Things... Change part 2 [Open]

OOC: Listen to this as you read.

~~~~~~
Ever since she was thrown by the dog, all Burningsun saw was black. She felt nothing. Saw nothing. Her soul was non-existent for this moment. Pain, it wasn’t reaching her where she was. If any feeling was to be felt, it would be the sweet release of bliss.
~~~~~~

Sandpaw cried out for Raventail and Aspenheart, and worked with Lightfang to set his mate down gently, on the grass in front of the medicine den. As she did so, Burningsun groaned, it was a soft sigh almost, mixed with the heavy breathing of a dying cat. A wave of muscle spasms washed over the reddish cat. She was alive! Sandpaw took a step back, allowing for room of those who loved her most.

~~~~~~
A roaring sound echoed in her ears. Slowly, Burningsun opened her eyes. Rock was hard against her paws, and she looked around. Daylily, padded up, prey in her mouth. Her mother’s eyes shined as she set the prey down in front of her. ‘Here, eat this Burningkit. Your first fresh kill!’

Burningsun blinked.

Now, Burningsun was standing on the way down from the mountain. Chaos, all around her. Dogs barking. Cats yowling. She was so scared. She hid closer to the rock Daylily had thrown her behind.

Burningsun blinked.

She stood before Tinystar, her head held high. ‘And from now until you’ve earned your warrior name, you will be known as Burningpaw.’ She was the first apprentice named back in the forest. She would show them all. She would be Burningstar one day!

Burningsun blinked.

Her fur glowed from the moon as Burningsun sat next to Sandpaw at the creek, pressed close to his sandy pelt. Her heart soared, and the stars above her watched. Nothing could feel better than this moment.

Burningsun blinked.

A tree trunk, pressed against her paws as she called up encouraging words to a scared Lightpaw. Her orange pelt blazed in the sun, and Lightpaw’s fur bristled from the heights. Poor tom, he never got over that.
Burningsun blinked.

This time, Sandpaw stood next to her. “I don’t love you.”

Burningsun blinked.

Her clan gathered around her. “Burningsun! Burningsun!” Her warrior name ceremony.

Burningsun blinked.

The tall branch. Beneath her. Everything swirling so fast in her head, her head whirling. “Traitor! Monster!”

Faster, Burningsun blinked.

Lightfang pressed against her cheek. Love scoring away the pain.

BURNINGSUN BLINKED.

Redwing’s body dropping.

Even faster, Burningsun blinked.

A fox and a dog, slashing out and snarling and howling and tearing into her and-

”BURNINGSUN!”
~~~~~~

Another wave crashed over Burningsun, much to the crowd’s dismay. Quietly, a small figure slipped out into the grass. Still. Quiet. Tiny. A kitten, laid next to the dying she-cat. Golden, but so… so… tiny… Sandpaw gasped, rushing to aid the kit out of instinct, but lifting her head, making eye contact with Lightfang. It was dead. Aspenheart worked on her.

~~~~~~

Burningsun snapped awake. Wasn’t she awake just before? Her multi-colored gaze glanced around. It looked like WindClan but it was… different. It was crowded with shadows, pushing in on her as if they were trying to suffocate her. The grass was still and stiff, as if frozen from the frost, yet nothing was there. As she took a step forward, she could feel the blood ooze out of her body. Stunned, she paused taking in the injuries. Oh StarClan… She was in StarClan wasn’t she? She was dead. No! She couldn’t!

“Lightfang!” The she-cat cried out, stumbling forward blindly with blood and tears. She had led her mate to this horrible place, it was almost worse than SkyClan. This was all her fault, and now she was dead. Dead. Dead. In WindClan, no less. She would never see the parents that had died saving her here. “Lightfang…” she called out sobbing again, on the ground. Struggling to stand. Maybe she could fight. Live somehow. Her head whipped from side to side, as if there was a hole she could jump back down to.

Lightfang. She needed him. He needed her. Lightfang. Lightfang. Light-

OoC: No posting order, italic words aren’t viewable IC.

Aspenheart was prepared when they hauled Burningsun into camp, looking quite worse for wear. She was covered in wounds, most being deep gashes and bloody welts. Dogs, foxes, tunnels, crashing. Aspenheart shuddered and approached her, getting to work and wrapping her wounds with thick cobwebs and poultice. Every few wounds, he dabbled a wet moss ball to her skin to hunt for the most gruesome of the injuries.

