Crown of Knives [closed]

Smokefeather kicked dirt over the rabbit she had just caught, dull eyes sweeping the area for more signs of prey. With newleaf came the return of life to the forest, and she'd happened upon a rabbit while hunting other prey. It wasn't her first choice of fresh-kill, but food was food, and the rabbit population had certainly boomed lately. She'd caught it just before it could dive into one of the warrens that dotted the territory, and truthfully she was still surprised she had managed it at all. Bloodstrike had always been good at catching them... Dawnhawk, too. Smokefeather tended to go after what she knew she could easily catch, and that meant she mostly brought back birds, like a good Skyclan cat should.

And speaking of birds... Her ears pricked at the trill of a bird above her, and Smokefeather eyed the branches, surveying what would be the best path to get to it. While there were green leaves on the trees now, her pelt stood out starkly against the foliage, and so she gave the tree a wide berth before leaping into a branch and carefully making her way toward the feathered creature.

Unsheathed claws dragged the bird back onto the branch, panicked fluttering going still as she quickly nipped it. Smokefeather lightly landed on the ground, intending to bury her catch and move on in search of more prey.

Newleaf was getting warmer. And it meant that cats were beginning to shed a lot more. Dawnhawk was sure to be discovered if he wasn't proactive about keeping his fur manageable. The night that he had discovered some ivory hairs on the underside of his belly, he felt a thrill of terror. He checked himself very thoroughly and was relieved that that was the only spot where there were white hairs. For now. Once he was absolutely certain that no other Windclan cat was awake, he slipped out of the territory and made his way back to the river. As much as he loathed the water, he dunked himself quickly in it and began to furiously rake his fur with his claws, ripping loose the tufts of fur that were the loosest. Sure enough, a gleaming, ivory and gold coat shone beneath the stark black fur of his old one. It had taken hours to lick and comb through as much of the loose fur that he could.

I'm an idiot! Of course this would happen! Foxdung, what do I do now? He wouldn't have a choice but to stay scarce in Windclan while his fur was shedding. There was no way he'd be able to just have it all come off and be done with in just one night... maybe not even a week. Dawnhawk looked in a more still part of the water closer to the shore and saw his reflection. He looked horrendous... splotchy black all over his ivory and gold fur... It couldn't be helped. The scene reminded him of a snake struggling to fully shed it's skin.

He tried for at least another hour or two to get clumps of loose black fur off, but it seemed the rest just wasn't quite ready to come out and he wasn't about to force it and look like he had mange. He needed fur to even stain black to begin with. Foxdung! Stars-curse it all! He didn't have a choice. He would have to stay away from Windclan for a little while... or at least keep his visits brief. Dawnhawk used his newfound Windclan speed to race towards Twoleg place and scampered over their fence easily enough. The sun would come out and dry his wet, splotchy fur. Maybe he'd try pulling more out while he waited to dry.


Hours passed as he lie on the brick wall. He had dried in the sun almost completely, all the while raking a tongue down his coat every hour or so to see if he could get even a single strand of loose fur off of him. There were few that came loose. He'd done an efficient job, as tired as he was at this point. He might have been relieved if it weren't for the fact that he was still covered about 60% in rough black patches. He looked like a cow.

He was just about to go apply fresh machine grease later on in the evening when he caught the scent of... Smokefeather... A low growl rumbled in his throat. He knew it had been Beechface to spill the beans on what had happened in that nursery... but Beechface wasn't out and about and alone right now. Smokefeather was.

Time to make good on his promise of how they would pay dearly for it if the truth ever got out.

Dawnhawk leaped from the rock wall to the fence that separated Twoleg place from Skyclan territory. There was more of a thump than he meant to make, as his Skyclan skills were not as sharp as they had been before. That was fine. He made up for that with a speed that, might be only respectable in Windclan, but was still a speed unmatched by Skyclan cats. He spotted Smokefeather burying something several fox-lengths away... and he also spotted rabbit warren holes everywhere.

He dropped to the ground, more quietly than his fence jumping. Down a hole he went, feeling like a weasel, but just as smooth as one. Keeping a mental map of where Smokefeather's location was in relation to the hole he'd just gone down, he headed toward her where the tunnels would permit. Some were far more narrow than he liked, but he still managed to squeeze through them. The more friction against his coat the better, to remove whatever hairs he might have missed. It also coated him in a fair amount of dirt, making him look that much more filthy.

Eventually, he pulled himself up and out of a warren hole... about five fox-lengths behind Smokefeather. He crawled silently out of it and stalked forward. Dawnhawk didn't smell at all like the moor at this point, so Windclan wasn't going to be blamed for what was about to happen to Smokefeather... so long as he wasn't discovered.

"I warned you didn't I? I told you what would happen. You know what I'm talking about." Dawnhawk growled softly once he was maybe a fox-length and a half away from Smokefeather. He bolted toward her, intending to go for her eyes, her face, her legs... anything that he could to damage her. She would pay. She was the reason he was even in this situation. She. Would. Pay.

Burying the bird to come back to later, Smokefeather turned her face toward the wind, quickly picking up the scent of squirrel. Before she could take so much as a pawstep before a quiet voice sounded from behind her.

No. A flurry of claws slammed into her, and rather than reply, Smokefeather whirled on her attacked with a snarl. Claws sliced at her left rear leg, and she twisted, her own claws slashing at the attacker in turn as blood spilled from the gashes left on the back of her leg. Pain shot through her, but Smokefeather grit her teeth and ignored it. Beechface could look at her wounds later, and Smokefeather would even let the medicine cat lecture her about them... After this filth was dealt with.

His fur was dark, mottled with paler patches, and Smokefeather cursed her inattentiveness. She should have heard him approach, she would have scented him if he hadn't been behind her.

