think of the lives that could be saved, the things accomplished, when lives are considered above regulation." What a beautiful world he could envision. The temptation, the desire, to make it real was an evergrowing thurst that threatened to become unquenchable lest he gave in to the urge. With one final, knowing, look, Burntstag locked eyes with Flintfang.

"Next moon, bring Dawnpaw. It's only right that the offspring of Lichenmask himself be the ones to change the forest for the better. And if she asks... tell her you're one of us."

The words that fell from Burntstag's maw made Flintfang feel special. He felt a grin tugging at the edges of his mouth, green gazes locking. Purpose, it was obtainable. It was the very thing the tom had strived for night after night. And Burntstag was overflowing with it. He was the kind of cat that rubbed off on others. His confidence became their confidence. Flintfang was in good company.
Dawnpaw... The tom whispered to himself, images of the dilute tortoiseshell floating in his mind. Somehow, Dawnpaw and himself had never conversed, despite being in the same clan. But Flintfang would bring Dawnpaw to the tunnel, just as Burntstag had asked. He had a right to see his sister.

"Of course. Next moon. I'll bring your sister." Their meeting had concluded, and Flintfang felt a pang in his heart. Here he was understood. But soon it would be time to go back to ThunderClan, and face the distrustful glances of his clanmates. It made him angry. How could the code say he belonged with these cats when all they did was shame him? What was stopping Flintfang from up and leaving?

But it was time to leave. More ideas could wait for a different day. "It was good seeing you again Burntstag." The tom dipped his head, waving a solemn goodbye with the flick of his tail. Many more thoughts colluded the warrior's mind as he bounded back into his side of the forest. Next moon was a date sealed in Flintfang's mind. Things would happen. Change was coming. It was only a matter of time.