Aftershocks [O]

(Immediately follows this topic.)

The race back from the border had been clumsy, red-tinged vision and reeling head making it hard to focus on the path ahead. Stray foliage was trampled flat during the flight, and more than once a paw was caught on a fallen branch or a loose rock, nearly sending the frenzied warrior to the ground. Every time he managed to collect himself just before toppling to the earth. He refused to stop before he reached camp.

What would he even say when he arrived? He should find Bloodstrike and his sisters first. That made sense... they deserved to know first. And Beechface... his hackles rose, and his pace kicked up into a determined gallop.

Newtspring hardly even registered when he made it to camp. He dragged himself through the entrance, his eyes wild as he looked around camp, chest heaving as he struggled to steady himself with what ragged breaths he could collect. Eventually, "SkyClan!" He bellowed, digging his claws into the earth. Anything he could do to ground himself.

He still couldn't see straight. What was he doing? Was he really– was this happening?

"SkyClan!" Newtspring echoed, looking desperately between the few cats still gathered and the entrances to the scattered dens. He wanted– no, needed –to catch the eye of someone. Needed to know this was here, he was doing this, his own mother was a murderer–

"Get out here!" The young warrior roared, trying to echo the authority his father's voice carried only to find his own cracked and warbled. "Now!

There were few things that could instantly put Spottedfrog on edge. Typically, the large, fluffy she-cat prided herself on being level-headed (at least on the outside) and patient enough to sit and wait for information before panicking. But when her brother screeched into camp, calling for SkyClan to gather, Spottedfrog was immediately on her paws, every hair on end, teeth bared, ready. Were they being attacked? Was there a badger? A pack of wild dogs? Twolegs?

Spottedfrog leaped forward to meet her brother, walking around him in a tight circle to assess if he'd been injured. Truly, he looked a little ruffled, not none the worse for wear - physically, at least, and that made the warrior turn and snarl at the entrance, waiting, just waiting, for something to follow him through. After all - why else would her brother be acting like much more of a hooligan than usual?

Dawnfeather sprung to her paws, wild-eyed at someone summoning the Clan. Obedient, she hurried to the entrance, fur bristling. It took her a moment to realize who had called- Newtspring. Her uncle. She needed to talk to him more if she barely knew his voice. “What’s wrong? You okay? You look ragged, Newtspring, what happened?”

Worry clouded her brilliant blue eyes- he didn’t look very torn up, more panicky than anything. Like… the branches were yanked out from under his paws and he was freefalling. Ugh. That was the perfect way to summarize what was in his eyes and panicked voice. She mentally stored the comparison away for later. The young warrior’s heart slowly stopped trying to leap out of her chest, but she was still anxious. Newtspring wasn’t the type to panic without reason, was he?

Oliverain's head snapped at a panicked cry near the entrance to camp. She dropped her mouse, watching a frenzied Newtspring call out for someone to come. Should I- The ragdoll rushed to her old mentor along with other cats. What in Starclan has his paws in a knot? She didn't say anything, just locked eyes with him after scanning his coat for blood. The molly considered getting a medicine cat, but she wanted to hear what Newtspring had to say before she did anything else.

Bloodstrike was out of the warrior's den in an instant, a growl rumbling in his throat on the way out. His eyes landed on Newtspring and immediately noticed how wild-eyed he looked. Bloodstrike's heart dropped into his stomach. How much more bad news was about to come Skyclan's way?

"Newtspring?" He spoke gently, but there was an accidental edge to his voice. His reaction to things like fear and unexpected problems had always been aggression. He would do his best to not make Newtspring think it was directed at him.

Skunkkit had been in a bored funk all morning, so when some cat came screeching into the center of camp, the little tom sprung to his paws and toddled out of the nursery as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. Yes! Finally something interesting!
He pushed his way out into camp and bounded over, determined to be a part of whatever was causing all the commotion. “What’s goin’ on?” He asked loudly, looking around at the gathering warriors with wide eyes and quivering whiskers. The faintest smell of blood hit his untrained nose— the smell of blood, the ruffled pelt of the warrior calling the Clan together… It could only mean one thing, right? “Is it a battle?!”

