the scales have fallen from mine eyes (o)

Was it really too much to ask?

Dawnfeather (Dawnfeather, naive daydreamer and optimistic hoper) stormed through the starry field, sending stardust flying in her wake, long tail lashing, raking her sharp claws through the grasses. It took everything she had to not tilt her head back to the starry skies and scream. Her mind was sharp, eyes clear, thoughts unfogged by the haze that had lingered imperceptibly since her apprenticeship, and yet her heart was empty. For the first time, Dawnfeather thought she understood her aunt’s distrust of the stars.

Oh, she had been foolish.

Smokefeather, gone. Forever. Forever. She would never again see her grandmother, lean into her fur, walk and talk of nothing at all. If StarClan could give Dawnhawk a second chance (and now, looking back, seeing with all the clarity of hindsight what exactly his actions had done… she didn’t know), why would they not do so for Smokefeather? And if, unlikeliest of unlikely reasons, they truly lacked the power to do so, then why strike down Beechfang? Stars and shades, StarClan was not all-knowing, and yet. And yet, cats whose names had faded from memory still held the power to punish the living for every perceived transgression and slight.

It made her sick.

Her thoughts turned to Beechaunt once more. Forced into becoming a medicine cat when she was younger than Mistpaw or little Smokeling, scarred forever by StarClan for the unforgivable offense of watching chaos unfold, and then punished for having HalfClan kits, for no longer living by a code set by cats who had sent down fire from the heavens? Oh, what a crime. Dawnfeather knew better now.

Every time StarClan had acted in her long lifetime, it had been to punish the innocent, never the wicked. They sent down lightning upon a medicine cat sitting by the sidelines, and yet never scorched the Asylum cats off the surface of the earth. Hypocrites. They swore they could do nothing during the Dark Forest occupation; Dawnfeather had been gone then, aye, but if StarClan could not keep their evil counterparts from invading the forest (twice within Clan history), then why were they even here? Hypocrites. And the Twoleg invasion; oh, all they were good for was sending prophecies that only made sense after disaster struck, so they could look back and say “oh, yes, well, we tried to warn you.”

Hypocrites.

The anger stewing in the pit of her stomach was new to Dawnfeather, neither battle-rage nor a sudden surge of fury. Rare as irritation had been in her life, this was something more, deeper, fouler, crueler. Hatred, and yet a righteous hatred, something that wormed its way into her heart and clouded her vision with red. She had looked forward, almost, to joining StarClan, and now? The one thing, the only thing she had ever asked for in life, taken from her forever. No matter how long she waited, hoping for a change like a kit, she would never have her family whole ever again. That was the definition of insanity, wasn’t it? Doing one thing over and over again, and yet still expecting a different outcome. She had placed her hopes on StarClan once; she would not make that mistake again.

That they had the power was clear, as she herself had seen multiple times. That they used it unjustly was equally clear, a tale as old as the forest itself. She had heard the stories, not just of Beechaunt, but of others who hated StarClan with reason, and now, that reason was clear. StarClan held the position of a neutral, just judge, and yet they picked and chose their favorites. Dawnhawk- Dawnhawk, whose only defender she had been in life- he, returned to the forest. And yet StarClan let kitten after kitten die of sickness, of stillbirth, of malnutrition, for they were not interesting.

Oh, Dawnfeather supposed, filled with cold fury until her paws shook, it made sense. When you’ve lived innumerable lifetimes, existence must get a little dull. These cats, the ones who held the power; they were not mortal. Not anymore. The grating monotony of eternity had sanded away their compassion, empathy, love; their lives. And now the fates of the Clans were in the paws of entities as distant and cold as the stars themselves.

Why had she not seen it sooner. Oh, there were reasons, she was sure; the head injury that had fogged her mind for most of her life, the fact that StarClan had been the one thing she had held out for, the promised land where her family would be whole and happy. If only she still lived. Now, her words less than meaningless, paws holding less power than she did in life, she stood at the edge of StarClan territory, staring out at the mists. At least from there she wouldn’t have to watch her family starve.

The sound of approaching pawsteps put Dawnfeather instantly on the alert, whipping around with a terrible fury burning in her clear eyes, as if the sky itself had been set on fire.

