The Darkest Moons (Warrior Cats)

45. The Battle's Start

     Rain had pelted down for an entire day and night. Scorchpaw twisted about in his nest, listening to the continuing patter. It had softened over time so that now, only a gentle sprinkle remained. He buried his nose into the moss and whimpered. His chest felt tight enough to implode, his throat blocked with a thick, wet rock. Everything looked over him like the dark clouds above.
     Today was the day. Today was the battle that would end all of this fighting. He had risked his life, as well as Poppy’s, to bring this to life. He had never felt so much dread in his life. 
     A gentle lick ran along his ear, and he lifted his head. Goldstreak sat by his nest, her expression soft and loving. “It will be okay,” she said.
     “I’m afraid,” Scorchpaw confessed. “What if it goes wrong?”
     “You’re worried about Poppy, aren’t you?” His mother asked. He nodded, and she bent over and pressed her nose to his forehead. “She will be fine. We all will.”
     “I feel stupid. For worrying so much.”
     “Never feel stupid for caring about your Clanmates.” Goldstreak stood. “It’s still raining, but we must prepare.”
     Scorchpaw bobbed his head and got to his paws. He forced himself to groom his fur and trudged outside. The earth beneath his paws was nothing but mud, the grass soggy and slick. How can we fight in this?
     “Let me see your form,” Shadowclaw ordered. His voice could be heard clearly from all the way across the camp. Palepaw did a perfect crouch. 
     He’ll do well.
     “Rainfall!” Tidefoot called. Scorchpaw watched him hurry to her. “Are you coming to the battle?”
     Rainfall was stretching her injured leg, which locked up slightly. She shook her head. “I’ll be here to guard the camp.”
     “Blackstar said I could stay here if you were.” The tom tapped his nose to hers. “I think Ashtail is staying too. And Yellowfoot.”
     “What about Helen?” Ashtail questioned. “Is she going to stay here? It would probably be safer. She doesn’t have warrior training.”
     “I’m helping Echopaw. We’ll be staying out of the battle, but close by,” Helen chirped.
     She never had to give her loyalty to us. A rush of admiration for the she-cat struck Scorchpaw like a wave.
     “Goldstreak!” Blackstar yelled. “I want you to take special care for Rosepetal.”
     “Of course!” Goldstreak answered.
     Someone brushed past Scorchpaw. “Blackstar!” It was Patchback. “I can fight.”
     The leader shook his head. “You’ve retired.”
     “But I-“
     “Then stay and defend the camp. Helen! Help Echopaw to gather her herbs together!” Blackstar was turning in circles. “Scorchpaw! Come here!”
     Scorchpaw’s muscles tensed. He dashed to his leader. “Yes?”
     “When we get there, watch for Poppy. If you see her in the battle, tell her to find Helen and Echopaw. They’ll be in the forest hiding,” Blackstar ordered. 
     “Yes, Blackstar-“
     “Now get something to eat. The prey pile is well stocked. You too Palepaw!”
     Scorchpaw hesitated to go to the prey pile. He felt ill at the thought of eating, as though he would retch if he tried. Still, he picked out a small mouse. Palepaw however, snatched up a large squirrel, avoiding his gaze and trotting to Shadowclaw’s side. Somber, hardly hungry, Scorchpaw settled beside his father and forced himself to swallow the few tasteless bites the prey could offer. He cast a glance or two at his kin, who was grooming himself despite the rain. “Dad?”
     Stormstripe turned to his kit, tongue sticking out for a moment. He straightened himself and licked his lips. “Scorchpaw?”
     “Do you ever get nervous before a fight?” Scorchpaw asked.
     “Usually, I don’t know that a fight is about to begin,” the warrior joked.
     “But are you nervous? About today?”
     Stormstripe shook his head. “We have an advantage. You and Palepaw made sure of that.” He stood and stretched. “I’m going to check on Sandfoot and Patchback.”
     Scorchpaw sulked for a moment, shoulders hiking as he dropped his head. He felt alone in his anxiety, as though nobody felt the same. 
     “We’re going! Come on!” Redwing snapped, slapping her tail across the back of Scorchpaw’s head. He ducked and squinted at her.
     “Okay.” Scorchpaw stood and fell into file beside his mentor. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark. Could it be an omen? 
     “This bad weather,” Miststep growled, falling in by her kit. “It couldn’t be good.”
     “A bit of water won’t stop us,” Redwing retorted. “We’ll win this battle.”
     Where’s Echopaw? Scorchpaw searched the crowd for his sister. He relaxed when he found her walking by Helen, mouth filled with moss. Helen carried pawloads of cobwebs. Even Froststrike was helping, carrying additional supplies for the two. Thank StarClan they’ll be staying out of the way.
     The sun was hidden, hardly risen above the trees anyways. The forest felt eerie and dangerous, as if rogues and WaterClan warriors were all around. He wanted to press into his mother’s fur, and he scolded himself. You’re not a kit.
