Reality in Motion [C]

The sun had disappeared from the sky above, its last threads of dusky golden light swallowed by the blooming purple of the night. The first few stars had just started to flicker into sight, the cloudless expanse slowly awakening to a bright glitter as the moon started its evening ascent. Most of SkyClan had retired for the day– the last patrols had long since come home, and cats were curling away in their nests, settling down for the night.

Except for one restless tom, who was stalking back and forth outside the elder's den, his tail lashing like a whip.

"Stupid... stupid li'l mouse-brained, feather-brained fox-heart." The freshly demoted Newtpaw spat as he paced, paws hitting the ground hard. It'd only been a sunrise or two since he'd fought Starlingflare on the border and come barreling into camp afterwards, and it felt like his anger had done nothing but worsen in that time.

"Makin' me an apprentice again. All 'cause I was right an' he's selfish an' reckless." He snarled, careless of his volume so late at night. If he woke his new denmates, then so be it. Let them come out and snap at him if they wanted; he was far too focused on burning off his own restless energy than worrying about which cat he woke up with his seething.

"Oh, shut up." Beechface (she refused to go by Beechpaw) grumbled irritably, tail lashing as she poked her head out of the den. Newtspring's ranting had indeed woken her up and it showed in her tired, sleep-deprived expression. Smokefeather was asleep, and Beechface had no intention of allowing that to change. The last thing she wanted was yet another foxing lecture.

With an irritable huff, the demoted medicine cat stepped out of the den fully, sparing a moment to glare up at the stars ahead as if they'd personally offended her. Probably because they had. Multiple times. All the while Newtspring ranted, and Beechface... couldn't find a way to disagree with him, much as she wanted to on principle.

"Bloodstrike-" She spat her father's name venomously, still beyond infuriated from their argument out on the great ridge the other day, "-is a hypocritical bastard. And to think he'd always used to complain about Spottedstar, he's even worse! And Wolfstar is no better, really. If he's so foxing butthurt about me speaking the truth, he shouldn't be such a fleabrained, closed-off jackrabbit." They both were, really.

"Not sure why we expect anything more at this point." She added bitterly, thinking back on what had happened during Asylum's bloody reign. Why didn't Wolfstar trust her enough to tell her anything? That he was so self-absorbed to get angry with her for questioning his decisions only made it even more infuriating than it already was.

"Ugh, I can't even disagree with you. Is this their idea of making us get along?"

Beechface's rumble made Newtpaw stop in his tracks, lifting his head to fix her under a sharp scowl. He curled his lip back and turned away, pointedly putting his back to her. "I don't wanna hear it from you," he hissed, sitting down with a light thump.

"Even if you're agreein' with me. I don't wanna hear it. You knew, and you didn't tell any of us." Newtpaw spat, tail thumping the ground hard. "I'm not gettin' along with any of SkyClan's leadership. Love dad, but he's... whatever you said. And Wolfstar is just–" he snorted hard, collecting his words before continuing, "helpless. He's a hypocrite too, an' he– he–" Another low growl bubbled out of the tom's throat, and he buried his claws in the ground to keep himself steady. "He's the reason Maplepaw died. His idiotic crusade got my sister killed, and I was too young and excited to be a real warrior t'see it was a mistake. And Bloodstrike said I'm what he wants SkyClan t'be! I'm a model warrior, an' I'm stuck here in the stupid elder's den as a 'paw.

He asked me which of my sisters I wanted dead, after he already killed one. He took us to war over a murderer. War! Cats died. We're still sufferin' for it. And when I cause a li'l scene, I get in trouble." Newtpaw's shaking voice paused, and he pulled in a deep breath, shoulders shaking with the motion. Then he slowly turned to look over his shoulder, burning amber eyes narrowed to slits.

"And you. You're the best of 'em, but stars, Beech, you're always so angry. It's like talkin' to a dog with it's tail on fire. And you didn't even tell Bloodstrike about Briarthorn, did you? Said he didn't know. Are ya that bent out of shape about somethin' you can't even change you couldn't do 'im the least and tell him his new mate was a murderer?" His gaze drifted to the mouth of the den, where he could almost make out Smokefeather's form. At least she had figured out how to move on with her life.

