Warriors: Bones In The Mountain

A wail breaks the silence of camp, and though the moon is high in the sky, few are asleep within the rocky cliffside that homed the cats of PeakClan. In a place that is not a place, the wispy form of a mountain lion watches over the camp. His features have blurred from time and forgotten memories, but there is no mistaking the severe bow of his brow, or the creaking sound of long, sharp fangs grinding together. It is true the dead should have little to fear, but Peakstar had good reason enough to be uneasy. 

Another yowl rings out, and it follows a tom bursting out from the cliffside, a blur of black and pale yellow fur, leaving a trail behind him of the dry empty branches that were desperately trying to keep the warmth in the den. The violet eyes of Peakstar reflected off the smooth stone as he’d passed, and the medic was kept in sight as he disappeared into another crack in the long stone wall. The cat’s shoulders brushed against the smoothed stone walls of the long hall, any rough and sharp edges, clawed and rubbed away by generations long gone by. This was not a path he’d ever taken in life, but now in his death, found himself traveling through more times than he could count. 

“Chervil? I’ve already used so much! Fennel then, maybe, nothing’s sprouted in moons-”  The words are a prayer that echo against the cold stone, and the cat once more bursts to the other side of the tunnel. He searches the dried moss and tiers of dusty mud. Deep in the winter season there was little to help a kitting with such an ill queen, but chances that the aftermath would take a life from either of them were becoming more likely, and neither could happen without the whole clan terrified of it being a sign of further devastation to come. 

Either she loses a life, possibly even more than one, and loses the kit, or they focus on keeping her strength up and try to delay the kitting - or rush the kitting through the night to try to minimize the damage to the kit. 

The medic’s thoughts were rushed and indecisive, after all, he would have no options at all if there was nothing in the store he could give her. As the medic scanned the herb store for signs of life, Peakstar drifted through the brush with the moonlight that streamed in though the open skylight. He landed in a cleared patch of pale green moss, and the great lion stretched out a silvery claw, slicing through the ground.

This does nothing in the world of the living, but after a moment, pale sprouts started to rise from the dry earth, reaching out, only slowing when the soft leaves were each the size of a cat’s paw. From the bottom tier of the hollow, the medic’s nose twitched, detecting the changed scent carried by the cool air. In moments, he was at the newfound plant, offering a prayer.

“Perfect, Lamb’s Ear is perfect, thank you Peakstar.” And the medic is off again, slipping back down the tunnel while he is watched. Peakstar is not one to preen at the worship of these living cats, like some of the obsessive, haughty past leaders and “heroes”. Cats that use their unforgettability as some second hand godhood, and perhaps in a way it was. Peakstar knew just what power that could truly give. 

And benefited from it greatly.

“Birchfrost! She stopped breathing for a moment!” Another tom meets with the medic as he arrives back through the tunnel to camp. 

“Manmd mhe kmit? 

“Still moving, what did you find?” The two pass down the stone path back to the bracken covered entrance, and pale eyes reflect back through the dark of more cave nests along the cavern’s walls, the whole clan waiting with bated breath. The two push through the dead bracken, moss lines the inside, but much of it is shredded past usability by the queen inside. Her pelt is so dark it was hard to make her out through the moonlight that couldn’t even reach her in the back corner of the nest that she had dragged herself to, her cold eyes following as the two toms enter the den.

“Birchfrost! Did you find anything?” A voice calls from across the den, hushed, and desperate. Curled to one side of the dark molly was another, with one a sharp contrast with a long, white coat. 

“Peakstar has blessed our leader with Lamb’s Ear, it will strengthen her and the kit enough for the birth.” Birchfrost said, after placing the soft leaves at the side of the queen, who eyed him balefully. 

“Peakstar will do… Everything he can…. To keep us both… to keep him alive…” The words are whispered out and huffed, breathing through them with each racking breath. 

“Please, not now, Leopardstar…” The spotted tom hisses out the words through clenched fangs. Birchfrost does not hush her, but pushes the leaves to her muzzle. She can at least grimace as she swallows them up, head falling back down to the shredded moss. After a few moments, she starts to loosen her outstretched claws.

When the morning comes there will be cats from the whole clan coming to gather around the den, each one eager to set sights on the healthy born kit and their mother, the picture of perfection and grace that sets her apart from the rest of the clan, that shows that only she and the newborn kit are able to lead, that they are blessed.

Exactly as Peakstar designed.

But for now that can wait, and for now the moon is still high in the sky, and his solitude is broken. 

In a place that isn’t a place, the faded golden form of Peakstar walks out of a silvery pool into a vast green field, surrounded by distant stars. There, at the edge of the pool, stood a large white feline, boasting a more magnificent mane than any of even the great Lions of the stories. She drifts aside the water like she’s a part of it, a vapor of a cat, or perhaps a storm.

“Summitstar, for what do I owe the honor? Further scorn?” The cougar stalks towards the cat as he growls out the sardonic words, and he burns at the non-response as the cat regards him blankly, barely casting more than a side eye as he circles her. 

“Tigerflame will be happy to know her sister will be ok.” She simply states plainly. It wasn’t what Peakstar expected, based on the way his eyes narrow.

“It is my gift, there was never a question.” He finally growled, a meow like two rocks grinding together, “I can do everything in my power to ensure the bloodline lives,”

“And you don’t believe it’s overstepping? Blooming a plant in leafbare, that’s no small power.” In the blink of an eye, Summitstar was no longer boxed in by Peakstar, and was instead on his outer side, appearing as just a whisper on the wind. 

“Haven’t you learned better after last time?”

Peakstar lashed out at the cat's misty form with a furious roar, long shining claws simply sailing through the mirage. 

“Remember, I have no love for your foolishness after your part in their fates.” Peakstar hisses out as Summitstar sails over his head, a passing cloud. She lands on the still water, the reflected PeakClan camp shimmering beneath her. 

“It matters not, I’m simply here to relay a message, I have no interest in your most recent spawn.” The water below changes, and Peakstar can just barely make out the shadow of a silver striped cat, before it is covered again by falling snow. Peakstar’s tail thrashes behind him, glaring at the transparent molly.

“Out with it already, fox-heart.” The cougar growls, and Summitstar flicks her tail as her form fades once more, disappearing from the seeing-pool’s surface.  She doesn’t appear again, and moments before Peakstar was about to yowl out in offense, her voice echos in his ears.