"Did somebody say ah battle? Lemme join!" squeaked a voice from the nursery, it's owner racing out not long after with her little yet needle-sharp claws unsheathed. The tiny tortie she-kit looked around with expectant eyes only to droop in disappointment. Nothing of that nature seemed to be going on. Only the smell of blood kept her interested enough for her to not just retreat back into the den. Antkit huffed but kept padding forward. Her paws stopped suddenly as she laid eyes on the deputy. He looked so cool! He'd only heard about him before now and he finally got to actually see him. His scars and deformities looked wicked and the young molly couldn't help but keep staring with fascination. One day she'll be just as cool as him and she'll no longer be 'the runt'.

The kit finally managed to look away from the tom to observe the rest of her clanmates. They all seemed... distressed, especially the one that had just barged in. What was the whole deal anyway? Maybe the tom had come from a battle? She needed answers stat! Who better to ask than the deputy? He probably knew what was going on. The tiny kitten boldly waltzed up to said tom and prodded one of his forelegs with a paw. "Ya know what's all the hustle for? Who do we 'ave ta beat up?" Bright orange gaze eager and she was determined to sink her claws into someone who wasn't SkyClan.

With a low growl, Beechface poked her head outside of her den at the sounds of some sort of commotion going on, eyes narrowing in displeasure at the sight of cats crowding around... Newtspring? Her eyes narrowed further at the sight of his injuries and the scent of blood in the air, and with a sigh, Beechface stalked from her den.

"What happened?" She asked, ears flicking back. He'd need to get those wounds looked at, though something about Newtspring's demeanor indicated that something more than just a simple scrap had occurred.

It would've been abnormal for her to remain still upon hearing a warrior call for the Clan to gather. What truly drove Bearflower to react so quickly was the fact that it was the specific voice of her brother, and none else. She immediately pulled herself to her paws and darted over, worry clouding her amber eyes and a frown tainting her face. She couldn't guess what had happened to Newtspring upon first glance, but she knew that it was nothing positive. She lifted her gaze to stare vehemently at the camp entrance as if an enemy was waiting to pounce. Had another Clan followed her brother back? Was SkyClan under attack? Oh, how Bearflower absolutely missed the sheer thrill of sinking her claws into the skin of another cat.

There was no time to daydream about war. The issue at paw featured Newtspring, and that was of utmost importance to her.
"What happened to you?" The she-cat asked, anxiously, as she approached the tom.
"I swear to StarClan, if some cat tried to hurt you, I'll-"

In reply to his cries, cats immediately started to swarm him, and for the first time in his life the swell of attention made Newtspring quail. He hadn't expected so many cats to show up so quickly, to come straight to his sides; he wanted to scramble backwards, but it felt like his legs had locked in place, and he was left to just look between who all had rushed up to him with frantically darting eyes.

Spottedfrog was one of the first to show up, padding circles around him and snarling at the entrance... Dawnfeather was close behind, then Oliverain– stars, apprentices grew up fast, did Lichenblaze feel the same about him? –then Bloodstrike was looming in front of him... oh, he'd have to tell his father personally... then kits were bumbling past his paws then Beechface–

Newtspring's gaze settled in one place for once, amber eyes blazing with wild energy and absolute rage. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bearflower weave her way over, saw her mouth move, but he didn't hear her over the thundering in his ears, over the sudden growl that ripped out of his throat.

Muscles freeing him from place, he shouldered whoever out of his way so he could shove himself right in Beechface's face, jerking himself forward far enough to roughly bump their noses together. He let out a deep huff, lips curling before he straightened himself out and away from her.

"You knew!" Newtspring spat, tail lashing carelessly. "You– you knew, you stupid fox-heart, and you didn't say a word! Did you tell my sisters and leave me out?" No, they would have told you right away if they knew, feather-brain. "Did you tell my father?"

Newtspring spat out the last word like carrion, searching Beechface's eye for barely a heartbeat before rounding on the cats he'd managed to summon. The sight of them made his chest tighten, the coming words feeling dry and rotten on his tongue. He looked over whoever else had made their appearances, finding the faces of his family. They needed to know most of all.

"If she won't tell you, fine. Someone from ThunderClan had the good sense to tell me–" a pause to shoot Beechface another heated glare, "that– that– that–" The words wouldn't come. He'd been so ready to wail this from the tops of the trees, tell the whole forest about what his mother had done, and now he couldn't find the courage to tell a pawful of cats.