Distantly, he wondered what would have happened if Bloodstrike had found out. He wondered if it would have been something cruel and bloody, and he decided quickly to stop thinking about it.

"I'm not gettin' along with ya. Not tonight, at least. I'd rather sleep with a fox. I know I'm not, like, important 'nough to need to be told, but... I think I would'a told the family, ya'know? Would've stopped us both from bein'... here." Newtpaw let out a huff, turning away from Beechface to focus on the stars overhead. "Though I guess I can't blame ya for any'a their problems for a while, huh, Beechpaw? It'll be just those two buttin' heads instead of all three of ya trippin' over each other's paws."

"Hypocrites that can't be trusted. Wolfstar named Dawnhawk deputy without even telling me, and left me on my own to run the clan, because he thought he was somehow going to avoid violence... Or something. His reasoning was beyond fleabrained. He couldn't even bother to tell me what he was planning, and that hasn't changed at all. I'd trust Bloodstrike to be a violent thug with his head shoved so far up his behind he can't see two tail-lengths in front of him, maybe. And stars forbid you criticize them, when they deserve every bit of it." She snorted, tail lashing, "I might've trusted Bloodstrike to do the right thing before Asylum but now... No. He's a stranger wearing what's left of my father's pelt." She told Bloodstrike as much, and he'd proved it. The old Bloodstrike would never have wished his own daughter dead just for a chance at killing Dawnhawk.

"Me, best of them?" She sneered, "Don't fool yourself, kid. I'm just as unfit to lead as they are, I'm just the only one of them that recognizes it and doesn't pretend to be more competent than I am." Her tail lashed in frustration as Newtspring spoke, the reminder of what Wolfstar had said to him continuing to rub her fur the wrong way. How could he possibly think that even remotely okay? Did he want his grandkits dead?

"Maplepaw wanted to leave the clan, too. Maybe it was just your parents being absolutely selfish pricks, maybe she saw the clan leadership for what it was." Maybe Maplepaw had been right to want to get out of this miserable group of cats that held no trust or respect for one another. "Dawnhawk's killed two of Bloodstrike's kits. And he nearly killed me when I tried to step in for-" She glanced towards Smokefeather's still sleeping form, but even though the elder seemed to be unconscious, Beechface couldn't bring herself to say Featherkit's name. Her claws flexed, digging into the dirt, the images playing out in her mind as if they'd only just happened as her fur stood on end. "And Bloodstrike would rather I'd have tried to fight Dawnhawk while I was still recovering after what your idiotic sister did. He's angry that I didn't risk my life when I stood no chance." She spat. "And he says Smokefeather is the terrible one for wishing Dawnhawk was dead. At least she regrets it, I'm not sure Bloodstrike regrets anything other than not having enough blood on his claws."

"And what would you have done, if I told you? Assume I was lying? Defend her? When I told Wolfstar, he seemed utterly convinced that the only thing I cared about was causing more pain because of Bloodstrike bringing her here. I couldn't have possibly been furious that an innocent died! I couldn't have possibly wanted her to face justice for that!" Again, it was always her that was the angry one. Beechface was always the unreasonable one. Without Dawnhawk around, she'd become the scapegoat. Bloodstrike and Wolfstar couldn't see the forest through the trees, yet she was the one punished for being frustrated and speaking her mind.

"You all-" She began, chest tightening painfully, "-None of you get it. Foxdung. It's foxdung like this, why I'm angry. Constant, unending foxdung! And none of you seem to understand that! I used to despise Dawnhawk, I still do, but now I understand why he chose to leave. And Bloodstrike took me pointing that out to be me praising him and told me I should join him. And I'm supposed to be reasonable and level-headed and act like things are fine?"

As Beechface ranted, Newtpaw let himself go quiet, ears twitching periodically as he listened. She sounded... far angrier than he would've thought. Hurt, tired, especially when she pressed about being the one that was supposed to be okay. The mottled tabby tried to catch her eye, but even if she had been looking at him, he wasn't sure he would've been able to meet her gaze.

He suddenly felt small, in a way he hadn't since the night they marched back home from WindClan. Small, and scared, and he couldn't help but wonder if other cats would want to run to their mother when they felt that way. He wondered if he really did want to go to her, regardless of everything, or if he was just that tired.