Her fury had not gone unnoticed. There were several Starclanners that had been watching her, some with concern and some with interest. The largest of the trio moved first, curiosity with a good portion of understanding mixed in propelled his massive paws forward. The other two followed shortly after, one shorter but still broad of shoulder, and the other of a more average build but with a tail like a shimmering, burnt feather. As they approached Dawnfeather staring out at the mist, neither of them said anything. Maybe they didn't know what to say. Finally, eventually... the largest of them allowed their paws to break the silence despite the moons upon moons of practiced stealth.

"It's certainly... out of place for you to be so upset, Dawnfeather." Bloodstrike said softly. The tom before her was not the scarred, broken down old cat that she would remember. No... Bloodstrike held not a single scar across his pelt. There was no interruption on the fur the color of dried blood on sand, nor was there any flesh exposed among the charcoal markings that were his stripes. Bloodstrike was back in his physical prime, with a scar-less face, whole ears and a whole tail twitching carefully behind him. His body rippled with muscle with each movement, no matter how casual. His gait was powerful, his posture militarily rigid and his chin high.

Another shimmering copper figure came up beside him next. Lower to the ground but still built like a tank, Copperfox joined his father quietly and eyed Dawnfeather with concerned compassion. His eyes were a warm, deep amber set in a patient face. In stark contrast, Bloodstrike had yet another figure appear on his other side.

Burningwing's eyes smoldered like an eternal inferno was alive inside this cat. His fur itself looked as if it had been singed, blackened, and finally smoldered into white hot ash around his toes. His eyes burned with fascination at another furious Starclan cat... There was an intense interest there, but he did not speak for the time being, lest he unintentionally stifle whatever was about to come flying out of Dawnfeather's mouth. His own tail slowly whipped back and forth in an almost hungry anticipation.

"I imagine there is something you need to get off of your chest." Copperfox said softly, indicating that he was eager to hear what she had to say as well. Whatever it was, he would handle it, no matter the scorn that came rolling off of her lips.

Ah. Bloodstrike, her mentor, leader, and grandfather, who had left his mate to languish in the elder den and forced her to watch his half-Clan kits and forbidden mate take positions of power in the Clan. Copperfox, a cat she knew little about. Her uncle, supposedly. And, of course. Burningwing. She ignored her kin for a moment, sparking blue eyes fixated on the former ShadowClanner, lip curled in disgust. “What are you here for, you mange-ridden bastard? Brain too full of fox-droppings to find your way to the Dark Forest where you ought to rot?”

Sharp hooked claws sunk into the earth as she glared at him, blood rushing in her ears. That dirty murderer was allowed to walk among the stars while Smokema… it was unthinkable, the sort of dirty corrupt skulduggery that should be rotting in the Dark Forest, not flourishing in the stars. Oh, but it wasn’t like her opinion mattered any, after all. No; she still clung too tightly to the forest below, still held the living too dear, still remembered too well the suffering and pain. Her heart was not with the stars, but the forest, with all its imperfections and sins. There was something about life and living that the utter perfection of the stars could never hope to match; something alive.

Dawnfeather turned her gaze to her grandfather’s, and perhaps for the first time met his eyes with hate. Bloodstrike looked well, better than he had ever been in life, and that made every single part of her want to scream. “You still don’t understand what you did to her, and now you never will. Out of place? How would you know, old cur? Oh, yes, you would’ve died for us. Dying is easy; it’s the living that’s hard.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. Her sides heaved with barely restrained emotion, eyes glittering with rage and unshed tears alike, tail lashing. “I defended Dawnhawk in life. I believe he deserves a second chance- but not if the innocent are denied it. Justice? This is not justice. How many cats die alone and scared? How many are lost, never to be found again? StarClan sits in the heavens and laughs. If you have the power to bring back the dead, why not guide the living? Why send cryptic prophecies instead of speaking clearly like, oh, I don’t know, you do at every apprentice’s Moonstone? You pick and you choose and it all comes down to you, you, you and your selfish pride.”

Dawnfeather hissed her last words, ears slicked back against her skull. Perhaps some part of her was aware of how unfair this was, to pin everything on Bloodstrike, but then the rest of her would remember what he did to her grandmother, and the rage would come rushing back stronger than ever. She did not look at Copperfox; she would be fair, even when they were not. They. It was a dizzying, exhilarating, terrifying feeling to think of StarClan as something apart from herself.