A tremor pulsed through Burningsun's body, and she gave birth to a kit that was far too small and silent. Aspenheart moved to take the StarClan-bound scrap from Burningsun's side, but hesitated at Sandpaw's approached. He nodded to her in understanding. I trust you with this, his nod said. He continued patching up Burningsun's wounds with a quiet determination as her body twitched and trembled underneath his paws. Aspenheart made quicker pace as he realized she wasn't truly beyond saving. Eyeballing the blood loss and the state of her woulds, feeling no obviously shattered bones, he figured that it was fifty-fifty. Better than nothing.

He looked up at Lightfang's mate, seeing a pain quite similar to Finchstar's when Brookclover was lost to the earth. It was enough to melt the hardened heart in his chest. "If she wants to be here, she'll be here, tree-climber," he bluffed. He actually didn't know for sure if sheer power of will was enough to survive something like this. If he thought about it much longer, he risked attachment. Shut up, shut up. "She's got a decent chance at surviving. Come lick her fur backwards; it might wake her up."

Lightfang had never moved so quickly, nor so carefully as he did when he laid Burningsun on the grass. Afterward, he simply stood over her, the tips of his paws barely brushing her fur, eyes unblinking. His shoulders ached. There were any number of comforts he might have voiced if he had been a less honest cat. ”You’re safe now, we’re in camp, you’re going to be fine.“ But he feared Burningsun was beyond hearing, and he was just as far beyond speech.

They were supposed to be safe here, foxes and all. They were supposed to be safe. The cat who had promised them that was gone, and the brightest star Lightfang had ever known was bleeding out into the dirt.

At some point, the other cat who’d left Burningsun—no, the medicine cat, Aspenheart—had appeared. Some of the blood had been soaked away, revealing stiff ginger fur, and a patchwork of cobwebs and poultices covered many of Burningsun’s smaller wounds. Yet her breathing remained labored. Suddenly, she gave a mighty shudder. Aspenheart’s head turned, and Lightfang followed without thinking. There, amidst the blood and dust and grass, rested a kit. His kit, he realized, with golden fur like his own. Dead before their first breath. Somehow that was the blow that tripped him into Burningsun’s side. Lightfang sank down, down, head spinning, loud, empty. He had never gotten a chance to… He’d never even known…

In the half-space he could see above Burningsun’s pelt, the spotted she-cat’s eyes lingered. The kit was dead, Lightfang knew that, and yet…that was Burningsun’s kit, too. Burningsun’s to name and to know. ”Don’t,” he said, raising his muzzle even as the rest of the thought disappeared. Close as he was now, he could feel Burningsun’s breathing better than he could hear it. Every exhale tugged his focus back to her. Lightfang shook his head.

Aspenheart’s words made him turn. Of course Burningsun wanted to be here. She’d survived so much, and now they finally had a chance at everything they’d promised each other; she wouldn’t let that go so easily, she couldn’t, she was too strong for that. She deserved to make her home here. She deserved to live. Belatedly, it registered that Aspenheart had given him an order. Something he could do. A breath stuttered on its way up Lightfang’s throat, just a little; every one that followed was a sob, but he did as Aspenheart had asked, tongue rasping stubbornly over his mate’s fur, each motion a message. Please, you can’t die like this, not now, don’t go. Half of his family, half of his heart. Half of all he had left. I love you. I love you.

---

Raventail had left a quiet camp. Something about today had set his pelt on end from the first hints of sunlight. At first, he’d chalked the feeling up to Spottedstar’s announcements. Despite spending much of the night awake, Raventail hadn’t decided what to do about the three former SkyClanners. Harboring murderers posed a danger to WindClan; casting out innocents would almost certainly lead to their deaths at the beast’s jaws. He wanted to trust in the goodness of strangers. He also wanted to know the truth. At this point, the best way to do that was to ask.

Whatever resolve he’d found on his brief walk vanished when, at the mouth of the gorse tunnel, the scent of blood greeted him. Someone called his name from beyond the exit. Raventail hurried into the camp and toward the source of the chaos, a cluster of warriors near the medicine den’s entrance. He quickly noted the faces: Sandpaw, Aspenheart, one of the SkyClanners. No, two of them. The second SkyClanner’s ginger pelt stood out amidst the fading leaf-fall grasses.

”I’m here,” he panted. ”What happened?” As if there was any other answer. When someone went on patrol and came back injured like this, there was only one possibility. The beasts had survived the battle after all. His blood ran cold, colder still at the sight of Burningsun’s many injuries. Her pelt looked to be equal parts cobweb and fur. Even more noticeable were the ragged edges where her ears had been torn off—and, as his eyes drifted, a small scrap of yellow fur beside her. Swallowing bile, Raventail stepped back. ”…How is she?” It was the most optimistic way he could think to ask, ”Will she live?”