"You don't– I mean, really– well, why–" Newtpaw tried a few times before just clearing his throat and hanging his head. Nothing felt like the right thing to say anymore. Even every pointless, angry remark sitting on the tip of his tongue refused to come out when he thought about how pained she sounded. Comforting cats wasn't his strong suit; he was far better at just talking, and figuring things out as he went. But the only thing he could think to 'just talk' about was that, and pressing that seemed like nothing but giving Beechface an excuse to bite his tail off. Still:

"Don't think I knew Dawnhawk was deputy." He mewed, turning his head to stare off towards Wolfstar's den. "That's– hm. Kinda... that's pathetic. I'm... 'm sorry, Beechface?" Newtpaw tipped his head, hesitance in his apology, but he quickly barreled on to cover the rest of her points.

"You're the best 'cause you don't pretend to know what you're doin'. Much as we butt heads, I like that about ya. It's... honest. I know what I'm gonna get from ya, like it or not. Those two... guessin' their mood is like tryin' to tell someone the weather three moons from now. It's impossible." So dangerously unstable, and the Clan was supposed to look up to them. Newtpaw couldn't tried to keep his hackles flat, but he couldn't hide the way his fur rose or his forelegs trembled as he pressed his claws deeper into the earth. "Maplepaw never told me she wanted to leave." Maybe it should've been obvious. In hindsight, it was. He didn't want to dwell on her too much.

"I... I dunno what I would'a done, Beech. I really don't. But, I mean... I can't argue with ya gettin' signs from StarClan." Stupid, rotten StarClan, that seemed to want nothing more than to rip SkyClan to pieces. "Especially since... whoever ThunderClan's medicine cat is saw signs, too. Y'know, if Wolfstar had waited a single heartbeat, I would'a told 'em that's how I knew." Newtpaw snorted, ears pinned flat. "I know the name of the cat who told me. It wasn't just some... random warrior. 'Is name is Starlingflare. He told me both of ya got signs from StarClan 'bout it. I don't– I don't like it! I don't want my mother to be a murderer." Newtpaw's voice had turned into a whine, like a kit who'd just been scolded over nothing. Really, he felt like that, too. He hadn't been in the wrong– he'd been looking out for his Clan. Wasn't that what a good warrior was supposed to do? Defend their Clan at all costs?

And yet, when he had tried to do exactly that, he'd gotten chastised and punished. Let 'em sort it out on their own, then.

"I do wanna defend her. I don't– I don't always like her but she's still my mom. I don't want it t'be true, but least I'm smart enough not t'argue with two medicine cats over it. If it's true, then... then oh well. Yeah, I hate it, an' it hurts, but... Needs'a the many over good of the few, or somethin'. I'd rather be sore over havin' to kick out Briarthorn than put the rest of SkyClan in danger."

Do I really care 'bout SkyClan that much though? What've they done for me?

Raise me. Barely. But with everythin' else...

Newtpaw shook himself out, lost in thought for a moment before he barked a laugh. It was one short, quick noise, but it was followed swiftly by a real laugh. The tom shook his head slowly, getting to his paws to move to Beechface's side.

"If y'wanna leave, maybe ya should. We got Muddythorn, eh?" His tone was light as he gently shouldered his half-sister. "I can see ya bein' a fat, happy kittypet. If ya don't claw your twolegs' ugly li'l paws off." Another half-chuckle chased by a sigh. When Newtpaw started talking again, his voice had picked up a somber tone again. "Maybe I'd go with ya if you did. But nah, I don't think you're s'pposed to be reasonable at all. That ain't you, Beechface. My whole life you've been loud 'n' angry 'n' always right. Ya work yourself t'the ground, no one says a word. But ya do it anyway. You... you do the right thing." He tried a smile, feathery tail flicking Beechface's flank. "Reasonable, put-together Beech is pretty scary. I like the 'mean,' rough one better. Even if I'm mad at ya, I still trust you more than those two. Don't act like ya gotta keep goin' just for them."

