#blueflood

Tiger paused in his gardening to shake the dirt off his paws. The late newleaf sun warmed his fur, and Moon's happy chatter filled his ears. He glanced over as Moon's voice rose. The other apprentice was soaking up his aunt's attention as the two of them nurtured a little patch of white anemones. Tension leaked out of Tiger's shoulders. He shouldn't have been concerned, really- Blueflood was far gentler than Thistleclaw. Too soft, his mentor would spit, and Tiger would nod along, never daring to mention that he sometimes wished she had been chosen to train him instead.

“Mama!” The clearing went still.

“Mama, help!”

Tiger jerked to his paws, horror rising in his throat. He saw Moon do the same out of the corner of his eye, looking around wildly. Blueflood rose slower, her head tilting with a considering look on her face.

“Mama!”

Tiger twisted, scanning the tree branches. How had a kitten ended up out here and in the trees?

“Relax,” Blueflood said, her voice absurdly calm for the situation. “Look.” She nodded towards the bough of an oak. Tiger leaned forward, squinting. A little dark grey bird sat, barely hidden among the leaves. It opened its beak, feathers puffed up in preparation to chirp-

“Mama!”

Tiger flinched back. Moon pressed into Blueflood's side, his eyes wide.

“A catbird,” Blueflood said with a dark expression.

“Why does it sound like that?” Tiger couldn't manage more than a whisper. The catbird cried out again, and the apprentices’ fur bristled.

“Hm.” Blueflood watched the bird for a moment more before turned her attention to them. “A long time ago, just after the Stars began to shine, there was a cat named Bone.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Bone was a fine warrior. He was tall and muscular, loyal and well-loved. He had been named for the sun-bleached ivory white of his fur, which he was so very proud of.

Though many fought for his attention, none caught his eye quite like Kestrel. She was a beautiful spotted tortoiseshell, with sleek fur and wide eyes. Bone was enchanted by her grace, her swiftness, and her keen perception. She, like him, turned heads with her excellence. Though Bone adored her, he never deigned to court her. He believed a mateship was a natural conclusion, for there were no two cats more perfect in all the world.

When Bone learned Kestrel had taken a mate, hurt and anger blazed like fire inside him. This tom was small and scrawny, his fur rumpled, his demeanor pathetic and nervous. Ugly, Bone’s heart hissed. Yet Kestrel looked at him with her wide eyes as though he had created the stars themselves. Each time Bone saw them, bodies pressed together and tails intertwined, his anger burned a little brighter than before.

When the news came that Kestrel had delivered a perfect litter of kittens, something deep inside Bone shattered. Perhaps it was his empathy, or his restraint, or his honor. Some say it was his very vash* itself, broken into splinters of ice only to reform into something warped and new. Whatever it was, once it was broken it could not be repaired.

Using the skills Bone had once honed to hunt raccoons and hawks, he stalked Kestrel's hideous mate. Though the tom was skittish and often looked over his shoulder, Bone was clever and far too experienced with nervous prey. He knew how to hide his trail and his scent all too well. He watched as the tom slipped into a hidden den, and he waited through the night until dawn.

Kestrel left the den as the sun rose, and Bone admired how the light turned the ginger in her pelt into a burning gold. She was perfect, and soon she would be his.

The den was large enough to fit two adults and their kits, but cramped all the same. It was far too easy for Bone to press the tom into a corner, slashing through his throat and watching coldly as his lifeblood stained his childrens’ kitten fluff. The kittens were simple as well, tiny and defenseless as they were. Bone's jaws were powerful and their necks were as effortless to snap in two as a finch's.

The brutal job completed, Bone sat and waited for Kestrel to return to him. He did not bother to wash the blood from his fur, for he believed it would serve as proof of his love for Kestrel.

When Kestrel arrived, prey hanging from her jaws, she knew immediately what he had done. Her attack, like Bone's had been, was swift and ruthless. Bone, like her mate, was taken by surprise and did not have a chance to defend himself. Kestrel wailed over the bodies of her loved ones while Bone lay dying. Grief and hate spilling from her tongue, she prayed. She prayed that Bone's spirit would be punished for eternity for what he had done. She prayed he would never be permitted to forget his crimes. As she prayed, the Time Weavers began to listen.

Feathermask the Courageous began to create a pattern for a tapestry of scorched earth, bare trees, and smokey air. Canarysong the Content dyed threads of soot-black, fire-gold, and blood-red. Greywing the Wise wove their creations together, creating an arras of tall, burned trees weeping crimson sap, soil burned black and solid, and tunnels filled with smoldering fumes. Finally, they filled their tapestry with little birds, gifted with the voices of the kittens Bone had killed. They captured his wandering spirit and wove it deep into the cloth which they called the Dark.

As time turned and the Dark's threads grew blemished with ash and age, Bone's ivory pelt became stained black with soot and cinders. His eyes burned from the smoke and, after many seasons, turned crimson. He wandered alone, boiling with hate and bitterness, his only company the catbirds forever crying out for their mother, the haunting calls of dead kits ringing in his ears.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“He's attempted to escape many times, but never succeeded. Once, he managed to come so close to leaving the Dark, a flock of catbirds slipped through the Veil.” Tiger and Moon, pressed together for comfort, shivered.

“What if he does it?” Moon squeaked. “What if he gets out?” Blueflood blinked away the wisps of the story and focused on him.

“He won't,” she said confidently, drawing the apprentices close to her. Tiger could hear her heart beating steadily, confident and unafraid, and the dread began to bleed from his body. “He's never managed in all the time he's been imprisoned. The gods won't ever let him go.”

Good, Tiger thought to himself. Murderers deserves to rot in the Dark forever.

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A/N: The moral of the story is “Don't be a dick and don't murder folks.”

There is a slightly less common version of this story where either Greywing or Feathermask released the catbirds into the real world themselves as a way to say, “Listen to these and remember not to be like the asshole we made them for”. Moon definitely prefers that version when he tells this story to future youths. Tiger, on the other hand, made up a scarier version to tell Darksnap to make the little shit behave better.

Interestingly, the only other common changes to the story are Kestrel's name and appearance. While the Thunderian describe her as a clever, wide-eyed tortoiseshell skilled at hunting, the other Sects describe her according to their own beauty standards. Shadowers think of her as stealthy with a black pelt- "she slipped through the shadows as though they were a second coat of fur"- and call her Pitch. Riverish view her as a muscular silver tabby who swims as though she were a fish and have named her Minnow. Windi believe she was a tall golden tabby nearly as fast as the wind, and call her Wuther.

*Vash : Spirit; Soul; Essence

Blueflood = Bluefur/star

Moon = Whitestorm