So...yeah. I already have some of this written out (it was posted on a different site, originally), so I can hopefully update fast. Hopefully.
As stated in the title, this is a Warriors fanfiction--it's based on an OC, although it starts out more in "The Sight". But before you think anything, this will NOT deal with the cats in the current Clans too much. We see some Dark Forest action, and the prologue has two -er, five, technically speaking- ThunderClan cats, and Chapter One has two cats from WindClan, but that should be about it.
That's a long introduction, but please, just read. The prologue is most definitely short, but we'll see if I go about re-writing it one day. :}
(One last note--this isn't going to be mice and moonshine later on. You've been warned.)
Summary: "...So from the moment Storm had found her out in the snow, a miracle her heart hadn't stopped and frozen completely, you could say she was doomed. But that wouldn't become apparent until later."
Everyone knows that Hollyleaf, Jayfeather, and Lionblaze are actually the kits of Leafpool and Crowfeather, one of the most sinful and forbidden relationships known in the Clans' history. Only two cats know that there was a fourth kit, however, let alone remember: supposedly a stillborn, a miracle had her live on. Today, her story is known and widely spread among her city's streets, where she prowls relentlessly in and out of the shadows. Her true history has been told and retold many times, becoming blurred in all aspects and little more than feverish and desparate whispers. This, however, is the true story; the simple and complete look at her life from a young age as her promising upbringing gives way to her own descent into darkness, which would eventually lead her to her rise to leadership much in the same way her great-uncle once ruled. After all, all cats, even great leaders, started out as little more than little scraps of fur...
Fragment Zero: A Slightly Forgotten Life
Spoiler
"Push Leafpool," came the hurried whisper, snow swirling all around the two figures as they both aided in an act that cats would still scorn generations into the future. "C'mon...you've already got a beautiful daughter, and two handsome sons. Just this one more time, and you'll be done."
The tabby bit harder onto the stick, her whimpers of cold and pain lost in the howling wind. Her claws sheathed and unsheathed from her dainty paws, amber optics clamped shut as she tried to detach herself from her current pain. Another shriek leaked from her maw as she let out another life, scratching at the meager shelter she and her littermate had carved out for one another.
"Leafpool!" Her sister's mew broke through her haze of it all finally being over, feeling the tremors cease. "Oh, they're beautiful...they really, truly are. I'm so proud to be their aunt..."
"Describe them to me again," the tabby whispered hoarsely, stick falling from her jaws. "Tell me what they look like, so I can remember them forever..."
"Very well." The younger felt her peer settle down next to her, keeping all the suckling, defenseless kits warm. "The oldest looks alot like you...he's a golden tabby, and he looks alot like Brambleclaw."
"Lionkit..." Came the queen's raspy reply, feeling her throat clench and try to keep the name from escaping. Such a fierce thing he would be; she was sure of it...just like his father.
"Your second eldest is your daughter...she's quite fluffy, like you, and looks alot like you, except she's even darker than her father."
"Hollykit..." She named her daughter for the bush they had taken shelter under, as well as the poisonous berries; this birth would haunt her later, and the innocents' parents were poisonous in their own right.
"Your second son is a light gray tabby...pale gray, actually. He's a little lean, but still looks like a ThunderClanner."
"Jaykit..." She wished she could stop talking, but she couldn't; she had to name her little kits, give them the names that would shape them. He'd...he'd remind her of his father...and jays were sharp-sighted, too. Perhaps he'd have better judgement.
"And..." The ginger she-cat trailed off, urging the tabby to creak open her exhausted eyelids, amber appearing among brown and white.
"Squirrelflight...?"
"Everything's fine," her sister responded quickly--just a little too quickly... "Your youngest looks...exactly like you...except she's dark gray where you're brown, and...she has blue eyes..."
"All kits have blue eyes when they're born..." the queen spoke slowly, breathing becoming slower and steadier. "And...they don't open their eyes for a few days..."
"Leafpool...she's..." The medicine cat fought against the creeping promise rest would bring her, forcing her body to stay concious a little longer.
"She's what?" She asked, feeling her optics shut all the way once more.
"She's...she was the runt of the litter, with Jaykit, and she's...dead..."
"Shadowkit." Was all she managed, sleep finally enclosing her conciousness to escape from her cruel reality.
If only for a little while.
The tabby bit harder onto the stick, her whimpers of cold and pain lost in the howling wind. Her claws sheathed and unsheathed from her dainty paws, amber optics clamped shut as she tried to detach herself from her current pain. Another shriek leaked from her maw as she let out another life, scratching at the meager shelter she and her littermate had carved out for one another.
