stand alone among us [closed]

The last patrol with Wrenspring had been during a storm. Now, it was during a scorching, bitter day, where rays of sunlight and heat beat down on the SkyClan camp, soaking everything in a layer of burning hot light. And it was barely dawn. Redfall could not remember anything like this, a day so hot. Dry tongue poking out of his mouth, his large maw cracked into a yawn, roof of his mouth somehow tasting the heat as he closed it. Green eyes briefly flickered up towards the rising sun. Redfall needed to hunt. Duty? Not really. More of just that he wanted fresh prey and he was going to get it. The tabby's tail dragged slightly above the dusty ground as he nudged Wrenspring with a paw. "Get up, we're going to hunt."

He left no room for refusal and plodded towards the entrance, allowing his burning paws a break in the shady ground of an oak. They'd be headed towards the great ridge. Rock formations and tall trees provided cover and often little mice and sometimes rabbits. As good a place as any. Even if they didn't catch anything, at least it would be a few hours without this stupid heat. Stars, when would it end?

The greenleaf sun was hot and unforgiving. In his short life, the tom had never felt anything so brutal and unrelenting. One saving grace was the fact he didn't have such a long and thick coats like some of his kin and clanmates. For as prickly and dry as his pelt felt, the others had it far worse. However, as he stretched out in the middle of camp, the tom was resigned to believe he was dying. Running through the territory or sprawled through the shallow, rocky clearing, it was horrible either way. The paw that prodded him from this pathetic state was that of Redfall. A prodding paw caused him to roll on his stomach and look up at his denmate. The other warrior seemed to have been growing permanently cross, something he wished could be solely contributed to the overwhelming heat. But there was an obvious rift between the pair, one that seemed contented to fester and grow no matter his efforts.

"Oh, uh, yeah alright!" He called after Redfall, quickly gathering his paws beneath him. The grey and white tom paused to stretch out his muscles before following a long. Wrenspring slowed his pace and sucked in the dry air. Not long ago they had patrolled together and his failed attempt at speaking to his kithood friend. It hadn't gone well and Redfall had seemed as bitter and reserved as ever. As he padded closer, the warrior tried to set forth a lighthearted tone, "It's a good thing we're in the shade, I thought the sun was going to burn my fur off today. I can't even imagine having a coat as long as yours."

One of the things Redfall envied about Wrenspring was his ability to be so... cheerful. It was way too hot, they didn't know how to interact with eachother anymore, and the creek was almost dry. And yet, Wrenspring was still able to be so kind. In general, too. Redfall knew he wasn't regarded as very nice-- heck, you could ask Cedarheart, Crowspirit, Summer, or Dawnpaw and they'd all say he sucked. But for whatever reason, Wrenspring was still his friend. And Swansong. And possibly Firepaw. That was about it. The ginger tabby side-eyed the gray and white warrior as he attempted small talk about the shade. That's all anyone talks about. Hot this, hot that. Yes, it is, and I get the worst of it. But there's other things going on.

Answering his friend with nothing but a slight shrug, Redfall's thoughts drifted to Firepaw as he saw a golden patch of sunlight the same shade as her fur. Wrenspring had one too... what was her name? It was a she, right? Uh... Ivypaw. He hoped. Attempting to speak in a friendly tone (but failing), Redfall mewed, "You've got an apprentice, yeah? Ivypaw-- I think. How's her training going?" Mentoring was one of the things most warriors seemed to share a passion for. There was something about helping a gangly kit growing into a quick-pawed warrior that was nice. Some found it fun, some found it as nothing more than duty. Redfall only mentored Firepaw because it was duty. But it was a source of pride for him as well... or, it would be, once she was ready to become a warrior. He was the one who had to talk to Spottedstar about that, wasn't he? But talking to Spottedstar was not something Redfall wanted to do. They'd talked once, if you could talking as the traditional words of a warrior ceremony. Firepaw's siblings were mostly warriors. It was probably her turn.

The lack of an initial response make Wrenspring's tail twitch uneasily. There was a thick cloud between them, a distance that he still had trouble navigating. This should have been easier. Starclan had bestowed their wisdom upon him and he'd spent the past couple of moons making peace with the decisions of his clanmates. Recognizing their differences in opinions made him more sympathetic even if he believed he would never make such choices himself. But as they padded alongside each other, it felt as if none of that matter. Even with growth and wisdom, the widening chasm seemed to grow deeper. A question came next, causing the tom's eyes to flicker upwards again to meet Redfall.

