Parishclan

“The rain can wash away the evidence, but the flowers will always remember.”

Duskpelt woke with a start, on his trembling feet immediately. He looked around the den wildly, looking for any sign of someone else there with him. Someone who could’ve spoken in his ear like that. Strands of cobweb from the shoddy bandage job he’d done on himself hung in his eyes, and after being certain he wasn’t being ambushed, he set to try to carefully clear them of his eyes while keeping the bandage on the wound on his forehead.

Once he’d tidied himself off, he continued to walk into the woods. His gait was odd- several fine steps, and then a few limping ones. Not the walk of a truly wounded animal, as his steps without the limp were confident and sure footed. But he was nearing Burrowclan territory, and he needed to appear far more injured than he was. The woods here were eerily silent, birds quieted far more than they ought to be. Duskpelt squinted up into the trees, knowing certainly that he wasn’t making enough noise to have them on edge. So what did? 

Inevitably he finds his way to the camp walls, a great collection of roots and thickets constructed carefully so that only small animals could enter. Duskpelt wiggled his way into camp, collapsing theatrically next to the freshkill pile. He looked up, panting, and quizzically found himself alone still. It was just before midday, and certainly while in the warmer weather many cats would remain in the shade, the camp was never this empty. Duskpelt hummed in worry, slowly getting to his feet, keeping with his faux limp. 

“Hello?” He called. A small brush of movement near the medicine cat den pulled his attention there, and he began to limp forward. “Snaillake, are you-?” 

“Shut up,” A familiar, sharp voice hissed from the shadows. “Shut up and get in the den. Now.” 

Duskpelt slipped into the medicine den without hesitation. The smell of blood and pain hit him in the face hard, enough to dizzy him. Inside was Snaillake, a bandage around one leg, tending to five other cats within. Duskpelt immediately recognized them; the Clan’s older medicine cat, the deputy, an apprentice, and two warriors. They were all mangled beyond belief in some way, bandages stained through with blood and herb poultices, many of them seeming to be unconscious. 

Duskpelt’s ears flattened, glancing over at Snaillake. “What… What happened while I was gone?” 

“Dogs,” Snaillake uttered venomously. “Dogs and their two-legs, and no one’s sure why. Two-legs don’t seem all that interested in us one way or another, but their dogs keep setting after us and they don’t care much for it. They started…” Snaillake paused, putting his paw down, thinking. “Their rods. They had these shining stone rods that they pointed at us, and next thing you’d know, the ground would explode into nothing.” Snaillake swallowed a little. “Lilacpaw got pointed at. It didn’t make the ground explode then, somehow. But Lilacpaw…” He shook his head, letting out a shaky breath and regaining his composure. “I dragged everyone back that I could. Ragleaf and I were on an herb patrol and we heard Molefang’s hunting party get attacked. Ragleaf would’ve been fine, but those damn dogs were still sniffing around. I barely managed to climb a tree myself,” Snaillake added, raising his injured leg. “What about you? Where’s Ferretstar?” 

Duskpelt glanced at the incapacitated cats laying in their nests. “She…” Duskpelt glanced down at the ground. “We also had a run in with a dog. I thought it was an odd one off encounter, but it seems to be related to your phenomena.” 

Snaillake searched Duskpelt’s face for a long while, and then nodded. “I understand… Well, drag a nest over from the warrior den if you can, and I’ll have a look at you shortly.” 

Duskpelt dipped his head. “Thank you, Snaillake.” 

—

“So,” Duskpelt asked coolly, stepping out into the empty clearing that night with the able bodied medicine cat. “Do you think… They’ll make it?” 

“They could. But if we’re going to go through with our plan still, then I’ll make sure they don’t.”

“Good,” Duskpelt said nervously. “I was worried we’d have a harder time taking him out, but these two-legs and their dogs… They seem to be a bit of a blessing.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Snaillake said sharply, narrowing his eyes as he looked up at Duskpelt. “You didn’t see the debris of Lilacpaw’s pelt like I did. I don’t care how convenient this situation might be for our purposes, a blessing is far too generous a word.” 

“You’re right,” Duskpelt said with a breath. “You’re right, of course. I’m getting ahead of myself.” 

“Right.” 

A silence settled over the two, and they looked up at the sky together for a moment. Duskpelt shifted slightly as he sat down. “Snaillake, do you… Ever think about what I asked you?” 

“About whether or not you could go through with this?” 

“Well,” Duskpelt shifted his paws. “Yes. About not being sure if I could kill kin like that.” 

“Of course. I had to reassure you a thousand times that you wouldn’t have thought out such a detailed plan if you weren’t capable of actually doing it.” 

“Right. Well, I started having those doubts again while we were on the mountain, and…”

“That’s how you got hurt, isn’t it? You doubted yourself, gave her a moment to realize what was happening and retaliate, and it became life or death for you.” 

“... Yes. She… It…” Duskpelt flexed his claws into the ground, pupils slitted so thin, you’d think he was staring down a monster’s great gaze. “Her claws opened my skin and it was like she was nothing to me anymore. She wasn’t even a cat. She had no language, no family, no history, no culture, no beliefs, no dreams. Once that pain set in, it was… Too easy to kill her.” 

Snaillake cocked his head, looking up at the taller tom. “You sound troubled at this realization.” 

Duskpelt trembled a little, claws working at the dirt harder. “I craved that kind of violence, Snaillake. It felt good. I relished in finishing off each of her remaining lives once she was down.” Duskpelt licked his lips, finally turning his gaze to Snaillake, pupils widening again as they focused on the scene at hand. “I can not risk anyone knowing that about me, if I am going to lead this Clan.” 

“No, I suppose a blood thirsty leader would be… Off putting. But you’ve not exactly had that reputation in the Clan as is, so why worry at all?” 

“Well,” Duskpelt started, letting out a measured breath. “I’m worried about if another cat gets it in their head to challenge me. I don’t know if I could fight another cat without… Without making sure they couldn’t fight me again.” 

“And you were trained to be a mediator, Duskpelt,” Snaillake said exasperatedly. “You’ve already got your solution right there; keep people appeased with your flowery words, play mediator, and just appeal to people’s insecurities. No one has to know you’ve got your own.” 

Duskpelt looked over Snaillake with a thoughtful expression. Perhaps a less… ambitious cat would find Snaillake’s blasé demeanor unsettling, but it was respectable here. Duskpelt allowed himself a slight smile, purring. “Thank you, you’re right. I’ll keep my head on my shoulders. No point in stressing about it if it’ll just get me caught.” Duskpelt stood, turning back to the medicine den. “Let’s get to bed. We’ll start dealing with the opposition tomorrow.”