Post by *~Sunny~* on Aug 23, 2005 15:27:55 GMT -5
This is a story that my friend wrote. I told her I would put it up here!
A Broken Spirit
The glen was a warm, secluded place. It was a small canyon in the midst of tall, towering cliffs of shale and limestone, ringed with layers of brown, red, or gray. The cliffs stood tall and proud, sheltering the glen from wind. At the base of one of rhese cliffs was a large tree. It had seen thousands of years go by, and it's roots rose above the earth, braiding and twisting to form all kinds of intricate patterns and a safe place to rest. Beside the tree a small stream tricked over a bed of pebbles and stones, smooted by the stream's current. Cattails and rushes rose above the stream, housing mice and birds.
It was the perfect place for kits to be born.
A young she-cat, prehaps 24 moons, lay on her side, breathing hevaily. Her whole body ached from the effort of labor, her fur hot and moist with sweat. She was quite beautiful, with pale cream fur that harbored large patches of gray tabby. Her eyes were a brilliant, vibrant leaf-green, but they now were full of pain and determination. With a final push, a new life entered the world. The she-cat craned her neck and she began to lick the wet little bundle, grooming away the wetness in which it was covered. At last, the kitten opened it's jaws wide and gave a tiny mew, crying out for milk. The she-cat, whose name was Pebblefrost, purred happily and nudged the kits over, where he began to nurse.
By the end of the day the labor was over, and Pebblefrost lay her weary head down to sleep as her kits continued nursing. They were small and wrinkly, with tightly clamped eyes, stubby legs, and ears that were folded against thier heads like wet leaves. One of them was a tom, the other a she-cat. The tom had been born first, and he had a deeper chest, a stronger build, and dark tortoiseshell coloration. The she-cat had been born second and was much lighter-built. her fur was white that darkened to an iron-gray on her ears, paws and tail. She had little gray tabby lines atop her forehead, and a gray stripe down her back as well. It was a rare color, but very beautiful.
As the kits turned three moons old, thier personalities were clear. The larger kit, named Stagkit, had his mother's vibrant green eyes and her bold personality. Logn ago he decided that he was not scared of anything and he was going to become a leader. The smaller kit, named Clearkit, had brilliant blue eyes, and was shy and soft-spoken, but very intelligent. Slowly, the small family began the long trek up the cliffs, following a winding, thin, slope.
When they at last reached the top, the kits stared in wonder. There were cats. Lots and lots of cats.
Stagheart and Clearsong, at 24 moons each, now lived comfortably with CliffClan as young but able warriors. Their leader, Gorsestar, a large black to with pale yellow eyes, had made them warriors last year. Pebblefrost had also returned to her warrior duties.
"Hey, Clearsong!"
Clearsong turned her head to see a brown-striped she-cat come loping clumsily toward her. It was Tumblefoot, Clearsong's best friend, who was very clumsy but also very friendly. The she-cat skidded to a halt in front of Clearsong, and Stagheart, looking amused, trotted off to go help a hunting patrol.
"Hi, Tumblefoot," mewed Clearsong happily. Clearsong had grown into a beautiful cat, and her coloration and comfromation drew quite a few stares from the toms of CliffClan. Tumblefoot mewed, "Gorsestar sent us on a patrol. He said to pick three other warriors."
"Three others?" Clearsong meowed, suprised, "Why so many?"
"Well, we got the Falls," Tumblefoot explained nervously.
Clearsong groaned inwardly. The falls was a steep waterfall that went down nearly a mile before turning into a small pool, then a river, and then to the very stream next to where Clearsong and Stagheart had been born.
Tumblefoot sighed, "I know, I know. C'mon, let's get going."
The two she-cats trotted over to the warrior's den, which was under a large, flat piece of shale that was propped up against a stump, like a lean-to.
"Who's up for patrol?" Tumblefoot called.
Pebblefrost walked over to join, as did Marshstripe, a dark gray tabby tom. "Anyone else?" Asked Tumblefoot, "C'mon, we need one more!"
The cat that got up was a lithe ginger tom with handsome white stripes and green eyes. Clearsong felt her stomach tighten. It was Briarpelt, Clearsong's love. Briarpelt walked confidently out of the warriors den and rubbed his head affectionately against Clearsong's, ignoring the jealous glares from the other toms. Clearsong purred happily, for she and Briarpelt alone harbored a deep secret.
Clearsong quivered as she stared down the falls. The roaring of the water and the mist that come up made her uneasy, and she dreaded to think what might happen if she fell in. The only way across the steep gorge was a narrow, stone bridge that you could only walk by placing one paw in front of the other. All apprentices had to cross it to become warriors, and Clearsogn remembered her crossing vivdly. She had almost fallen, and now she feared and despised the steep drop. If you fell near the middle, you would drown int he water. If you fell near the edge, you would smash on the rocks.