"Ah, yes, Ivypaw. She's doing great. Very eager and willing to learn, even if she doubts herself sometimes. She'll make a great warrior." Wrenspring smiled, attempting to let the tension melt away as it tried to prick at his pelt. They were simply clanmates out on patrol together. And friends. This shouldn't be such an unusual and uncomfortable exchange; he couldn't let it be. His head had dipped forward with his shoulders ever so slightly and he straightened up, "What about you and Firepaw?"

Small talk proved again to be useless as Wrenspring gabbled on about his apprentice. Redfall didn't think a mentor would ever say, No. My apprentice is a useless piece of fox-dung. His green eyes slid over to Wrenspring. Firepaw was... interesting. Analytical, logical, inquisitive. The last trait was the only one Redfall shared. "She's... good. Hunting especially. Seemed to have mastered the crouch before she was out of the nursery... but I did help with that..." His words were halting as he padded closer to the Great Ridge, and he abandoned trying to talk altogether as soon as the edge was in view. The ginger tabby took a few steps closer to the edge, and sat down, tail almost draping over. Should I talk about it...? No, let him. Redfall raised his broad head to study the sun-baked territory. Lowered it again. Turned back to Wrenspring and sighed.

There was a soft hesitation to the response, whether due to the particular subject or the gaping distance between the pair, Wrenspring couldn't decipher. He offered a slow nod in response. As Redfall, settled down, he too followed suit. There was nothing beyond the unusually sparse call of bird echoing here and there. Occasionally, a light rustle of leaves caused his ears to twitch. Paws scuffed the earth with delicate movements and betrayed the warrior's discomfort. He drew in a long breath, letting the warm air scald his lungs and impressed them with humidity. It clung in the most irritating way and was what finally spurred him to speech, "It's been a long time since we've been able to really talk as friends, Redfall. You feel like a forest away half the time... when's that going to change?" His looked at his den mate with a lightly prying gaze, verging on pleading. Wrenspring had wished for so many moons that this chasm would disappear into the night. As he asked for answers, his crooked tail lashed anxiously back and forth.

He... he really was doing it. Talking about the event that had led to up to this mess, loss of friendship, and loss of trust from Spottedstar. Swansong and him hadn’t talked about it much, but Redfall could tell her gratefulness in moments during and after the battle. His trusted ears rotated back against his skull. It had taken so long to build up better relations in this Clan. He was still working (prime example, that very moment). For whatever reason, Wrenspring was just— just blindly following Spottedstar, just like he had back at the same night. Flashbacks of crimson blood swirled around him, and Redfall was suddenly back at the Gathering, paws stained with red. He was fighting again, slamming into a star-filled pelt. Tears brimmed his eyes as he struck out at random, claws sinking into a shoulder, a back.

When he finally looked up to survey the field, it wasn’t as remembered. Starry pelts surrounded Swansong, ripping out her fur, gouging her pelt, swarming her. Blossomstep and Wolfcall were somewhere among the throng. Throat suddenly dry, Redfall let out a guttural howl as he charged in again. It was too late. The five dead leaders leapt onto the remaining living warriors, simply touching them and letting them fall to the ground. Dead. Redfall tried to tell himself that it was a vision, just a shattered fragment of a memory, that it wasn’t real. But he heard Swansong’s screams, shrill and echoing through the cold night air. His eyes found a gray and white pelt among the starry cats, and he leapt towards it, determined to get vengeance. There was no resistance to the ginger warrior’s attacks, and so they kept coming, paws pummeling away with no mercy until his vision was clouded with tears. A thick slice down the face. For Blossomstep. A bite on the ear. For Wolfcall. And then a flurry of claws tearing into his opponent’s pelt, slicing until almost bone was met, scraping and twisting down the length of fur. For Swansong, you murderers.


His throat was lumpy and swollen, obstructing his throat and voice. No amount of swallowing kept the bitter taste of blood in his mouth up. Redfall’s green eyes shone with tears that threatened to spill at any moment. For a moment, the ginger warrior just stared at what he had done. Wrenspring’s mangled body stood out red among the rocks supporting it. The tears came then, spilling over the bridge of his nose and onto the ground. Not fast and heavy as he’d have thought, but slow and tiny. He staggered back, turning around, head lower than his shoulders. Shaking paws managed to find solace among a few stray leaves, and it was there Redfall managed to hurl every last thing that was in his body. He slumped over the thorns, eyes glimpsing Great Ridge, and then Wrenspring. The ginger tabby collapsed into a pool of his own vomit, slumped and hunched, no longer caring.