The tom squeezed himself back into the center of the group, pressing himself between his sisters and looking up at Bloodstrike with narrowed eyes burning with hate. In a lower tone, Newtspring found his voice: "That Briarthorn is a murderer. That she– that she killed one of their warriors." His legs trembled, like he was suddenly aware of his own weight. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his nest and sleep for the next moon.

"Your– stupid mate, our stars-forsaken mother, is a murderer!" Newtspring went on, voice keying up into a distraught wail. How many of these cats already knew? Did any? Did all of them? Was he the last to know, or one of the first?

And what was happening to Briarthorn now?

Newtspring stepped to her, and Beechface's hackles raised immediately as she glared down at her half-sibling. He was upset, rightfully so. His parents had done nothing but lie and break the code and cost others their lives. Still, she wasn't about to back down from his misplaced fury. She hadn't owed him an explanation. "She's his so-called mate that he already dragged here from Shadowclan and foisted her upon the rest of us without a shred of remorse. Would you really trust him to do the right thing if I'd told him? Did you even know, Bloodstrike? Or were you lied to as well?" Beechface sneered, eyes blazing. Being lied to by his mate would be the least he deserved after everything. Her gaze lifted to the crowd, seeking out Wolfstar's dark form and fixing him with a glare once she found him. "I told Wolfstar immediately after Dovefrost and I figured it out. Ask him why he continues to sit on his paws and do nothing. I only despise her for the pain she's caused my mother, after all, so I must think the very worst of her for murdering an innocent." Her gaze swung back to Newtspring now, and when she spoke next her words were venomous.

"Be grateful that her punishment isn't up to me. She makes us look no better than Windclan harboring Dawnhawk. Murderers have no place in Skyclan, and she had even less of a place here before this."

Primroselight had been just returning from camp after a patrol, only to be nearly whisked off her feet by a young warrior dashing into camp. At first she thought it was just excitement, but the distressed cries coming from camp quickly changed her mind. Picking up her pace considerably, she practically ran the last few fox-lengths back. The unmistakable scent of blood lingered in the air where the warrior had dashed past, only growing her concern. Even though she was quick, it seemed she had missed part of the announcement. Cats were already gathered everywhere, even a few kits had joining in at the commotion. Given how shaken Newtspring (who she had identified as the warriors with the news) was, combined with the smell of blood, this wasn't something kits should be witnessing the whole of, even if they were interested. Trying not to disrupt everyone else, she made her way over to where the kits were pestering Bloodstrike. No doubt this was something the deputy would need to deal with, and two little kits around your paws never helped anything. With a gentle but firm nudge, she directed the kits away from the centre of the issue. 

"You two come over here, this isn't a matter for kits, and we want to keep you safe." She said. Then feeling as if she had been too harsh, she answered their questions for them. "I don't think there will be a battle right this moment, whatever it is. Some problems are more complex and can't just be solved with claws. What are your names?" Maybe if she kept them distracted, they wouldn't know what was happening. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

Newtspring was yelling at someone, almost as if to confirm what she had just said. Beechface. Clearly Primroselight was missing something here.

She had to just hope that the kits stayed out of the way - this was clearly a hole clan matter, and she would need to pay proper attention. Briarthorn. A murderer. So many questions were still unanswered. Who had she killed? When did it happen? In Shadowclan, or worse, more recently in Skyclan? Her sister's scathing words cut across her thoughts, and Primroselight was unable to keep the surprise off her face. She had known Beechface resented Bloodstrike and their half-siblings, but certainly not to this level.

Even if she didn't realise it, Primroselight had almost separated everything that had happened in her mind. To her there was Bloodstrike before Asylum; her father, beloved deputy who could sometimes have a bit of a temper. But Bloodstrike now was something completely different to her. She barely knew her half-siblings, and often forgot they were even family. She had Smokefeather, Beechface, Muddythorn and Dawnfeather, and that was all the family she needed.

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Muddythorn stood beside Beechface, alert to Newtspring's calls. The tom was bleeding, and would definitely need medical attention. The medicine cat almost rushed to him right there to tell him to relax because stress could go and make the injuries worse. But clearly something else was a lot more pressing.

