#dashpaw

The sound of frantic pawsteps could be heard first, Amberpaw growing alert and rising from her spot near Cliffstripe where they’d been chatting. Part of his hearing damaged by his loss of an ear, it seemed the ginger warrior was unaware something was approaching before his companions demeanor changed, looking up at her quizzically with his remaining yellow eye.

“Someone’s coming.” She meows simply, fixated on the camp's entrance. Cliffstripe pulls himself into a sitting position, trying to prepare himself for anything.

Dashpaw is a blur when he breaks through the clearing; had it not been for the unfamiliar scent he carried with him, the ginger warrior might not have been able to tell that he even had a kit held firmly in his jaws. The half-white tom locks his eyes on Amberpaw, making a b-line to her and promptly placing the kitten a tail-length in front of her paws.

“I need you to look after him.” Without waiting for a response, he turns his head towards Cliffstripe. “Cliffstripe, I need you to follow me. There are two more kits still. Flippaw is running a diversion, but I don’t know how much time she’ll have.”

Cliffstripe nods firmly. “Got it.” In an instant, he’s on his paws, muscles tensing and preparing for a run.

“A diversion!?” Amberpaw shouts, looking desperately at Dashpaw for more details. “Dashpaw what-”

“There’s no time to explain right now! I’ll tell you everything in a bit!” In typical Dashpaw fashion, he’s gone before she could finish her questioning. Cliffstripe shoots her an apologetic glance before taking off after the other tom.

Giving a sigh, Amberpaw slumps back onto her haunches and looks down at the young kit that was placed at her paws. “Well, guess it’s just you and me, kit. I’m Amberpaw.” She offers the tan tabby a kind smile, thinking back to the time when Flippaw was still this small and hoping to StarClan the molly was going to be alright.

--

“Explain to me what’s going on.” Cliffstripe says firmly between the pounding of his paws. “What do I need to know?”

Dashpaw was a few paces ahead of him, leading the way. He doesn’t spare a glance back at the warrior, and hopes that his voice can be heard well enough from his position. “Flippaw and I were in the outer fields -- she smelled blood, I smelled a wolf. I tried to leave, but she found these kits instead-” He stops for a second to catch his breath before continuing. “-she said she was going to lead the wolf away so we could get the kits! She didn’t even give me a choice about it!”

Were it not for the severity of the situation, Cliffstripe would almost find it humorous; perhaps Dashpaw had rubbed off more on the younger molly than he had thought. “Did you find their mother?”

“I’m guessing that’s the source of the blood-smell.” Dashpaw shouts back grimly.

Try as he did, Dashpaw couldn’t catch a single trace of Flippaw’s current whereabouts; maybe that was for the best? Hopefully that meant she was successful in leading the beast away.

When they reached the remaining two kits, one of them had started crying out for its mother, the sound of her tiny voice causing Cliffstripe’s heart to ache. To lose one's family so young… He approaches the kit slowly, lowering himself to appear less threatening. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” The other kit, the blue one, hisses and lashes a tiny paw out defensively. Her sister waddles forward on unsteady paws and sniffs at Cliffstripe curiously.

“This is sweet and all, Cliff’, but we gotta be going.” Dashpaw warned, tail twitching nervously behind him.

Drawing himself back up, Ciffstripe licks at his chest, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Ah- no, you’re right.” He turns back to the pair of kittens and picks up the remaining brown and white she-kit, Dashpaw following suit and grabbing the cranky blue one before making themselves scarce.

--

By the time they return, Amberpaw has put a nest together for the kits; lined with downy feathers from an earlier catch, it seemed the mottled tabby kit Dashpaw had brought in before had already taken up residency within. With the other two kits placed into the nest, they greet each other excitedly, the blue kit pouncing sloppily onto her brother.

“Is that all of them?” Amberpaw asks, looking at the toms.

“These are all the ones Flippaw and I found.” Dashpaw confirms.

An uneasy silence fills the clearing at the mention of the spotted apprentice’s name. Her plan was so hurried that they didn’t take the time to discuss where they’d meet up after, where she planned to goad the wolf into chasing her, really anything.

“She’ll be okay.” Cliffstripe meows, causing the others to look at him.

“How can you be so sure? She’s only been an apprentice for two moons!” Amberpaw’s voice is harsher than she intended it to be, and she flinches back from her own voice. “I’m sorry for yelling, I just-”

Cliffstripe shakes his head. “It’s okay, I understand. Just believe in her, okay? Dashpaw did, I’m going to choose to do so as well. If Flippaw thought she could manage this, then I trust her.”

Amberpaw looks uncertain still, but remains silent and simply nods. As confident as she was in herself, she struggled to find the kind of trust that Cliffstripe seemed to have in everyone.

Seeming uncomfortable with just sitting around, the molly turns her attention back to the trio of kits and tries to usher them off of the nest. “Come on, I’ll bring you inside so you can sleep.”

Dashpaw fights the urge to argue their nest placements; now wasn’t the time. He looks back to Cliffstripe, worry knitted in his brow. “When should we go out to look for her?”