"Leafpool!" Her sister's mew broke through her haze of it all finally being over, feeling the tremors cease. "Oh, they're beautiful...they really, truly are. I'm so proud to be their aunt..."
"Describe them to me again," the tabby whispered hoarsely, stick falling from her jaws. "Tell me what they look like, so I can remember them forever..."
"Very well." The younger felt her peer settle down next to her, keeping all the suckling, defenseless kits warm. "The oldest looks alot like you...he's a golden tabby, and he looks alot like Brambleclaw."
"Lionkit..." Came the queen's raspy reply, feeling her throat clench and try to keep the name from escaping. Such a fierce thing he would be; she was sure of it...just like his father.
"Your second eldest is your daughter...she's quite fluffy, like you, and looks alot like you, except she's even darker than her father."
"Hollykit..." She named her daughter for the bush they had taken shelter under, as well as the poisonous berries; this birth would haunt her later, and the innocents' parents were poisonous in their own right.
"Your second son is a light gray tabby...pale gray, actually. He's a little lean, but still looks like a ThunderClanner."
"Jaykit..." She wished she could stop talking, but she couldn't; she had to name her little kits, give them the names that would shape them. He'd...he'd remind her of his father...and jays were sharp-sighted, too. Perhaps he'd have better judgement.
"And..." The ginger she-cat trailed off, urging the tabby to creak open her exhausted eyelids, amber appearing among brown and white.
"Squirrelflight...?"
"Everything's fine," her sister responded quickly--just a little too quickly... "Your youngest looks...exactly like you...except she's dark gray where you're brown, and...she has blue eyes..."
"All kits have blue eyes when they're born..." the queen spoke slowly, breathing becoming slower and steadier. "And...they don't open their eyes for a few days..."
"Leafpool...she's..." The medicine cat fought against the creeping promise rest would bring her, forcing her body to stay concious a little longer.
"She's what?" She asked, feeling her optics shut all the way once more.
"She's...she was the runt of the litter, with Jaykit, and she's...dead..."
"Shadowkit." Was all she managed, sleep finally enclosing her conciousness to escape from her cruel reality.
If only for a little while.
Spoiler
Crescent always knew she wasn't one of Jamie and Storm's kits.
One would think that this would tear her shaken world from underneath her trembling paws, knocking her over into a gap of some sort where she would never find her way out, and quite possibly leave her teetering on the edge of insanity.
But the tabby hadn't grown up thinking that she was her foster parents' kit--a rather good call on their part, especially since their youngest addition was a moon or two younger than her "siblings". Things like that could only be kept so long in the dark, of course, and Jamie convinced her mate that it would be best if their "darling little Crescie" wasn't deceived in the least.
In this way, Crescent had an innocent kithood, simply playing with moths, batting at leaves, and stalking fluffy tails. You couldn't deny that she wasn't every little whisker-length a regular young cat, and perhaps that was what would shock others when they knew her later in life, if she cared to tell them her life story (which, more often than not, she didn't, even if there was a truly interested listener). So perhaps she could have lived her life out like a regular rogue, found a mate perhaps, have kits one day, possibly settle down in a barn somewhere for the cozy, cushioned days of a loner instead if she so wished.
But no path was laid in front of her, no evil prophecies or looming forbodings. And maybe, just maybe, being a true Clan cat, that was what shook her subconciously--no order, no ancient laws. So from the moment Storm had found her out in the snow, a miracle her heart hadn't stopped and frozen completely, you could say she was doomed.
But that wouldn't become apparent until later.
No, things were set into a blinding motion one day where the curiousity of all cats (especially young, bright kits) snagged her into its sticky web, and she was running down a path she wouldn't know she was traveling on until later.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Tiny claws scarbbled at the ground, new-leaf mud already staining paws and chest once of a pearly white to a dingy brown. Insects buzzed about, but she had already tired of them all, having chased butterflies and bees on the edge of a stream. To the right of her current location, the other side of the soft-flowing river lay a confining, comforting amount of mighty oaks and birches. The she-kit paused in her scuffle with a bit of scrapped moss, tufted harks pricking at a sound that her natural hunter intincts urged her to investigate.
Abandoning her previous activity, Crescent crouched down, under devleoped muscles twitching in excitement as her fluffy tail swished behind her. Muddied paws unsheathed and sheathed, tearing at the spongy dirt, the bright blue pair of orbs on her face widening in concentration while the pupil dilated to a slit. Scratching the earth once more, Crescent nearly jumped out of her fur when another, more distinctive rustle sounded from the brown, sparse bush, far past growing anything useful.
