The Worst in Me [closed]

Having new duties helped to keep his paws busy but underneath it all his mind was burdened with the circumstances of Beartooth's death. Houndheart kept trying to reassure himself that keeping it a secret was necessary. No cat could know. Duskpaw would be at risk. It would only hurt the clan further. Every time he watched the she-cat chat with another clanmate, worry seized him. She wouldn't tell anyone, would she? No they had agree on what had happened. Between his new duties and her nearing warriorhood, both of them had their paws busy and hardly had a time to talk. There was a moment now. Both of them were in camp. Even if she was ignorant to the feeling, the air hung heavy around him.

"Duskpaw. Let's go on a hunting patrol. There's not enough prey." He had padded over and didn't give her a chance to deny it before turning and leaving through the gorse tunnel. His paws buzzed and he hurried along. Once they were far enough away from camp, far enough away from where patrols would be lurking, the tom whipped around and in an urgent, low meow asked her for an answer to his burning question, "[color=#9999cc] Have you told anyone? About Beartooth?" Houndheart felt like his chest was pounded as he remembered. Out here, in the quiet of the snow-ladden forest, they could speak of their sins. As he waited for her answer, his ears rang and he glanced around before meeting her eyes once more. He had to know. This had to stay with them.

"Okay Houndheart." Duskpaw spoke simply, rolling a snowball in a paw as she listened to the birds caw above. Her dusty gray fur was fluffed up in the cold, and the apprentice found herself missing Dacedream and her fluffy pelt. She knew why Houndheart liked Dacedream as well. "Houndheart? Can Dacedream come? I'm cold." The apprentice allowed herself to drift by the tom's fur, but it wasn't nearly as warm. She frowned and gazed at him with wide green eyes, missing the sincerity in his voice each time. They padded in the chill for a while, the hollow forest whispering around them with each gust of breeze. Duskpaw thought it beautiful. Her whimsy was cut off suddenly as her friend whipped around, large eared frame facing hers. He seemed scared, like a beast that had lost too much blood. But Houndheart was not hurt.

"No Houndheart." Duskpaw stated offhandedly, padding away to scratch at a tree, stretching out her spine.

Beartooth was gone. If any cat had told Hailpaw in her younger days that she would be the longest-lived of her siblings, she would have scoffed in that cat's face. Moons and moons had passed since those innocent kithood times, however, and Hailpaw now had to face the bitter truth. One after another, her family members had left her side, slipping into the realms beyond mortal sight. Who had beckoned to them, that their paws had padded so swiftly and so surely into the afterlife? It was a little too late, a little too wishful, to be considering such questions now. The white molly was truly alone now. Old flames had died; the ashes had not born new ones. With the death of her adopted sibling, Hailpaw had lost the last piece of her identity. She was no longer the spunky, confident apprentice who had dived so readily into battle for the simple thrill of adrenaline. Those days were gone, along with Beartooth, Pricklebush, and everyone else. That afternoon, as the trembling forest canopy cast its flickering shadows down to the snow-strewn ground below, what it found at the base was a lone, weary warrior.

The clarity of her mind surprised Hailpaw herself. Her old ambitions gone, only one objective was fueling her now. The end was close―closer than any cat realized. Several things had bothered her incessantly, ever since she had first seen the deputy's corpse. Beartooth, dying of overwork? The notion was as foreign to her as rabbits flying through the sky. It was almost odd how none of his other clanmates had noticed what she had. Had they simply been blinded by grief? Contrary to what he himself might have believed about himself, her brother was not a cat who would have died so easily. The piece of evidence that had confirmed her suspicions, however, had been the neat, almost imperceptible bite marks on his throat, mostly covered by his thick tabby pelt. Hailpaw had never been the brightest star in the sky, but she did not have to be in this case. The circumstances surrounding her brother's death reeked stronger than a pile of rotting fish left on the bank. Grief gave way to anger; anger blazed into hatred. Hailpaw stalked as a hunter that had set its eye on its prey and would not give it up, even to heaven or The Dark Forest.

It would not be long before that prey slipped up; and when it did, the hunter that was hiding upwind of it would strike. She would be the gaping maw, the merciless fangs that would crush both flesh and bone in an instant.

ThunderClan would be reminded once again of the terrible fury that had maimed a defenseless RiverClan apprentice so brutally that he had been thrown into a coma.

Ever since her return from roaming no-cat land, Hailpaw had been unable to fall into a deep sleep. Remnants of her life as a rogue haunted her, stirring her awake at the slightest movement of her denmates. Whenever it happened, she would leave the den for a short while, only returning when the adrenaline had worn off. For better or for worse, such a habit meant that she seldom missed anything that happened under the cover of the night... such as when a fellow apprentice had quietly left the camp before sunrise a couple days ago.

"Have you told anyone? About Beartooth?" Through the buffering winds, an apprehensive voice reached her ears.

Hailpaw drew a sharp intake of breath. She held it―waiting, listening. Never had her white fur come in such convenience before.

