February Medicine Cat Meeting 2021

Rookfire sighed as he padded into his den for the night. It had been a day, just like any other that he was in, in which ShadowClan grew to really dislike their Asylum captors. The black tuxedo was starting to become one of those cats. As the moons passed on, he grew to see Asylum in a less and less positive light. The occupation of ShadowClan had been much worse now than when he was born, and while the pro-Asylum beliefs of Iniko were drilled into his mind, the ShadowClan nationalism that his mom had talked about led his mind to make some sort of compromise.

The compromise he thought of was a simple one: ShadowClan pledges their loyalty to the Asylum, and in return the Asylum allows ShadowClan to mostly function as it once was. ShadowClan cats can choose to adopt Asylum cultures or to keep their own, as long as Asylum loyalty was achieved. That was why he spoke up against Tavora during Ebonysong's deputy ceremony. Of course, as time passed, he realized that none of the Asylum cats thought about it the same way that he did, and that ShadowClan would have any opposition crushed.

Still... taking Murkystrike really aligned the black tuxedo against the Asylum. In his mind, there was nothing inherently wrong of a Clan cat training an Asylum cat to hunt and fight, especially a Pelt Ward, widely regarded as 'useless for another role'. If there was a shot that they would not be useless, wouldn't you try to obtain it? It was obvious that the Asylum didn't feel that way, due to their kidnapping of Murkystrike. As the medicine cat plopped into his nest, he turned to his back. If there's something I can do tonight, someone please give me a sign. What he didn't realize was that he would get a sign, one from the stars.

After all, there was a half-moon in the sky as Rookfire slept.

The past moon had certainly been eventful, though it wasn't anything good. Beechface grunted as she shifted in her nest, trying to find a more comfortable position that didn't put pressure on her back or belly. If Dawnhawk's claws had done damage, giving birth to two she-kits definitely hadn't helped the agony wracking the medicine cat's body. She couldn't bring herself to regret attacking Dawnhawk, and nor did she regret having kits. Not regretting either action didn't mean that the medicine cat didn't recognize how hare-brained either decision had been, of course. Hare-brained for vastly different reasons, but still hare-brained. At least her moments with Wrenspring had been something peaceful in this mess. Something that didn't taste of soul-crushing despair and anger.

Attacking Dawnhawk had been necessary. It had saved Smokefeather and Mountainkit. Her wounds weren't pretty, but she'd rather it have been her than another. If she had any regrets, it was only that she couldn't save sweet Featherkit, and that Dawnhawk still breathed. It killed her a bit more each time she had to utter that filthy lie, that she had to make him out to be a savior in all of this. If she was sure that he couldn't do exactly as he'd promised he would if the truth got out, Beechface would've shouted it from the treetops for all to hear. It was the fear of the certainty that he could do as he promised that kept her mouth shut, and Beechface hated every second of it. Something had to be done about this scourge on the forest, and she had nothing. She had tried, and she had failed.

Beechfaace stared up at the half-moon just visible through the den entrance, frustrated. Maybe tonight Starclan would offer something more tangible, and maybe Beechface was a rabbit. She wasn't so sure they were listening, anymore. How could she be, after an innocent kit had died at the fangs of someone that had been her littermate? And in front of their mother, because the crime hadn't been heinous enough. Was Starclan even watching at all? Or did they not even care? It sure felt like they didn't. Bloodstrike, Flowerthorn, Featherkit... The Asylum was slowly but surely destroying Skyclan, and the stars did nothing. Foxfire and Smokefeather were practically unresponsive, two of Skyclans best warriors fallen victim to the Asylum as surely as their mates had been taken by them.

Usually, the medicine cat couldn't quite tell when she crossed from the waking world into that of dreams, but tonight she was acutely aware of it. Of how the pain subsided marginally. Weary yellow-green eyes swept over her surroundings as the medicine cat slowly clambered to her paws, the movements not as stiff as they were in the waking world. The agony that was her skinned back seemed dull and inconsequential, as did the nagging claws that had ripped open her belly and torn through her face.

The medicine cat let out a quiet huff at that thought. Were the stars trying to soothe her somehow, by dulling her pain in the dream world? She was here for whatever message they had, and nothing else. She didn't need to be comforted or coddled like a kit, and if they were going to do nothing at all about the atrocities that the Asylum-- Dawnhawk-- had committed, Beechface wasn't sure they were worthy of respect. Were they happy with themselves, for sitting idle when they had the power to do something about all of this?

The medicine cat paced, tail flicking to and fro in agitation. Her impatience was hardly helpful, she knew that. But she couldn't keep her paws still.

Dennis's little body shook with cold and nerves as he laid stiffly in his nest, trying to keep his erratic breathing quiet for Thornpaw's sake. Helping apprentices visit this 'StarClan' was one thing, but actually talking to them? He was terrified at the thought. What if they decided they didn't like him? Would they kill him, for being the fraud kittypet that he was? Would they threaten him, or tell him to leave RiverClan? Or what if they decided he wasn't worth talking to? What if, when he went to sleep tonight, his dreams would be no different than every other night? What would he tell Ivystar? These 'prophecies' were important to the Clans. To the safety of all their inhabitants. So what if he didn't get one? Surely his mother would exile him at the very least. He took a shuddering breath and forced himself to stop thinking. The more he stressed out about this, the less able he would be to sleep.

He wanted to take poppy seeds to help him drift off, but he couldn't bear to waste precious resources of a Clan he didn't even really belong to. Instead he curled up into a tight ball, so tight that he could hardly breathe, and forced himself to close his eyes. What seemed like hours later, he drifted off into a restless sleep.

Softbreeze closed her eyes.

Did she know it had the half moon? Yes, she did. Did she care? No, no she did not. Dappleshine had come to her last time, but her words came out a distorted mess. She still didn't know if Dappleshine had forgiven her or not.

Softbreeze certainly hadn't forgiven herself.

Likely, she never would. No matter what any cat said, she'd caused Dappleshine's death, and in turn, Raventail's. Two cats she loved so dearly... She'd killed. Then two of her closest friends, cats who might as well been her sisters, left her all alone.

Softbreeze had nothing.

Softbreeze was nothing.

Not without Olivestar and Morningdove.

Her vow of silence extended into the dream world, and Softbreeze didn't even both to get up from where she lay. There would be nothing useful anyway, so why bother? It was the same. Thing. Every. Day.

Sorrow. Pain. Grief. Anger. She was tired of it. And right now, in this moment, she didn't have the energy to play StarClan's games.