A growl caught her previously averted attention by surprise, and the she-kit quivered, mood immediately falling as she realized this was no prey that she had apparently had the chance to hear. She glanced around anxiously, looking for some form of cover or hiding space, anything, but the rolling moors kept her exposed and blindingly out of place.
A snarl finally broke out, and a dark gray tom jumped out of the bushes, nearly landing on Crescent who, for her kitly bravery, tumbled backward, staring into a narrowed pair of eyes the same shade of blue as hers.
"Care to explain why you're on my territory, rogue?" he all but snarled at her face with a threatening tone (one that seemed to secretly enjoy her fear), and she cried out, a terrible wail that spoke to the most primal instincts. Help! I'm young! I'm scared!
Seemingly unagitated with her "reply", the skinny tom strode forward, simply taking on paw and pinning her to the ground with it. "Well?"
Crescent let out another cry, feeling blood pricking from her broken skin as a result of an experienced opponent rather than a friendly scuffle among littermates. Scrambling desaparately for a hold on something, anything, the she-kit finally grasped the heavy paw in her weak jaws, trying to bite down with all her might and make him let go.
"It'll take more than that to shake me off, little mouse," Upon finding her situation even more desparare than she thought, Storm and Jamie's daughter wriggled, looking up at the much larger, more experienced tom with simple fear in her eyes.
"Crowfeather?"
The new voice shocked both of them, a black she-cat slipping out if the bushes with a rabbit in her maw. Upon seeing the kit pinned down, and the tom serving as the offender, she let out an indignant shriek, glaring at him.
"Crowfeather," she spoke warningly, tail lashing, rabbit completely forgotten, "let her go right now."
"She's a rogue." "Crowfeather" rolled his optics, which a mere moment before had been intimidating the she-kit into submission. "Just chasing her off the territory. You know, being loyal to my Clan," he pressed, digging his claws into Crescent's chest to emphasise his point.
Clan? Was the only coherent thought she made before whimpering pathetically, trying for the more defensive approach this time.
"If we killed every StarClan-forsaken wandering kit we found on our territory, we'd have killed ThunderClan's medicine cat, remember?" The she-cat snapped suddenly. "She probably can't even hunt yet, for StarClan's sake!"
Grumbling under his breath, Crowfeather released his captive with a spitting "Fine," and striding away, clearly agitated.
When he had left, the ebony she-cat padded over to the young tabby, gently nudging the traumatized kit. "I'm Nightcloud," she mewed softly, looking slightly pained--probably regretful the male had scared the she-kit so witless. "What's your name, little one?"
The tabby hesitated, but the older female's sincere look coupled with the fact she had just saved her from that nasty tom urged her to answer truthfully. After all, what's a name? she thought briefly, turning her attention back to the elder she-cat. "C-Crescent..."
"Lovely name," Nightcloud responded. "Crescent, I'm sorry for what happened with Crowfeather today; if you keep away from the Clans' territories, you won't have any repeat performances in your future, okay?"
"O-okay," The tabby responded eagerly, taking a glance at the sky. Great ancestors, was it past sunhigh already?
"...I think you'd better get back to your parents," The she-cat's surprisingly gentle tone broke Crescent out of her trance.
"A-all right, Miss Nightcloud...g-goodbye!"
And even as she raced away from what she would never quite learn to be WindClan's territory, a single question refused to be shaken from her mind, even when she was covered in relieved licks and purrs from her family.
What are the 'Clans'?
One would think that this would tear her shaken world from underneath her trembling paws, knocking her over into a gap of some sort where she would never find her way out, and quite possibly leave her teetering on the edge of insanity.
But the tabby hadn't grown up thinking that she was her foster parents' kit--a rather good call on their part, especially since their youngest addition was a moon or two younger than her "siblings". Things like that could only be kept so long in the dark, of course, and Jamie convinced her mate that it would be best if their "darling little Crescie" wasn't deceived in the least.
In this way, Crescent had an innocent kithood, simply playing with moths, batting at leaves, and stalking fluffy tails. You couldn't deny that she wasn't every little whisker-length a regular young cat, and perhaps that was what would shock others when they knew her later in life, if she cared to tell them her life story (which, more often than not, she didn't, even if there was a truly interested listener). So perhaps she could have lived her life out like a regular rogue, found a mate perhaps, have kits one day, possibly settle down in a barn somewhere for the cozy, cushioned days of a loner instead if she so wished.
But no path was laid in front of her, no evil prophecies or looming forbodings. And maybe, just maybe, being a true Clan cat, that was what shook her subconciously--no order, no ancient laws. So from the moment Storm had found her out in the snow, a miracle her heart hadn't stopped and frozen completely, you could say she was doomed.