The words were more familiar now, not feeling so much like a kit playing pretend. Cliffstripe sat confidently atop the towers of stone, reminding himself of how unstable he was the last time he called to the clan.

Amberpaw and Dashpaw were the first to arrive; they offered for Flippaw to stay in the den recovering, still unable to put weight on her injured leg, but she insisted that she’d be there. The sound of kittenspeak alerted the group to the final apprentice’s arrival, an apologetic grin crossing her face as the trio of kittens stumble their way into the clearing.

“Sorry guys, I couldn’t stop them from following me.” She meows, carefully limping to a spot besides Amberpaw.

Pinekit is quick to start pawing at Amberpaw’s cheek fur, looking up at her with large, kitten-blue eyes. “Where been?” She squeaks, sniffing deeply into Amberpaw’s chest. “Smelly.” The kitten backs away, her mouth agape and filled with the new scent.

“Checking the borders.” Amberpaw meows simply, bending down to lick Pinekit’s forehead. “Come here, you can sit in my tail while Cliffstripe talks.” The mottled brown and white she-kit seems to think about the offer for a moment before tottling over and disappearing behind Amberpaw’s abundant fur.

Cougarkit remains by Flippaw’s side as she settles down, Cowkit preoccupied by the apprentice’s waving tail. “Now you guys promised you’d be quiet, right?” The first of the two nods quickly, placing a paw over his mouth in acknowledgement -- the latter remains quiet, focused on Flippaw’s tail.

“If Cowkit causes you trouble, send her over and I can sit on her.” Dashpaw teases, making eye-contact with the kit who shrinks somewhat before moving to sit on Flippaw’s other side.

“Well, no worries, Flippaw. It’s hard when there’s no one else who can watch them.” Cliffstripe speaks up, seeing everyone finally settle. “Without further ado…”

The ginger tom nods to Dashpaw, who raises when Cliffstripe begins.

“Dashpaw, you have trained diligently and have far proven yourself ready for your warrior name. I call down upon our ancestors to look down upon you, and commend you as a full-fledged warrior of BuddingClan. Do you promise to uphold the warrior code and defend this clan with your life?”

Uncharacteristically serious, Dashpaw nods. “I do.”

“Then, from this day forward you will be known as Dashrabbit; BuddingClan honors your charisma and ability to think fast in dire situations.” Cliffstripe would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous; was naming in honor of Rabbitsnow the right thing? Was that insensitive? He steals a glance at Dashrabbit, who seemed to be gazing upward, eyes brimming with pride.

“Amberpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and defend this clan even at the cost of your life?”

“I do.” Though she remains seated, Amberpaw’s chest is puffed out, back straight.

“From today, you will be known as Amberhare. BuddingClan welcomes you as a full warrior and honors you for your drive to help others.”

Dashpaw paced the camp back and forth, tail twitching anxiously behind him. In a small dip within the earth, Amberpaw lay crowded in a nest with three kittens resting beside her, relishing in her warmth. Beyond them, the moon crept slowly over the rolling hills tauntingly reminding the group of the passage of time.

“You’ll tread a hole into the ground if you keep that up all night.” Amberpaw chided playfully, concern showing in her eyes. “I’m worried about her too, but you won't be able to go with Cliffstripe and look for her if you wear yourself out here.”

Dashpaw grumbles something under his breath while he finishes another lap. He knows that she’s right; all he was doing was tiring himself out, even now he could feel his limbs begging for a break. He’d been up and moving since before sunfall, and if he had it his way he’d not stop until way after moonhigh and Flippaw was home.

“What was that?” The long-furred molly could tell by the way the tomcat stopped in his tracks that he was starting to take her words to mind.

“I said ‘yes Amberstar, whatever you say.’” He heaves a dramatic sigh while he turns around again to face her, lugging himself to the grass nearby and collapsing into it. “Better?” His eyes creep open just enough to watch the molly roll her eyes before finally allowing the smile to join him.

Cliffstripe seemed to have taken notice from his perch atop the Echoed Stones and descends from its vantage; though it was unlikely Flippaw would be finding her way home that night, it was even more unlikely that he himself would do the same after he’d been caught in the jaws of the beast, and so he took up watch once the kits had settled.

“They’re too young to talk, right?” The ginger tom asks, sitting down beside Dashpaw and looking at the litter nestled within Amberpaw’s fur. “Do they understand… you know.” In spite of being the eldest, Cliffstripe knew the least about kits, not having interacted with them much before taking up their care after the pack.

“That their parent is dead?” Dashpaw meows bluntly, saying what Cliffstripe felt unable to. He apparently notices the uneasy expressions of his clanmates and turns away from them. “What? We’re orphans too. Better to just be honest about it.”

There’s silence for a moment before Amberpaw speaks again. “No, you’re right. And no, I don’t think they understand- not really. I think they’re confused that their parent isn’t here, but I don’t think they realize they won't be coming back.” She frowns, amber gaze casting towards the three kittens dozing peacefully within her plumed tail.