"No Houndheart."

Claws slipped involuntarily from their sheaths. An indescribable emotion surged up Hailpaw's spine at that moment. Her fur bristled; her whiskers trembled with the sheer force of it. The vessel filled to its very brim, and then it overflowed.

In a couple of steps, the large warrior had crushed frost and vegetation underpaw and emerged from the undergrowth. She stood directly before Houndheart and Duskpaw. "Was it you?" She whispered hoarsely. "Was it one of you? Did you kill Beartooth?"

As in old times, those yellow eyes shone brilliantly―this time, with the smolder of nothing but pure hatred.

He was unprepared for another cat to burst from the bushes. Houndheart's ears flattened and his claws dug unto the earth. It was Hailpaw. Accusations were on her breath. She had heard. Panic welled up within him. Some cat knew of their secret, the death that had happened at Duskpaw's paws and his covering up. Without thinking, the deputy spoke, "No. No! You don't know anything. You can't know anything. Duskpaw no one can know. Nothing happened!"

The plants cracked like the fox's bones had when she had thrown her beast down the ravine. The crunch of the undergrowth brought Duskpaw back to the death of Beartooth, where she had laid her mentor in the snow. The crows cracked then too, under her claws. Hailpaw was here and Houndheart was scared. Houndheart did not get scared, he was a brave cat, but now his big ears were flat. His lanky body shook. Houndheart was scared of Hailpaw.

Duskpaw only watched with wide green eyes as the white apprentice spat her accusations. She didn't know why her friend was scared. She had killed Beartooth, yes. For the trade. The she-cat took a step forward and sniffed Hailpaw's whiskers with a bold stance. "I killed Beartooth." She spoke naturally, like a kit asking its mother for milk. Duskpaw closed her eyes and remembered the deputy's body dead in the snow. She had slept with him until morning, kept him warm until the crows came. Houndheart was scared then, too. "I bit his throat, like a beast." Duskpaw explained, voice emotionless. "The blood came out and made the snow red. The crows wanted him. But I made the crows' blood come out too." The dusty apprentice took a step back, almost as if she was guarding Houndheart from the white cat that now stood in front of them. The tabby sat and cocked her head, watching Hailpaw with curiosity. Why was Hailpaw mad? Why was Houndheart sad? It was the balance, the way of life. Beartooth had killed her father, so now she had killed Beartooth. Duskpaw watched her breath billow into smoke as she imagined someone would kill her eventually as well. It was like the Thunderpath, a chain of lives. Flintfang, Beartooth, Duskpaw. But who would Duskpaw kill? What would be the factor that would determine her fate?

The apprentice didn't think about the future. She didn't calculate the outcome of her actions. Duskpaw lived in the now. She listened to the trees whisper, listened to the heavy breath of Houndheart. She even listened to Hailpaw's anger. Hailpaw had blood. Like Houndheart, like Duskpaw. If Duskpaw wanted, she could take the blood out of the apprentice before her. If she wanted, she could kill Oakstar, she could kill Houndheart, she could kill life. The apprentice didn't like the feelings inside her now. She wished the power she had would go away. Why was she born with claws and teeth? Why did she have to uphold the balance? Duskpaw gazed at Hailpaw as the world slowed into something beyond her understanding. Time froze as Duskpaw tackled Hailpaw into the ground, rolling through the snow.

She wanted to know if her paws would follow her mind. If her mind told her to kill, would her claws sink into Hailpaw's throat? If her mind told her to stop, would her maw close? There was no other force telling her to end Hailpaw. Silverpelt was silent. Duskpaw did this now on her own volition. She needed to know how deep her claws could go. Was Duskpaw a bad cat? Would Duskpaw survive like Emberheart, or was Duskpaw the antagonist of her favorite elder's story? She flew with Hailpaw as her green eyes shut. Duskpaw's maw closed on Hailpaw's throat, blood gushing from the wound. Hailpaw was red. Duskpaw was red. The snow was red.

Would Houndheart be happy now that Hailpaw was quiet? Would Duskpaw fall victim to the same force that killed Beartooth? The forest grew silent as the she-cat looked up, the trees crowning her head. A broken killer. Duskpaw flung her maw into the sky and screamed, startling the birds into oblivion. She buried her face into Hailpaw's wound, turning towards Houndheart a terror. Her muzzle was coated in crimson. Her tabby stripes were now the heart strings of a former cat. Only her eyes penetrated the sin which now coated her face. She had done it for Houndheart. But really, she had done it for herself. There was nothing to stop Duskpaw from killing whom she pleased. And it terrified her. She had survived, but at what cost? "I'm scared Houndheart!" She screeched, trembiling. She was scared of herself. Scared of her claws, of her teeth. Duskpaw turned tail and ran deep into the forest, leaving bloody paw prints through the snow. She was red like the blood she took. She was capable of all she set her mind to. She was Duskpaw. And she was scared.