But that wouldn't become apparent until later.
No, things were set into a blinding motion one day where the curiousity of all cats (especially young, bright kits) snagged her into its sticky web, and she was running down a path she wouldn't know she was traveling on until later.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Tiny claws scarbbled at the ground, new-leaf mud already staining paws and chest once of a pearly white to a dingy brown. Insects buzzed about, but she had already tired of them all, having chased butterflies and bees on the edge of a stream. To the right of her current location, the other side of the soft-flowing river lay a confining, comforting amount of mighty oaks and birches. The she-kit paused in her scuffle with a bit of scrapped moss, tufted harks pricking at a sound that her natural hunter intincts urged her to investigate.
Abandoning her previous activity, Crescent crouched down, under devleoped muscles twitching in excitement as her fluffy tail swished behind her. Muddied paws unsheathed and sheathed, tearing at the spongy dirt, the bright blue pair of orbs on her face widening in concentration while the pupil dilated to a slit. Scratching the earth once more, Crescent nearly jumped out of her fur when another, more distinctive rustle sounded from the brown, sparse bush, far past growing anything useful.
A growl caught her previously averted attention by surprise, and the she-kit quivered, mood immediately falling as she realized this was no prey that she had apparently had the chance to hear. She glanced around anxiously, looking for some form of cover or hiding space, anything, but the rolling moors kept her exposed and blindingly out of place.
A snarl finally broke out, and a dark gray tom jumped out of the bushes, nearly landing on Crescent who, for her kitly bravery, tumbled backward, staring into a narrowed pair of eyes the same shade of blue as hers.
"Care to explain why you're on my territory, rogue?" he all but snarled at her face with a threatening tone (one that seemed to secretly enjoy her fear), and she cried out, a terrible wail that spoke to the most primal instincts. Help! I'm young! I'm scared!
Seemingly unagitated with her "reply", the skinny tom strode forward, simply taking on paw and pinning her to the ground with it. "Well?"
Crescent let out another cry, feeling blood pricking from her broken skin as a result of an experienced opponent rather than a friendly scuffle among littermates. Scrambling desaparately for a hold on something, anything, the she-kit finally grasped the heavy paw in her weak jaws, trying to bite down with all her might and make him let go.
"It'll take more than that to shake me off, little mouse," Upon finding her situation even more desparare than she thought, Storm and Jamie's daughter wriggled, looking up at the much larger, more experienced tom with simple fear in her eyes.
"Crowfeather?"
The new voice shocked both of them, a black she-cat slipping out if the bushes with a rabbit in her maw. Upon seeing the kit pinned down, and the tom serving as the offender, she let out an indignant shriek, glaring at him.
"Crowfeather," she spoke warningly, tail lashing, rabbit completely forgotten, "let her go right now."
"She's a rogue." "Crowfeather" rolled his optics, which a mere moment before had been intimidating the she-kit into submission. "Just chasing her off the territory. You know, being loyal to my Clan," he pressed, digging his claws into Crescent's chest to emphasise his point.
Clan? Was the only coherent thought she made before whimpering pathetically, trying for the more defensive approach this time.
"If we killed every StarClan-forsaken wandering kit we found on our territory, we'd have killed ThunderClan's medicine cat, remember?" The she-cat snapped suddenly. "She probably can't even hunt yet, for StarClan's sake!"
Grumbling under his breath, Crowfeather released his captive with a spitting "Fine," and striding away, clearly agitated.
When he had left, the ebony she-cat padded over to the young tabby, gently nudging the traumatized kit. "I'm Nightcloud," she mewed softly, looking slightly pained--probably regretful the male had scared the she-kit so witless. "What's your name, little one?"
The tabby hesitated, but the older female's sincere look coupled with the fact she had just saved her from that nasty tom urged her to answer truthfully. After all, what's a name? she thought briefly, turning her attention back to the elder she-cat. "C-Crescent..."
"Lovely name," Nightcloud responded. "Crescent, I'm sorry for what happened with Crowfeather today; if you keep away from the Clans' territories, you won't have any repeat performances in your future, okay?"
"O-okay," The tabby responded eagerly, taking a glance at the sky. Great ancestors, was it past sunhigh already?
"...I think you'd better get back to your parents," The she-cat's surprisingly gentle tone broke Crescent out of her trance.
"A-all right, Miss Nightcloud...g-goodbye!"
And even as she raced away from what she would never quite learn to be WindClan's territory, a single question refused to be shaken from her mind, even when she was covered in relieved licks and purrs from her family.
What are the 'Clans'?
Review to let me know I should go on?