"I found out at the same time the rest of the clan did." Her voice was flat, the anger dulled by exhaustion and pain. She'd asked herself over and over why Wolfstar hadn't trusted her enough to at least give her a warning. Even now, she still didn't know why. Their argument in the trees had spiraled into an argument of responsibility and kittish behavior and what Wolfstar had thought was best for the clan, and the way it had ended hadn't helped. If she closed her eyes she could still see Wolfstar falling, could still hear the sickening thud as he finally hit the ground. It had been because of her, her panic, her stubbornness to climb fire-and leafbare-weakened trees that had led to it. Acid stung the back of her throat.

"She asked if I would stop her if she tried to leave. I said no." A sharp, bitter laugh escaped the demoted medicine cat. She hadn't done it out of some altruistic kindness, she was pretty sure Newtpaw would realize it immediately. How could he not? Maplepaw leaving had meant one less reminder, one less claw digging into her chest. And then Dawnhawk had taken away whatever decision Maplepaw would have made.

"Dovefrost... If he hadn't brought it up while we were gathering herbs, I don't think either of us would have even figured it out, it was so cryptic and she hadn't even been brought into the clan yet, when I'd gotten it. I hadn't even known Robinloft was murdered." Her claws dug into the earth. Stupid starclan and their stupid cryptic foxdung.

"Yeah, well, I wish Bloodstrike and Wolfstar weren't such pricks, but here we are. You didn't know either of them before Asylum, I almost envy you for that. Maybe it would be easier." She'd looked up to both of them, once. They'd been a functional family and not this... this mess of broken trust and hostile words. She hardly recognized herself now, let alone either of them. The truth stung. Her vision blurred and she blinked, staring down at her paws without really seeing them. Newtpaw moved over to her side and Beechpaw hardly noticed, her shoulders hunched and tense. She registered his tail brushing her flank, distant, hardly earning a weak flinch in response.

Why was he apologizing? He of all cats had no reason to like her, even less reason to empathize with her after every harsh word aimed he and his littermates' way. Abruptly, all Beechface wanted was to curl up next to Smokefeather and cry into her mother's fur. Her paws felt like stone, keeping her in place. She didn't have the strength to engage with his attempt at humor, much less piece together what Newtpaw was actually saying. Twolegs... Like she'd let one of them within spitting distance of her.

"Leave and do what? Spend the rest of my days worrying over what's become of this stars-forsaken clan with two fumbling, featherbrained jackrabbits leading them? Worry about what random trouble an apprentice gets into, or about when Dawnhawk will strike next? Worry about Foxfire, still unconscious in the den?" She had never been good at hiding her anxiety, and the suggestion that she just... leave was enough for it to spike. Because being angry and frustrated and hurt wasn't enough. "I can't leave for the bloody moonstone without worrying something will go wrong, and you suggest that I just... leave?"

Newtpaw listened as Beechface spoke, offering only the occasional snort to confirm he was still paying attention. The future of SkyClan sure seemed miserable when their own high ranks couldn't keep themselves together... the tom was about to quip something about that, jaw half-parted when the medicine cat's voice started to rise, strained and angry.

Ears flattening, Newtpaw shifted away, staring at his sister through narrowed eyes. "Quit yellin' at me over it. I'm tryin' to be helpful." He started gruffly, pausing for only a moment before continuing on, "Then stop worryin'." No light-hearted warmth had returned to hint he might be joking. "All this place does is stress ya out. I'm not tryin' to run you out of the Clan, Beech, or tell you ya shouldn't care, I'm just sayin'." Turning his steady gaze to the heart of the camp, Newtpaw hummed to himself.

"I'm not sayin' you should leave. Pro'ly get eaten by a badger before the end of leaf-fall, anyway." He snickered, but there was no humor in the sound. "Just... take a break. You're no good as a medicine cat when you're marchin' around hatin' every day you have to open yer eyes. Stop carin' so much. It'll kill ya." Newtpaw's voice was rough, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to cover some of the sharpness in his speech. "I know it's your job, lookin' after all of us, but.. I dunno. Maybe you put too much into it. SkyClan's a mess, but it ain't on you to look after us. Well, it– it is, But yer fur shouldn't be fallin' out over it."