Her jaws snapped at the cat's shoulder, only for Smokefeather to recoil, suddenly struggling not to gag at the scent that clung to the cat. He was filthy, covered in dirt... And it was if he hadn't washed in moons.

He didn't carry clan scent, but why would he? This wasn't near one of the shared borders with Thunderclan or Shadowclan, and even knowing that the kit she had thought dead was in Riverclan, Smokefeather resolved to avoid that border entirely. No, he reeked of twolegplace and... something unfamiliar. Whatever the stars-cursed stench was, it was enough for Smokefeather to nearly gag and turn her face as she struck out with her claws.

And then her foot landed on the ground. Adrenaline, Smokefeather had learned, could power one through many situations. It could obscure pain and make one feel less vulnerable than they actually were.

It did not, however, prevent her injured leg from crumpling beneath her. She'd taken little notice of it when his claws had first sliced through flesh, but now it felt as if her leg was on fire. And she couldn't put weight on it.

Smokefeather twisted as she fell, determined to keep the rogue off of her more vulnerable parts... But a cat couldn't fight on three legs, nor could she effectively slash at his stomach like this.

Dawnhawk slashed at her fast and hard, taking a few blows from her as well, as to be expected. Her claws cut his skin, but he made very sure to avoid any attacks to his face. What he didn't expect was that she would recoil after pricking his skin superficially with her teeth. Pink stained his fur where she had bit, but it could have been far worse. So... the grease had other uses... It was tempting to just keep himself slathered in the stuff all of the time, but even he felt sick when the first coat was applied the first time. No... he wouldn't be keeping it on him for any longer than he absolutely had to. He knew that Windclan would probably find out who he was at some point, and he would deal with that when the time came.

Until then, he had an abusive mother to deal with. He eyed her leg and the fact that she couldn't put any weight on it. Another thing he hadn't expected... he must have got her just right. Perfect. He allowed a sinister smirk to cross his face. He zipped around her swiftly and kicked off of a tree nearby, aiming to throw his weight, his speed and his strength into the side of her good leg to try to bowl her over. Then... he just might skin her and leave both her skin and her meat somewhere for the rest of the clan to find.

Smokefeather bared her teeth in a snarl, but didn't snap at him as she would've liked. That had been a mistake, one that was now costing her as she attempted to regain her footing without putting weight on her injured leg.

And all she could do was watch as he bounded past her, for a tree... In a way that was very familiar to Smokefeather and would be familiar to any Skyclan cat, were they to see it. Why him, why now? She knew the answer, of course, he'd said as much... But still, the knowledge hurt, even after everything that had happened. You were never my son, Smokefeather thought, but that was a lie. Once, she would have never dreamed of such. Those times were long past, however.

If she'd had the proper use of all four legs, Smokefeather could've avoided him easily, but she was quite literally a sitting duck. She slashed at him with her front paws as she crumpled to the ground, but Smokefeather knew she stood little chance now. Take out the legs, and there was no way for a Skyclanner to do what Skyclanners did best, after all.

She went down, and a flurry of claws tore away at his side. He growled and shot her an icy death glare. He pinned his ears back to keep them safe and kept his eyes squinted for maximum protection. He then made a move to drive his fangs into the soft flank that was now exposed. He dug his claws into her rib and hindquarter in an attempt to keep her down while he tried to tear away at her softer flesh. If he managed to bite through enough of that quickly enough, maybe he'd even spill her guts. Still, he was aware that she could use her one good hind leg for combat still and kept his chin tucked in accordingly to avoid any throat slashes. He rolled his shoulders forward too to defend the sides of his neck from potential bites.

Smokefeather ignored his glare. He'd always spat vitriol and given anyone he thought beneath him similar looks, and now she was numb to it. She wasn't numb to the physical pain of his teeth and claws digging into her leg and haunches, but trying to pry herself from his grasp was proving useless.

If Smokefeather was going to go down, she'd do her best to take him with her, at least.

She continued to claw at him and even lashed out with her good hind leg, but she couldn't brace herself with her already injured hind leg and this traitorous scum had sank his claws in deep. Agony tore through Smokefeather's side, blood flowing freely to stain both of them.

She twisted, attempting to slash at his face in an effort to get him to loosen his grip. It was only likely to anger him further, Smokefeather knew, but she was past the point of caring. He'd taken everything else from her; her mate, her kit, her sanity... Why shouldn't he take her life, too?

Dawnhawk buried his teeth into her flank and began to chew away relentlessly. He scissored away what flesh that he could... until a clawed toe went right for his face. He released his grip on her flank and whipped his head away... but a claw caught under his chin and gave him a chinstrap sort of injury. He wasn't going to get anywhere this way... He pushed off of her and retreated from the flurry of claws from both sides. Blood stained his lips and he fixed her in an icy gaze.

"Do you remember a time when I was hesitant to fight you, Smokefeather? Do you remember that you made me do it anyway?" He growled, his ears pinned back and his fur bristled to it's maximum length. His tail lashed furiously behind him as he slowly began to circle the injured cat. "You should have treated me better. You deserve this and whatever harm and misfortune comes your way." He hissed. He debated just doing hit and run tactics on her injured flank now, as his teeth had done enough work that if he were to continue slashing at it and irritating it, perhaps it could become fatal.

The there was a gallop of paws in the distance. Dawnhawk snapped his head around to look behind him briefly... there was a Skyclan patrol headed their way. They must have smelled the blood and heard the fighting. Dawnhawk's eyes snapped back to Smokefeather, furious. "You better hope there never comes a day when you are ever truly alone... as I am." And with that, he sprinted off in the direction of twoleg place, kicked off of the ground to clear the fence, and bolted away with his newfound speed of the wind.