why we build the wall [closed]

The past few moons had been exhausting, to say the least. From what she'd heard from her friends back at Asylum camp, most of the other Clans had gone in relative peace, and in SkyClan's case, seemingly embraced Asylum. She'd come to understand that ThunderClan hadn't been very accepting, but Eris had handled it well- and they should be complying, now. Things were certainly... Different, here in WindClan. Where the transitions had gone rather smoothly in other Clans, WindClan's hadn't. There was an overwhelming sense of hostility in day-to-day interactions that was simply draining, to say the least. Nerio, being a standard, had been trained in basic medicine, but she'd taken things a bit further than that, as she'd been rather interested in the art of healing. Herb patrols had never really been her thing, but now she found herself looking for small patches of herbs tucked away where the snow couldn't quite reach them, so that she might bring them to Softbreeze on the way back to camp. She knew that after Dragon had destroyed the herb stores, Softbreeze had likely been fretting over having the proper herbs to heal her Clanmates, so if bringing back a little something would help, she'd certainly do it.

Since the Leaf-Bare cold had been easing up, herbs were able to get a little more sun and hopefully heal from the chill that had struck the past moons. So, now more than ever, Nerio had been on the lookout for herbs that might be useful. Trees were rather sparse in WindClan, and since the Clans weren't allowed to socialize, Nerio was positive that Softbreeze's stores of bark and tree leaves were struggling. So, as Deerhawk and herself walked along the Gorge, she made sure to keep an eye out for a willow tree that she knew to be nearby. When they'd finally reached it, she excitedly padded over to it and began harvesting the bark. She'd been rather distracted for the entire patrol, but Deerhawk, from what Nerio could tell, was a rather calm cat and she knew he could probably be trusted not to do anything rash. Besides, there were always Nightstrikers and the occasional Scout or Standard patrolling the territories regularly if he were to get into a fight or something equally dumb. She did cast the occasional glance his way, but otherwise, she was completely preoccupied on finding herbs for Softbreeze. She'd managed to build up a rather impressive pile of willow bark, and she soon realized she'd be unable to carry it all back to camp on her own. "Hey Deerhawk! Could you lend me a paw, please! I need to carry all of this back to camp but I can't do it alone." She mewed, looking down at the giant pile of willow bark.

Short fur fluffed against the cold, Deerhawk watched in mild surprise as the Asylum she-cat walked up to a seemingly random tree and began stripping it of its bark to reveal the pale, frost-sensitive wood beneath. He knew the bark Softbreeze used had to come from somewhere, but this was his first time seeing it done in person. The fact that even common members of their invaders had medical knowledge, these cats were made of something else; whether that was a good thing or not had yet to be seen. The Asylum had power and skill beyond what the Clans knew, yet the stars of Goldengale, Dappleshine, Raventail, Gingertalon... they spoke of their cruelty. Long-simmering anger bubbled and spat beneath his cool exterior. It made the ice at his paws bite all the harder. He paused and collected himself, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it in a faint plume of mist. He was not alone in these feelings, surely.

Nerio’s voice called him towards the bank and he realized what she did with a half-amused huff. “RiverClan wouldn’t be too enthusiastic to see this.” Things really ran differently now; never in his life did he think he’d be happy to come across a RiverClan patrol right at this moment. Just to see someone else who wasn’t wearing an animal’s pelt. Last Leafbare WindClan would’ve hesitated to ask their river rivals for even dire needs, but now Deerhawk desperately wanted to talk to someone new. He’d never been happy to just sit in camp day in, day out, and with the whole clan practically on den arrest. Like kits “guarded” by eagles.

His gaze flickered to the frothing falls not too far away, moving a stride away from the edge whilst motioning for Nerio to do the same. “It’s always more slippery than you think. More cats have fallen into that death trap than in battle.” The senior warrior made his best guess as for how to properly hold the bark, doing his best not to puncture it with his teeth or spit on it.

Nerio shook her head, absent in her own thoughts but still paying the bare minimum attention to Deerhawk. "RiverClan? Pshh, don't worry about them. Lyralei's got'em under control, we've got nothing to worry about." She mewed, shifting her fox pelt around so she wouldn't have to worry about it slipping while she carried the bark as gently as possible. It was a bit loose, as she hadn't had the chance to reapply mud like she usually did, but that was alright- she wasn't in the thick of battle, it was more to keep her warm now than anything.

She looked to Deerhawk inquisitively when he motioned for her to move away from the Gorge, curiosity brewing within her. "It can't be that bad. Besides, I'll be alright, it's not like we're going to be here very long anyway." She watched as the tom fidgeted with the bark, her light, crystal blue eyes peeking every now and then to the falls in her peripheral vision. "That's good, just be careful not to tear it up too bad. It's not super delicate like some herbs so don't stress over it too much." Nerio's pelt began to slip again as she bent down to carry the rest of the bark, and she sighed in frustration. "These are nice to keep the heat in, but they sure are annoying sometimes. I don't know how the Nightstrikers wear them during the hotter moons. It must be awful." With a grunt, she shoved the pelt backward, letting the hood of it lay limp on her neck, exposing her head and chest. It still lay on her back and draped across her legs, but it was much more comfortable this way, and hopefully wouldn't slip off. "I'm ready to go if you are," She mewed, dipping her head to pick up the remaining bark.

Something felt odd. Deerhawk’s eyes followed Nerio as she talked, but he hardly listened. Right now he felt strangely very, very aware of his surroundings, the gleam of the sun on the water-slicked rocks, the gentle mist rising from the crashing water, even the faded scents of clan boundaries. He felt everything at once. It was aggravating, overwhelming. Yet he did not repeat his warning as the she-cat inched closer to the great divide. Face neutral, as if nothing was wrong. And yet. And yet, and yet, and yet...

Old anger burned in his gut. These cats, they thought so highly of themselves and so lowly of clan cats. ‘How many in RiverClan were slaughtered?’ Surely they received the same cruel treatment, for better or for worse those cats had more pride in their clan than to let themselves be conquered without so much as a whimper. Who had they lost? When could WindClan tell them what happened to Dappleshine? The thought of every clan being systematically picked apart, their elders slain, it fed his disgust. His grief. He carefully approached Nerio, his body ten steps ahead of his brain, already down a path he could not see. Was that blood roaring through his ears? Or the sound of the falls?

...Perhaps peace died along with Goldengale.

It happened all too easily. With one simple shove, not even with his paws but his shoulder, bumped the Asylum she-cat off-balance, and over the edge she went.

The moment her tail disappeared from sight, Deerhawk’s mind finally caught up. Panic overrode his burst of fury and he dropped his willow bark to leap forward just in time to grab Nerio with his jaws and front claws, struggling to anchor himself on the rocky cliff with his back paws. Cursing at the weight wrenching his claws, he tried pulling the tabby back up, but he came to a horrifying realization. What he held in his mouth was not Nerio. It was her fox’s pelt. That meant that her life was, quite literally, in his paws. And it hurt. He hissed through his teeth with every attempt he made to hoist her upwards. His back cried from the effort of trying to keep him from falling after her. And still gravity dragged him forwards. His claws dug deep gouges in whatever bloody purchase he found, but despite his efforts, his moor-blunted claws were only attached to flesh and bone. They tore away until finally, one, two, three came free from his paws, and that was it. His gut plummeted along with her.

Nerio fell. And he pushed her.