With a heavy, world-weary sigh, the mottled tabby slumped forward, limbs splaying out at awkward angles as he lay down. "It won't always be those two, Beech. Someday things're gonna get better. I dunno, but... someday. 'Sides, they don't listen to ya anyway. Why bother wastin' your time fightin' with 'em? Worry about Muddythorn. Worry 'bout Foxfire. Let those jackrabbits figure it out themselves." It was hypocritical, he knew that. When he'd spent half the evening stalking outside the den muttering about how Wolfstar had wronged him. It was hypocritical, when he knew he would think about the rise of Bloodstar and shudder at the thought. He didn't need to follow his own advice to give it out.

Twisting into a more comfortable position, Newtpaw grumbled something about sore muscles and wanting to get out of camp again before letting his head rest against the earth. "Look at us, bondin'. Just sittin' here bein' angry together. I dunno if we're getting along, but we're sure doin' somethin'." His mew had picked up a casual ease again, and Newtpaw seemed entirely uninterested in whether Beechface was still listening or not as he stared out at the dens he could see. "'Sides all my actin' smart and sagely and tryin' to help 'cause I'm the best brother you'll ever get, I'll give ya this much. I worry too. Try not to, but... Well, I wouldn't'a come crashin' into camp like my tail was on fire if I didn't care. Take it easy, though. You could learn a thing or two from me." Newtpaw purred, flicking his tail in Beechface's vague direction. Stars, he hoped she didn't keep yelling at him. He wasn't in the mood to push his luck with waking up Smokefeather, or some grouchy warrior with their screaming match. It was a bit too late for biting someone's ears off and getting in more trouble than he already had.

"I was never good as a medicine cat to begin with, don't pretend otherwise." She scoffed, one paw idly scraping across the earth in front of her, claws mindlessly picking at the tiny blades of grass. The notion of taking a step baack and just... not caring wasn't something she'd ever been familiar with. It was a foreign concept. On some level, Newtpaw's words registered, yet she couldn't seem to make them click. Maybe she'd just spent far too long stressing about all of this. Skyclan certainly had a way of making one's stress levels skyrocket, and Beechface saw no end to that anytime soon, especially not with their current leadership.

"I don't want to be this fox'ing stressed all the time, believe me." She huffed, stretching out and resting her head on her paws. "Maybe one day they'll actually let me retire. Muddythorn's fully trained, there's no need for two of us." And yet even that hope she'd clung to seemed distant, like it would never wind up actually happening. She wasn't sure when she'd gotten to be so pessimistic, but what else did she have?

"Yeah, yeah... You're alright." Beechface wasn't sure she'd go so far as to call him brother, but Newtspring was... Okay. "I haven't wanted to rip your pelt off for five minutes, that's something." She added, lips twitching into a brief smirk.

As Beechface joined him in laying down, Newtpaw purred a little louder, grinning wide. He even thought he saw her smiling, too. Now that was a rare sight. "I don't wanna rip yours off, either. Least, not right now." He chuckled, letting his eyes slowly close.

"We'll be fine, eh? Eventually, at least. We'll be fine." Whether he was trying to reassure her or himself, he didn't quite know. It helped him feel a little less bitter, though, and hopefully it helped her, too. "Hey, maybe this is your retirement. Maybe they just won't send ya back." Another little laugh, and then the large tom was letting his eyes slowly close. He let out a content sigh, the breeze picking up to gently ruffle his fur.

"Hey, kinda nice out tonight, huh? Think I might just stay outside then. I could sleep like this." Sleep felt like it would be a long time coming, restless energy still coursing through his body, but the longer Newtspring lay there, the heavier his eyes seemed. He opened one once to glance at Beechface again, and just as quickly closed it with a deep exhale. "Hey, 'm glad ya didn't kill me t'night. Or... glad I didn't try'n kill you, heh."

"...Right." She muttered, unable to hide the doubt in her tone. Maybe she was being pessimistic... She was definitely being pessimistic. But she hadn't been proven wrong over the past few seasons, either.

"Might as well stay out here... Avoid waking the cranky elder, yeah?" Smokefeather hadn't stirred at their arguing, and Beechface knew better than to question it or tempt fate further. It was better than getting their ears talked off, at least.

"Don't make me change my mind." She muttered half-heartedly, though her words lacked any real bite behind them. They'd spent... howeverlong it had been arguing, and now Beechface was simply tired. She rested her head back on her paws, gazing at the trees bordering the edge of camp.