Cliffstripe hangs on the uncomfortable silence before turning away from the kits and to Dashpaw. “You said you were in the outer-fields when you were attacked-- do you remember what direction Flippaw ran?”

Dashpaw furrows his brow, thinking hard before answering. “West. Towards the mountains.”

“Right. So we’ll head north-west from camp and start our search there.” Getting to his paws, Cliffstripe leans forward and stretches with his whole body. “In that case, I think it’s time we head out, don’t you?”

The brown and white tabby pulls himself from the cool grass and flexes his claws into the dirt. “I thought you’d never ask.”

---

The night's chill sliced at the two cats' fur as they ran, the clear open sky above them allowed for the cosmos to illuminate the fields; something Dashpaw hoped was a good omen from StarClan. 

With the wind carried a stale scent of blood and wolf, a stark reminder of their mission’s severity. Was Flippaw still alive? Could she have escaped a wolf all by herself? The task seemed to require a lion’s strength, but perhaps a cat’s cunning could be enough if she played her cards correctly.

Wordlessly, the toms followed the wolf's stench, the hair on their backs raising the stronger it grew. When Dashpaw looks to Cliffstripe, he can’t help but find himself reassured by the determined expression which remained on his scarred face. If he who had seen the beast's maw so intimately could be so resolute, so sure they were doing this right, then who was he to act otherwise.

“Stay low,” Cliffstripe meowed, dropping his elbows and strutting forward in a confident creep like a cat in the pursuit of a bird unaware. “Wolves are much taller than us, they can see farther in the tall grass than we can. The closer to the ground we can stay, the safer we’ll be.”

Dashpaw follows suit, his brow heavy in concentration. “You don’t think it’s still nearby, do you?”

“I… I don’t think so, but we can’t be too safe.”

When a more fresh scent of blood started to overtake the old scent of wolf, Dashpaw could feel his heart quicken. It felt like there was a bird fluttering in his chest, his mind running wild with different horrific conjurations of what fate may have befallen Flippaw. Flashes of memories of biting through a rabbit's bone, the snap nearly making his stomach twist; memories he tried to bury of the masses of graves he and Cliffstripe had to dig for what scraps remained of their families.

He must have been away for a while, nearly walking past Cliffstripe, not realizing that the tabby had tried to stop him, to talk to him.

“Dashpaw, are you alright? You don’t have to-”

The brown and white tom is still for a moment longer than should be normal before forcing out a smile. “I’m okay.” He doesn’t dwell any longer on the moment, creeping quickly past the warrior. Cliffstripe doesn’t look like he believes him, but that doesn't matter right now. “C’mon, I think we’re close.”

Conifers loomed in the horizon, just barely visible against the darkness of the sky. The scent of blood laced with the distant perfume of the pine needles, it seemed almost a regular pattern at this point; all too familiar of the night he’d nearly been gored by only StarClan knows who. The wolf scent was strongest here, but from the best that either cat could judge, it had to be at least a few hours old. 

It was small, but in the distance something catches Dashpaw’s eye; light glinting off of a reflective surface -- cautiously approaching, he confirms his grim suspicions. Blood.

“Cliffstripe, come this way!” His voice comes out as a hiss, claws tearing into the dirt, rushing to find the source. He can’t be too late.

The trail of blood lead to a larger, semi-congealed pool outside of a small burrow; one much too small for a wolf to be hiding in. Peering into the gap in the earth, Dashpaw feels his heart stop briefly when his eyes focus on what was within -- a small spotted apprentice curled up within herself, bloodied soil surrounding her. Cliffstripe freezes when he sees her too, only to heave a heavy sigh of relief when he notices her sides rise and fall with her breath.

“Oh thank StarClan… you’re still alive.” Dashpaw nearly collides with the dirt beneath him, finally feeling the fatigue of today.

A groan comes from the figure within the burrow, pale blue eyes coming to life when they land on what lay outside -- her clanmates had found her. “I remembered what you said… about the tunnel systems and the dens when I was a kit.” Flippaw’s voice is hoarse, and she’s hardly able to keep her eyes focused while she speaks.

“Are you able to get out on your own?” Cliffstripe asks, unsure of his ability to squeeze in there with her and still be able to pull her out.

“Think so.” Unfurling herself, the ginger tabby warrior nearly flinches at the sight of Flippaw’s right forearm. It was broken, there was no doubt about it, large punctures covering its entirety. She lets it hang limply, using her remaining arm to pull herself and leaving most of the work to her hind legs.

Cliffstripe waits to the side of the entrance, waiting to grab Flippaw’s scruff to pull her the rest of the way. By the time she’s fully out of the burrow, she’s passed out again from shock.

Dashpaw’s steps are unsteady on the walk home, and though he jokes about Cliffstripe needing to carry him as well and seems over-all jovial, the older tom can tell something was bothering him. Jaws full of scruff, he’s unable to reach out leaving the two ruminating about the day until they get back to camp.

END OF MOON 7.