…this was not fair. Her cats- Olive and Dandelion, her best friends, died far from home. And Beetle; always dancing around each other, she and him, and never given the chance to make a life together. And her kits— at the memory, she sunk her claws into the starry earth, mentally cursing each and every StarClanner who had watched Hollowpaw disappear, Fogpaw fall to the fox, Rabbitchaser killed by dogs, and who had done nothing.

Life wasn’t fair, and the realization hurt.

For all of the venom in Dawnfeather's words, Burningwing responded with a mildly amused chuckle and a soft response. "I am here because clan purity is the purest form of the warrior code. As for what I want with you... that remains to be seen. I am but an observer for now." He would explain no further and contented himself to sit and listen. It gave Bloodstrike and Copperfox pause, both looking at Burningwing with curiosity and suspicion, but they voiced none of their thoughts. This wasn't about Burningwing, it was about Dawnfeather.

Bloodstrike's eyes narrowed at her words and he suppressed a growl.

"You could never have survived what I did, Dawnfeather. You would have wilted like a greenleaf lily under the oppressive heat if you would have to endure what I had for the clan. Of course dying is easy, but I did that and a lot more for Skyclan. I worked myself to near sickness and death, was burned in multiple places running into a forest fire to save members of Skyclan... have you ever experienced fire, Dawnfeather? Do you know the sound and smell of burning hair and flesh? Have you stared the living, breathing Red Death in the face as it roared toward you in an attempt to claim your life? No, you haven't.

I fought against an army of strange cats that came to claim the entire forest as if they had any rights to it at all. I endured their torture, I endured them feeding me poppy seeds so I was subdued, then I suffered through the agony that was recovery from becoming dependent on those poppy seeds. Have you ever woken up every day for moons in agony, with your heart racing like you're being chased by a family of foxes? Have you ever had your skin itch to the point you make yourself bleed and there is still no relief? Have you ever looked at yourself and seen your ribs, but still couldn't bring yourself to eat? Have you ever looked at your family members that you know you love, but something monstrous inside you makes you not care and want nothing more than to tear them to shreds because you are being denied poppy seeds? No, you haven't.

Do you know what it's like being kept away from your home and your family, not knowing if you are alive or dead, whether it's night or day, and the only predictable thing that will happen to you is that strange cats will come into your prison just to hurt you for their amusement? Have you ever been so physically, psychologically and emotionally tortured that when someone you know is put in your prison you don't remember them, but the instant they say your name you expect pain to come, so you kill them before that can happen and only realize after you have control of your senses again moons later what you have done??? No, you haven't.

I am only scratching the surface of what I have endured, Dawnfeather, for Skyclan. I could go on, but I think have made my point. And why haven't you experienced any of these things?" Bloodstrike took two steps forward and somewhat invaded Dawnfeather's space, his eyes hard and his muscles tense.

"Because you were too busy loafing about in the La La Land that was the inside of your naïve little head. Because you were determined to deny the reality of the way things were, because your fragile mind couldn't handle any sort of real world pressure that was put on it, as is very evident by the way you are acting right now. No Dawnfeather, life isn't fair. It never has been, no matter how determined you were at one point to deny it. So don't you dare accuse me of using death of all things to escape the suffering in Skyclan. I endured things that would have broken you so badly the Dark Forest wouldn't have taken you after you died."

Bloodstrike took a slow breath and allowed a few heartbeats to pass between them. Eventually he leaned back and away from Dawnfeather's personal space. His eyes softened just a bit before he spoke again. "I can't speak for all of Starclan, but as someone who also believes Starclan should be straight forward with their messages and warnings, I intend to do so. I will not be like them. I wasn't here for Dawnhawk's trial, though for what I have heard, my vote would not have made much of a difference. The support for him was overwhelming. What is past, is past. All I can do now is look to the future and you should do the same instead of wallowing in misery and fury."

Copperfox flicked his tail several times as Dawnfeather talked, but he was content to listen for now, as Bloodstrike seemed to be keen on trying to handle the situation. Once both cats were finished speaking, his attention was back on Dawnfeather, curious as to what else might be said.