The coldest night of the year, it might have been. The exact shade of darkness was that of the paranormal, and if a cat looked up the stars hardly twinkled or shined. Silverpelt obscured by clouds, the biting wind not unlike a hungry wolf, and the constant threat of perdition close on Beecloud's heels all made for a very difficult night. Thrice, he woke up, to an empty nest beside him, and forced himself to remain quiet as his heart shattered for his mate. They would not speak her name. If he told them what he knew, he might join her, but he was in no position to surrender himself so willingly to imprisonment. While he walked on the outside, he could enact change on the forest in any way possible.
But he was running out of reasons to care. The third time he got up, he padded outside of the den and looked around the sleeping cats, finding a spot in the middle of camp to lay down and rest his large head on his paws. At the next gust of wind, he fluffed out his thick pelt against the force and watched loose sand kick up around him. The pawprint he had just made were blown away. All was silent; even the few Asylum cats still awake simply watched him. All were too tired and too hungry to bother with each other. Sometimes, Beecloud considered that Robinloft was dead. For all he knew, she could be, and if that were the case he might as well join her. There came a time where every soldier grew weary of the war, and the tom had never intended to be a soldier. If he imagined his younger self looking at this ragged, hardened thing in the middle of camp, he might be disgusted by the sight of it. When the forest was green, sun shining through the green-tinged veins of leaves and blowing flower pollen into his ears instead of freezing rain, blizzards, and raw cutting air, he would walk these same forests floating like a specter. Beecloud had been happy to make merriment. He was soft-spoken and kind. Naive. ThunderClan had been in a time of peace since the end of his apprenticeship. Pain and grief were gloriously unknown by him. He was a different, lovelier cat, with supple pawpads and bright eyes. He had been equally diligent as he was easygoing, though now the scale had been tipped. The tom in his body was not the one he once knew. Beecloud set his jaw tight. The seasons had aged him, though he was still a young tom in physicality, he felt old. Old as he imagined Oakstar had felt after many moons of his grueling leadership. Beecloud now understood why elders were often wizened and disenchanted and cruel.
Unhappiness consumed him like a burning pile. It took him by the throat and whispered sweetly,
"Your mate, father, brother, your mentor and your leader, the cats you knew and loved, are all dead. Some by your inaction. Some through this unshakeable regime." It pet his cheek as though he were its ward, and it urged him to give up the war.
In a way, he knew that was the right thing to do. All cats are selfish to a point. The ones who aren't tend to be stupid, and pitch themselves into every battle without regard for personal safety or life. You have to become selfish to save yourself. You have to accept that the circumstances are large, but you are all that you know, and you will grind yourself against that stone until you are ash if you do not draw a line. Beecloud drew a real line in the sand with one big claw as he considered this thought, this anomaly to a warrior's belief system. Give up? Yes, give up. He raised the claws in front of his face and flexed them once, twice. It was like he had been cursed. Blast these paws. In some deranged fashion, StarClan had built him in the image of a trooper and sent him out, expecting him to live at odds with himself forevermore, or to perish as he tore himself in two. Beecloud chose a side, finally, but at what cost? Losing every piece of himself?
The tom felt his eyes grow heavy, and in the whipping hurricane that swirled around him, he placed his head in his lap. In the middle of camp, he fell asleep. The coldest night, the most sleepless one.
"Beecloud."The warrior flicked his ear.
"Hrrmph.""Rise, Beecloud."He furrowed his brow, now recognizing the voice as completely unfamiliar. He squeezed his eyes open in spurts, careful to not let in too much blinding light. This was not where he had fallen asleep, rather, this was grass. It was hazy, almost seafoam colored in its strange aura, and it swished back and forth around him. Beecloud was incredibly warm, not like how he had fallen asleep. Strangest of all was the sound of mice, which did not normally scurry so close to a cat without care. He breathed in and caught the oaky aroma of fresh bark on a Greenleaf sunhigh. He gasped, though not from any pleasant surprise, but rather because he did not know cats could be conscious for dreams. In fact, he didn't believe he was dreaming, after all. The warrior's head snapped up rather quickly, and with a tight constriction of his heart, he finally recognized the place of legend, which he had seen once, though it was a distant memory now.
"Welcome.""Sh-shut up," he sputtered, unable to contain himself.
"I'm dead? I fell asleep for a minute! It can't be that cold out. Wait, please, I can't go yet! My apprentice is-""You are not dead. We come to you, Beecloud. We have seen your trials at the border. We have seen your agony. But your journey cannot yet end."Beecloud lifted himself off the ground and found that though he willed himself, he could not come closer. The cat before him was... uncanny. It was as if this were many cats, all presenting as one large shadow. Its eyes glowed with the candescence of ghosts, and its words echoed in many voices. However, it smelled like home. He wondered how many ThunderClan cats he was speaking to at this moment, and if they shared the same expression, or if it was their many varied looks that made this shadow's expression blank.
"Alright," he said nervously.
"What is it?""You have done well, young warrior. You have evaded the Asylum thus far. But to kill a snake, you must cut off its head. The viper makes her den where Silverpelt shines brightest. Beware, for venom fells even the bravest of mice."
Though he hardly had time to comprehend it, the shadow was already beginning to fade from view.
"Can you tell me something before I go?"The shadow-cat tilted its head a little.
"Is she okay?"The shadow-cat was now the vaguest outline:
"She lives."
Beecloud gasped as he woke, legs shooting up as he stumbled to his paws. He felt the sudden urge to run away, as fast as he could, away from that which pursued him. There was nothing there, except for a few lingering nightstrikers. It was early, early morning now. He needed time... though not too much. The Mousehunt would need to know the will of the stars, and they'd need to know it soon.
Robinloft was alive, which meant the rest of the prisoners were, too. And if that was true, then there was hope left in the forest still.