Brairpelt saw the she-cat's discomfort, and he pressed against her comfortingly. Clearsong gave the ginger tom a lick.
"Hold up, lovebirds!" Tumblefoot called.
Marshstripe raised his head and sniffed, the dark fur on his back prickling. "Smell that?" he meowed.
Now all the cats were sniffing, and all became frightened, for in the air hung the scent of CliffClan's most dreaded enemy.
The wolf lunged forward like a torpedo, it's gray and black pelt ragged and unkept, it's eyes yellow and wild, it's jaws foaming and slavering. The cats scattered, instinctively heading up the tall pine trees. The wolf snarled, saliva dripping from it's jaws.
"It has the mad-bite diesese!" Gasped Tumblefoot. the mad-bite dieses was feared throughout the clan. It was far more deadly than Greencough, and made cats go insane as they tried to bite their Clanmates.
Pebblefrost glanced around wildly, her green eyes widening. In the trees she saw the ginger pelt of Brairpelt, the gray of Marshstripe, the brown of Tumbleffot - but where was the white pelt, tipped with iron gray?
"Clearsong!" Pebblefrost yowled, "Where is Clearsong?"
An answering mew made all the cat's blood turn cold. Clearsong had been seperated, and now she stood at the base of the thin rock bridge, her eyes wild and helpless.
The wolf turned and saw the cat. Thousands of years of instinct all boiled down to a single command: Kill!
Clearsong yowled in terror as she saw the wolf closing in. her back paws found the thin rock bridge. She would have to cross it.
A ginger blur hit the wolf side on, hissing and clawing frantically. It was Brairpelt. The sick wolf, confused for a moment, spun around furiously, pointed teeth snapping. Brairpelt felt it's hot, rancid breath on his pelt.
The wolf's teeth found thier mark on Brairpelt's back legs, and the wolf threw the tom to the ground, where he lay limp.
Clearsong felt a horrible sadness and fear well up inside her. "Briarpelt!" She called frantically, her throat tightened by her tears.
The wolf turned, blood mixing with the foamy white saliva. Brairpelt's blood. Clearsong gave a small "mew" of terror, before turning and rushing onto the bridge, her paws scrabbling clumsily.
The wolf leapt, landing hard on the bridge. Weakened by his sickness, he lost his footing, and yelping, plunged to the river below, his legs flailing in a sort of spider-like squirm.
Clearsong watched, fear overtaking her. Slowly she began to walk back. She had almost reached the end when her ears picked up a large cracking sound. Her blue eyes flew to where the bridge connected with the solid ground. It was cracking. Slowly, bit by bit, tiny pieces of stone and dust dropped down. The crack rose higher. It was almost all the way through.
Clearsong's heart felt as if it was frozen. If she leapt, she could easily make it onto the land. But for what? she thought bitterly, What life would I lead? My mate is gone now. For in Clearsong's belly, stirring, were three tiny kits. Brairpelt's kits. Kits that she had escaped the wolf to protect, but now she remembered bitterly that they would never have a father to love and protect them. "No!" She yowled, throwing her head up to the sky, "That is not love!"
The bridge gave way. Cleasrong met eyes with her terrified mother in the trees before feeling nothing underneath her paws, and seeing the ground start to rush up toward her.
Pebblefrost yowled and rushed to the edge of the cliff, looking down with terrified eyes, Tumblefoot beside her.
Clearsong saw dimly two shapes far, far above her, and then she turned to see rock not a fox-length in front of her. Her body broke on the hard stone, staining it with dark red blood. The stone bridge fell on top of the dead she-cat, forever burying the tradgedy.
Pebblefrost sobbed into Tumblefoot, tears streaming from her eyes. Tumbelefoot stared in disbelief. Clearsong was dead. Gone forvever. Silent tears leaked out of the brown tabby's eyes.
A moan sounded through the clearing, and a ragged ginger body limped over. It was Brairpelt. The wolf's bite had broken his leg and paralyzed him for that one short moment. He had seen his mate cry out, and watched the beautiful white-and-silver she-cat fall. He had heard the dull thud of her broken body.
Slowly the cats began to trudge home, Briarpelt being supported by Marshstripe. He lifted his head to the sky and for a brief instant thought he saw the clouds form a white she-cat, staring down at him.
He blinked, and could see nothing.
The cats left thier beloved Clearsong that day. Stagheart and all of CliffClan was devastated. Brairpelt became a sulking, quiet warrior, never regaining his once-proud spirit. Clearsong was dead, gone from this world, but he could never understand how a heart so big had stopped beating.