As Sandpaw moved to help the kit - clearly dead - the SkyClanner's eyes glared at her with a snap of don't. Slinking back, the small cat's soul curled in itself. Once again, was she the cause of someone dying? Close to dying? It seemed that no matter what she did she almost always ended up with the blood of another cat on her paws. As Raventail approached, her blue eyes looked to him for guidance and leadership. The black tom had shown to lead the clan well in Finchstar's absence. Quietly, she spoke for her and Aspenheart. "We were gathering herbs with Aspenheart. The fox and the dog attacked her, and she ordered us to flee back to camp. She fought them alone so Aspenheart and I could escape..." Her voice cracked. She should have stayed and let Aspenheart run and tell others where she was. She would never be warrior material.

In a soft voice, Sandpaw explained. An herb patrol, interrupted by an attack. From the words themselves and the heaviness in Sandpaw’s tone, Burningsun had chosen to stay behind. Raventail brushed his tail gently against the spotted she-cat’s shoulder, a hollow consolation. When a cat wanted to fight, to protect, they would let nothing stop them. Even when this was the cost.

Every Clan expected a certain amount of courage from their warriors; a life in the forest demanded it. As Raventail watched Burningsun strain for breath, he took it as proof of loyalty. By his assumptions, Burningsun and her companions had played a part in Redwing’s death—maybe murderers, maybe witnesses, maybe something in between. That wasn’t something he could ignore. But Burningsun, for reasons only she could explain, was willing to die for her new home. An idea took shape in the back of his mind. Swallowflight. Lightfang. Burningsun. ”You’ve been a WindClanner since you set paw in our camp, you know,” Raventail murmured. Leaning forward, he pressed his nose to a relatively clean spot of ginger fur, ignoring how Lightfang tensed beside him.

It wasn’t a cat’s name that made them part of WindClan. Zinnia and Dappleshine belonged here as much as anyone who’d been born on the moor. But the name “Burningsun” stood for treachery, or at least accusations of it. Maybe that was why this seemed like the right thing to do. There was no time to think about it. He’d never heard this ceremony for himself, but he’d seen and spoken enough of StarClan’s words to make a guess. They were all the same. ”With the approval of my Clanmates,” Raventail said, with a glance at Sandpaw, Aspenheart, Lightfang, ”I give this cat a new name. From this moment on…she will be known as Burningwolf. For her ferocity and courage.”

Whether or not Burningsun—no, Burningwolf survived this, WindClan would know what she’d done. As deputy, it was the only thing he could give her. The small tom stepped away, unwilling to take up any more of Aspenheart’s workspace, and turned to stand on shifting paws beside Sandpaw once more.

Sandpaw nodded to Raventail as he stepped forward, breath held. She watched with a locked jaw as Raventail spoke words of a ceremony - one she hadn't heard before, but didn't doubt the legitimacy, this was a special situation after all. Softly, Sandpaw whispered Burningwolf's new name, her gaze reaching to Lightfang's.

-----

Finally the shadows cleared around Burningsun - whom at this moment was being named Burningwolf - and before her stood a cat she didn't recognize at all. A pretty red somali cat. A breeze drafted and hit her nose - a WindClan cat. She should expect as much, she was on WindClan territory.

"Am I dead?" she wanted to scream, but found her jaws locked, unable to make a sound. She wailed, an eeiry internal moan and tried to run towards the cat. Her paws were stuck fast to the ground.

"You're not allowed to die yet, you featherheart. Don't leave behind the cats you love, it's not worth it, I know. Tell Finchstar I love him."

The voice coming from the cat seemed to not match up with the way the cat's mouth was moving. It sounded like her head was dunked under water and the she-cat was speaking above the waves. It echo'd in her head as her heart raced, and the shadows closed in on her tightly once more, clouding her vision black. Was she really dying? No...

A hole in the shadows showed the she-cat once more, but this time a tiny golden kit sat next to her. So tiny and small... Who was it? Once again, the shadow clouds slammed shut and she was left in a never ending darkness.

It felt like she was tumbling, falling and free floating mid air. As if she was falling from the tallest tree in SkyClan. Whispers, once more, cluttered her ears.

"StarClan thanks you... StarClan thanks you.... StarClan thanks you...."

A deathly like chant, whispers from the grave of long dead voices, forever choked with the restraints of dirt and muck.

Suddenly, she slammed against the ground...

-----

With a gasp, Burningwolf awoke, a quick jump as her heart rate quickly started to flutter and her lungs fought for breath. The pain, the pain of everything hit her as she moaned softly, staring up at the space in front of her, half there. Her soul ached and yearned and all she wanted was this pain to end.