Somehow, as if of its own volition, his head lifted and surveyed his work. The screams he’d wanted to released penetrated his throat as whispery, raspy words. It was retribution. Wrong, but invigorating. “You,” he breathed, voice crescendoing as he rose. “You left her. You left them all...” Rasps turned into dangerously large growls. “Left them all, for what? Your blind, delusional loyalty?” His voice rose so high that it caught in his throat, causing him to choke on the bitter words he was releasing. In a barely audible whisper, he continued. “Congratulations.” The word hung in the air, the most venomously coated thing he’d ever said.


Somewhere, deep, deep, deep inside of him, he wanted to turn back, apologize, get Wrenspring to a medicine cat, pray for him. For the most part, Redfall was consumed by a burning, overwhelming hate. That night had changed his life, and in his currently unstable state of mind, he was sure this was justice. Retribution. No one had come back for Redpaw at that Gathering. No one cared. Wolfcall and Blossomstep, too busy taking care of eachother. Swansong, too busy talking to Galestar, before she was sent to the Dark Forest. The tabby wanted Wrenspring to feel that hollow, numb feeling of being utterly betrayed and alone. Still, his tail dragged along the ground as he padded towards the river, prepared to wash of the blood that clung to his paws. Just like the Gathering. Only now, he wasn’t sure if his claws would ever be untainted from the scarlet that flecked them.

Blood pounded in his ears as he stared after his friends with a longing gaze. They had waited moons to discuss the weight between them. Wrenspring had tried but the will to press and break the frail peace between them had only made the young tom more reserved in his efforts. A distant look lit Redfall's eyes. The gray and white warrior leaned forward with concern. He was prepared to do what he could to comfort the other tom, to bridge the gap between their widening worlds. Despite the unpleasant disposition that the russet-pelted cat often portrayed, Wrenspring saw the soft soul of his kithood friend buried beneath. No matter what other cats could say or even his own hesitations in the past, Redfall was a good cat, and his friend. They would work things out.

A hopeful smile crossed his maw but was cut short by a bone-chilling howl that erupted from the other warrior. He was bowled over in an instant. Claws flashed, a flurry of anger and anguish. A mixture of surprise and the desire to rekindle the close bond between them stilled his natural desire to retaliate. And then it was too late. Blood poured from the wound on his cheek. Teeth marks singed the right ear. Stinging sensations followed the tearing of his pelt as tufts of fur where misplaced and scattered around the forest floor. It looked as if some warrior had left behind a messy hunt. And in a way, they had. Screams of protest mounted in his throat but never seemed to quite escape between the barrage of attacks. Instead, he was left with heaving sides and a broken soul.

When it finally stopped, Wrenspring found himself unable to move. His eyes stared wildly up at Redfall with immeasurable sadness where there should have been fear, or even rage. After a moment, marked by the retching sound he could hear but not see given the twisted position against the rock, there came a gravel-throated accusation. Such pure and unadulterated hatred was something he had never witnessed before. Redfall's words were hardly coated with any hints of honey. He winced slightly, from the sound and from the pain. His ears rang and blood smeared the stone further with the action. Redfall's own personal convictions were evident, boldly proclaimed after all this time. It was obvious the pair was at odds with their beliefs, but Wrenspring had never believed it would come to something like this. He shifted slightly to catch the red pelt in his one, half-lidded eye.

Tears stung the sides of his gaze and he whimpered softly in place of the words that wouldn't come. As he watched the retreating haunches, all he could see was Redkit; their paws had danced with ease as they played together and thought little of the grander things at play in the world. How simple it was to behold the ignorance of a kit, and how simple it was to crush such a delicate thing underneath one's pads. It hadn't needed the onslaught of heavy blows or tearing teeth. The world began to fade as Wrenspring succumbed to the blood loss. The tentative hope had been chewed up and spat out, leaving the warrior exhausted inside and out. Perhaps death would be and easier fate, then he too could sit among the stars and peddle distant wisdom that could hardly stop the inevitable.

Was Starclan watching, even now?