A Broken Spirit
The glen was a warm, secluded place. It was a small canyon in the midst of tall, towering cliffs of shale and limestone, ringed with layers of brown, red, or gray. The cliffs stood tall and proud, sheltering the glen from wind. At the base of one of rhese cliffs was a large tree. It had seen thousands of years go by, and it's roots rose above the earth, braiding and twisting to form all kinds of intricate patterns and a safe place to rest. Beside the tree a small stream tricked over a bed of pebbles and stones, smooted by the stream's current. Cattails and rushes rose above the stream, housing mice and birds.
It was the perfect place for kits to be born.
A young she-cat, prehaps 24 moons, lay on her side, breathing hevaily. Her whole body ached from the effort of labor, her fur hot and moist with sweat. She was quite beautiful, with pale cream fur that harbored large patches of gray tabby. Her eyes were a brilliant, vibrant leaf-green, but they now were full of pain and determination. With a final push, a new life entered the world. The she-cat craned her neck and she began to lick the wet little bundle, grooming away the wetness in which it was covered. At last, the kitten opened it's jaws wide and gave a tiny mew, crying out for milk. The she-cat, whose name was Pebblefrost, purred happily and nudged the kits over, where he began to nurse.
By the end of the day the labor was over, and Pebblefrost lay her weary head down to sleep as her kits continued nursing. They were small and wrinkly, with tightly clamped eyes, stubby legs, and ears that were folded against thier heads like wet leaves. One of them was a tom, the other a she-cat. The tom had been born first, and he had a deeper chest, a stronger build, and dark tortoiseshell coloration. The she-cat had been born second and was much lighter-built. her fur was white that darkened to an iron-gray on her ears, paws and tail. She had little gray tabby lines atop her forehead, and a gray stripe down her back as well. It was a rare color, but very beautiful.
As the kits turned three moons old, thier personalities were clear. The larger kit, named Stagkit, had his mother's vibrant green eyes and her bold personality. Logn ago he decided that he was not scared of anything and he was going to become a leader. The smaller kit, named Clearkit, had brilliant blue eyes, and was shy and soft-spoken, but very intelligent. Slowly, the small family began the long trek up the cliffs, following a winding, thin, slope.
When they at last reached the top, the kits stared in wonder. There were cats. Lots and lots of cats.
Stagheart and Clearsong, at 24 moons each, now lived comfortably with CliffClan as young but able warriors. Their leader, Gorsestar, a large black to with pale yellow eyes, had made them warriors last year. Pebblefrost had also returned to her warrior duties.
"Hey, Clearsong!"
Clearsong turned her head to see a brown-striped she-cat come loping clumsily toward her. It was Tumblefoot, Clearsong's best friend, who was very clumsy but also very friendly. The she-cat skidded to a halt in front of Clearsong, and Stagheart, looking amused, trotted off to go help a hunting patrol.
"Hi, Tumblefoot," mewed Clearsong happily. Clearsong had grown into a beautiful cat, and her coloration and comfromation drew quite a few stares from the toms of CliffClan. Tumblefoot mewed, "Gorsestar sent us on a patrol. He said to pick three other warriors."
"Three others?" Clearsong meowed, suprised, "Why so many?"
"Well, we got the Falls," Tumblefoot explained nervously.
Clearsong groaned inwardly. The falls was a steep waterfall that went down nearly a mile before turning into a small pool, then a river, and then to the very stream next to where Clearsong and Stagheart had been born.
Tumblefoot sighed, "I know, I know. C'mon, let's get going."
The two she-cats trotted over to the warrior's den, which was under a large, flat piece of shale that was propped up against a stump, like a lean-to.
"Who's up for patrol?" Tumblefoot called.
Pebblefrost walked over to join, as did Marshstripe, a dark gray tabby tom. "Anyone else?" Asked Tumblefoot, "C'mon, we need one more!"
The cat that got up was a lithe ginger tom with handsome white stripes and green eyes. Clearsong felt her stomach tighten. It was Briarpelt, Clearsong's love. Briarpelt walked confidently out of the warriors den and rubbed his head affectionately against Clearsong's, ignoring the jealous glares from the other toms. Clearsong purred happily, for she and Briarpelt alone harbored a deep secret.
Clearsong quivered as she stared down the falls. The roaring of the water and the mist that come up made her uneasy, and she dreaded to think what might happen if she fell in. The only way across the steep gorge was a narrow, stone bridge that you could only walk by placing one paw in front of the other. All apprentices had to cross it to become warriors, and Clearsogn remembered her crossing vivdly. She had almost fallen, and now she feared and despised the steep drop. If you fell near the middle, you would drown int he water. If you fell near the edge, you would smash on the rocks.