Burningwolf was given a new name, a true initiation into WindClan. Aspenheart had his doubts about these strange outsiders, but Raventail would know better the ways of other clanfolk. Besides, she obviously didn't seem apt to run away from battle. He lifted his head to Raventail. "I'm of the opinion that somebody else deserves a name change in this clearing," he said assertively. "Sandpaw would have ended up just like this poor sap if she hadn't run for help. Finchstar is... missing, and since he's not here to make the choice, I want a say. Spare the punishment. Her brother has to be paw-fed honey every hour because of those creatures, and I think he would like to know when he wakes up that I think she's shown herself to be an intelligent and crafty warrior."

As Burningwolf's rattling, heavy gasp left her throat, Aspenheart leaped to her side. "Welcome back, kittenfluff," he said, moving closer to her face. "Chew this up, drink the juice. I'm moving you to my den, and once I'm sure you're planning on sticking around, you can have poppy seeds and take a nap. Do not fall back asleep." With every move, he tried to shift her attention away from the dead kit nestled at her side. "... Were you aware that you were pregnant, honey?"

Dappleshine limped into camp, head and vision still swimming. Finally, she had made it back. StarClan curse those mongrels.... The sight she was greeted by was what she had expected, with the exception of an impossibly tiny figure nestled at the she-cat's side. Freezing where she stood, she gasped, eyes wide in sympathy and grief. Oh no, StarClan, no... Padding forward, she settled next to Raventail, sinking to the ground as the wounds in her scruff burned. So much sadness, so much death had plagued WindClan in recent moons... When would it finally end?

As if from a distance, Lightfang heard WindClan’s deputy recite something ceremonial. Gradually, the words took a more coherent shape. A new name. A name given without permission to a cat who could neither accept nor deny it. Something hard and bitter rose in his throat. Burningsun, Burningwolf. It wouldn’t save her.

Stomach churning, he shut out the rest of WindClan and continued to groom Burningsun’s (for, to him, she was Burningsun until she said otherwise) fur backward, as if a second’s distraction might be the difference between life and death even though the pressure of his tongue against her pelt seemed to be doing nothing at all. Cardinalpaw, Arno, the tiny kitten lying in the sand. He wasn’t strong enough to change anything.

The first gasp froze him to the spot. After it—not the silence he’d feared, but a breath. Then another. The sound was strained and difficult and painfully, wonderfully deliberate. Lightfang leaned back just enough to see Burningsun’s face. She was alive. With terrible, permanent wounds, with a film of pain in her eyes, with one paw in StarClan still…alive. ”Burningsun,” he said, voice breaking. The comforts from before, as useless as a ceremony, came spilling out. ”You’re safe. You’re in WindClan’s camp, with the medicine cat. The predators—they’re gone.” Pointless, practical facts. Better than please, stay or Burningsun, our kit, our only kit.

---

In the wake of the ceremony, there was only silence. If his Clanmates had objections, they went unmentioned. Rather than a challenge, Aspenheart’s next words were a suggestion. Raventail blinked at him, then at Sandpaw. Honestly, he’d forgotten in the chaos, but she was WindClan’s oldest apprentice by far. He hadn’t seen what she’d done in the tunnels; he’d only witnessed the terrible injuries in the aftermath. Though he understood the tunnel patrol’s anger, by the time he’d come back from the barn, he hadn’t been fully able to share it. He couldn’t. Recklessness wasted at least as many lives as it saved, but at least Sandpaw had run toward WindClan rather than away from it.

There was value in knowing when to retreat, no shame in running when death was the other option. Sandpaw had proven she understood that. At least, she’d started to. Refusing her already-overdue warriorhood had taken some amount of maturity; since then, she could have only grown. Sandpaw had earned her right to a full name. Now, Raventail could ensure she got one. There was a reason Aspenheart had said this to him. ”No arguments here,” he said quietly. ”It’s been more than long enough.”

Then Burningwolf burst into consciousness. Any thoughts of tomorrow’s ceremonies were immediately forgotten. Aspenheart hurried forward in a flurry of herbs and instructions to go with them, while Raventail sank back. One cat they might not have to bury. There would still be a vigil, but at least… No. There was no “at least” here.

A form staggered to his side. Raventail turned to see Dappleshine slumped, exhausted. After looking over so many returned patrols, it hardly surprised him when his eyes caught on crimson. Half-hidden beneath Dappleshine’s fur, a set of ragged puncture wounds oozed. They weren’t as severe as Burningwolf’s own injuries. Still, Raventail’s heart stuttered on a beat, and he took a moment to remind himself he’d seen worse. ”Are you okay?” he asked in an undertone, pressing his muzzle against Dappleshine's shoulder—gently, of course, in case he'd missed something. "…Were you there, too?" Of all the times for him to be out of camp—