He couldn't help but flinch and take a small step away as the warrior went face-to-face with his aunt. He was only here so he could help Newtspring as soon as possible, because given how it was going, he probably wouldn't be accepting of healing coming from Beechface. "A prophecy? You never mentioned that." It wasn't exactly his plan to contradict his mentor when so much else was happening, but he couldn't help himself. Maybe he was grateful he didn't know, because Muddythorn didn't know if he'd be able to keep something so vital a secret. Should she have even kept it a secret? It might've been Wolfstar's job to deal with it, but when his clanmates' lives could be in danger, wouldn't it be better to have the secret be known?

Bloodstrike watched with concern as Newtspring padded up to Beechface, clearly furious. He turned to face them both and kept his ears pricked forward as they talked. Bloodstrike's claws twitched. Then Newtspring turned to him and had the gall to get in Bloodstrike's face. If you weren't already so upset I'd cuff you on the ears boy... The words that came out of his mouth had a mixture of emotions run through Bloodstrike. The tom was already very well practiced in keeping all emotions off of his face aside from the most intense ones. He stood there like a stone despite the anger and confusion swimming furiously around in his head.

Beechface began to speak again and he lifted his eyes to her. For her to speak like that it made him believe both he and Smokefeather weren't firm enough in their punishments when she was growing up. That could very well end if she didn't start watching her mouth more. Regardless of how upset she was, he was her father and her deputy and he wasn't going to stand for this after today.

"So I am to blame for something apparently everyone else knew about but I didn't? I was not aware of any murder Briarthorn had committed, allegedly, if you heard it from some random Thunderclan cat that you even have yet to name, Newtspring." He shot his son a disappointed look for being so trusting and naive. Did his son not think Thunderclan cats were capable of being nasty little liars as well?

"Wolfstar never said anything to me, and although I'm not pleased to hear this coming from my son on some emotional whirlwind like an adolescent she-cat, he's the leader of this clan and if he doesn't want to share something with me, he has no obligation to, no matter how poor the decision was to not tell his deputy." Oops, maybe that was too far. Oh well... he'd have a talk with Wolfstar later. This was all out in the open now anyway.

"Beechface," His tone was mostly neutral, but there was a darkening undertone that hinted at the fury underneath all of his calm demeanor. "Don't you dare assume I am a hypocrite and a brainless mouse heart like Lilacstar was. You have taken a life before as well, yet you are still here. If murderers have no place in Skyclan..." He nodded towards the exit. "Out you go then." Now that he was done calling her a hypocrite, he lowered his eyes back to Newtspring.

"Now if you're done screeching like a wounded kit for the entire clan to see, what was the name of this Thunderclan cat that you talked to and who did Briarthorn allegedly murder? Did you find out the reason? Was this cat actually innocent or are you taking only one side of the story and running with it?"

“Everyone, please! There’s nothing to be gained by yelling at each other! Let’s focus on the issue and work together as a Clan! What does Briarthorn say- has anyone talked to her, or are we all just yelling at each other?” Dawnfeather jumped forwards, hoping, for once, that they’d listen to her. She looked askance at Bloodstrike, hoping she’d heard… really incorrectly. Why was he being so… brutal? Maybe Jasminepaw had had a point…

“Bloodstrike, what would you think if someone told you Blossomstep had murdered someone? I know that if anyone told me Prima had murdered someone… I’d be distraught… and probably very confused but Prima isn’t Briarthorn. Maybe it’s all a misunderstanding…” She stepped back, looking at Newtspring, waiting for him to answer Bloodstrike’s questions. She really didn’t like how he’d talked to Beechaunt. Beechaunt wasn’t a kit anymore. The young warrior glanced up at her former mentor, noting a bit of tension in the way he stood… it wasn’t good to hide emotions (which she thought he was)… they exploded out like a geyser, drenching everyone around.

Before he even knew it, Skunkkit was knocked back off his paws as the grown cats around him began discussing what was going on. With a small huff, the little tom rolled clumsily onto his side and threw his denmate, Antkit, a glance. She had the right idea about asking the scariest looking cat out of the bunch. But before he could open his mouth to call out to her, yet another set of big paws was bundling him away from the gathered warriors.
Skunkkit looked up with a frown at the she-cat, his ears and stubby tail twitching in annoyance. “Well, how come?” He asked indignantly. “We’re part of the Clan too!” He paused when she asked what their names were. Inwardly, he sighed. Skunkkit could already tell he was in for a scolding when his mother found out he was sticking his whiskers into warrior business. “Skunkkit,” he answered flatly.