Brairpelt saw the she-cat's discomfort, and he pressed against her comfortingly. Clearsong gave the ginger tom a lick.
"Hold up, lovebirds!" Tumblefoot called.
Marshstripe raised his head and sniffed, the dark fur on his back prickling. "Smell that?" he meowed.
Now all the cats were sniffing, and all became frightened, for in the air hung the scent of CliffClan's most dreaded enemy.
The wolf lunged forward like a torpedo, it's gray and black pelt ragged and unkept, it's eyes yellow and wild, it's jaws foaming and slavering. The cats scattered, instinctively heading up the tall pine trees. The wolf snarled, saliva dripping from it's jaws.
"It has the mad-bite diesese!" Gasped Tumblefoot. the mad-bite dieses was feared throughout the clan. It was far more deadly than Greencough, and made cats go insane as they tried to bite their Clanmates.
Pebblefrost glanced around wildly, her green eyes widening. In the trees she saw the ginger pelt of Brairpelt, the gray of Marshstripe, the brown of Tumbleffot - but where was the white pelt, tipped with iron gray?
"Clearsong!" Pebblefrost yowled, "Where is Clearsong?"
An answering mew made all the cat's blood turn cold. Clearsong had been seperated, and now she stood at the base of the thin rock bridge, her eyes wild and helpless.
The wolf turned and saw the cat. Thousands of years of instinct all boiled down to a single command: Kill!
Clearsong yowled in terror as she saw the wolf closing in. her back paws found the thin rock bridge. She would have to cross it.
A ginger blur hit the wolf side on, hissing and clawing frantically. It was Brairpelt. The sick wolf, confused for a moment, spun around furiously, pointed teeth snapping. Brairpelt felt it's hot, rancid breath on his pelt.
The wolf's teeth found thier mark on Brairpelt's back legs, and the wolf threw the tom to the ground, where he lay limp.
Clearsong felt a horrible sadness and fear well up inside her. "Briarpelt!" She called frantically, her throat tightened by her tears.
The wolf turned, blood mixing with the foamy white saliva. Brairpelt's blood. Clearsong gave a small "mew" of terror, before turning and rushing onto the bridge, her paws scrabbling clumsily.
The wolf leapt, landing hard on the bridge. Weakened by his sickness, he lost his footing, and yelping, plunged to the river below, his legs flailing in a sort of spider-like squirm.
Clearsong watched, fear overtaking her. Slowly she began to walk back. She had almost reached the end when her ears picked up a large cracking sound. Her blue eyes flew to where the bridge connected with the solid ground. It was cracking. Slowly, bit by bit, tiny pieces of stone and dust dropped down. The crack rose higher. It was almost all the way through.
Clearsong's heart felt as if it was frozen. If she leapt, she could easily make it onto the land. But for what? she thought bitterly, What life would I lead? My mate is gone now. For in Clearsong's belly, stirring, were three tiny kits. Brairpelt's kits. Kits that she had escaped the wolf to protect, but now she remembered bitterly that they would never have a father to love and protect them. "No!" She yowled, throwing her head up to the sky, "That is not love!"
The bridge gave way. Cleasrong met eyes with her terrified mother in the trees before feeling nothing underneath her paws, and seeing the ground start to rush up toward her.
Pebblefrost yowled and rushed to the edge of the cliff, looking down with terrified eyes, Tumblefoot beside her.
Clearsong saw dimly two shapes far, far above her, and then she turned to see rock not a fox-length in front of her. Her body broke on the hard stone, staining it with dark red blood. The stone bridge fell on top of the dead she-cat, forever burying the tradgedy.
Pebblefrost sobbed into Tumblefoot, tears streaming from her eyes. Tumbelefoot stared in disbelief. Clearsong was dead. Gone forvever. Silent tears leaked out of the brown tabby's eyes.
A moan sounded through the clearing, and a ragged ginger body limped over. It was Brairpelt. The wolf's bite had broken his leg and paralyzed him for that one short moment. He had seen his mate cry out, and watched the beautiful white-and-silver she-cat fall. He had heard the dull thud of her broken body.
Slowly the cats began to trudge home, Briarpelt being supported by Marshstripe. He lifted his head to the sky and for a brief instant thought he saw the clouds form a white she-cat, staring down at him.
He blinked, and could see nothing.
The cats left thier beloved Clearsong that day. Stagheart and all of CliffClan was devastated. Brairpelt became a sulking, quiet warrior, never regaining his once-proud spirit. Clearsong was dead, gone from this world, but he could never understand how a heart so big had stopped beating.