     When the warriors of DarkClan emerged into the sandy clearings beside FireClan’s border cliffs, they were shrouded in fog. Everything was wet, scents almost overwhelming. The sand clung to the fur, and mud soaked their legs. Scorchpaw felt as though he would turn into a rock if he stayed still, covered in earth. Where solid ground could be found, puddles covered it. Redwing slipped on a patch of grass and fell, and Miststep quickly helped her up.
     “Where’s FireClan?” Scorchpaw mewed. Have they abandoned us?
     “Blackstar!” A voice called. All of DarkClan froze and watched as a plethora of FireClan cats emerged from the mist. Briarstar led them, looking proud, coated in mud. “I’ve sent Nightwing to check the crags.”
     “The rain’s flooded them!” A black she-cat, Nightwing, cried, running up to her leader. “All of the cracks are filled with water.”
     “This sand is horrible!” A FireClan tom hissed. “How do you expect us to fight with all of this wet?”
     “DarkClan isn’t exactly used to it either,” Shadowclaw meowed, moving to Blackstar’s side.
     Blackstar looked between his warriors and FireClan. “This is a prime ambush spot.”
     “Your deputy, as well as Spottedbelly, is right,” Briarstar said cautiously. “We can still fight the battle here, but it’ll be difficult.”
     “The rogues can’t fight on sand either. And WaterClan doesn’t know the terrain,” Froststrike hissed. “We’ll be fine!”
     Scorchpaw crouched against Miststep. 
     “Our chance for a proper ambush is ruined,” she groaned. “We’ll have to face them head-on.”
     “Wait!” 
     Scorchpaw watched as Palepaw squeezed between Shadowclaw and Blackstar. He looked shaken. “Let me think!”
     “You don’t have to rectify it. We’ll still win this fight,” Shadowclaw eased.
     “Our odds aren’t as good, but we’ll win!” Scorchpaw insisted, trying to convince himself more than anyone.
     Palepaw’s ears perked. “The mist! FireClan can hide in the mist! We can go further down the cliff, closer to the outer border, and fight on the more sturdy earth there! And FireClan can still hide!”
     “And drive the enemy out. It’ll be a shorter distance as well.” Shadowclaw looked thoughtful.
     “If FireClan keeps close enough to the cliff, they won’t be seen or smelled,” Palepaw chirped.
     Briarstar dipped her head. “It will work. A simple solution, but may make the difference. The ground is harder down the line. And we can herd WaterClan and their allies out.” She blinked warmly at Blackstar. “Your Clan has been blessed with clever apprentices.” She turned back to her Clan. “Remember! If you see a white she-cat with ginger spots and yellow eyes, apprentice aged, do not attack her! She is a friend!”
      FireClan shifted their paws, all awaiting the chance to begin the fight. Scorchpaw watched his friend from a distance, who puffed out his chest and padded alongside Shadowclaw. Briarstar led her cats to the cliffside, and they soon disappeared into the shroud of fog. “Follow me!” Blackstar snapped.
     Once again, DarkClan moved as a group, creeping back into the forest. It did not take long for them to find an ideal section of bushes to hide in. Some rolled in the wet grass, others rubbing mud on them to hide their scents, just as FireClan had done. Every cat stared intently. Scorchpaw hurried to Blackstar’s side and crouched by him. 
     Something moved in the fog. Scorchpaw could feel hostility rolling off of every cat. His leader bunch his muscles.
     Poppy! The white and ginger she-cat was slinking through the mist. “That’s Poppy,” Scorchpaw whispered.
     “Walk calmly to her. If she is alone, tell her to find Echopaw. If not, we’re ready to spring,” Blackstar said.
     Scorchpaw gulped nervously and edged out of the brush. He tried to relax as he padded to her. The only shape that he could see was hers. “Poppy!” He whisper-shouted.
     “Scorchpaw?”
     “It’s okay,” he insisted. When he was close, he could see the fright in her eyes. “It’s alright.”
     “I thought someone was going to- Is everyone in position?”
     “Yes. Poppy, what are you-“
     “Vine and Beetlestar sent me to scout,” Poppy muttered. 
     “Tell them you found nothing, and that you saw shapes at the top of the cliff,” Scorchpaw instructed. “And when the battle starts, run into the forest and find Echopaw. She has black fur. Helen is with her.”
     Poppy bowed her head and turned, sprinting the way she had come. Scorchpaw, unnerved, hurried back to cover. He jumped to his leader’s side. “She was sent to scout. She’s going to tell Beetlestar and Vine that there are cats at the top of the cliff.”
     “Good.”
     This is it. This is the battle meant to fix everything. 
     The mist, though thick, did not hide the slithering shapes of cats in the distance. The group was huge, and two small toms walked in the lead. The fur along Scorchpaw’s spine prickled, his heart pounding in his ears. The enemy was getting closer.
     A screech pierced the air: Briarstar’s call.
     Every cat rushed forward, breaking through their cover. Scorchpaw had no choice but to follow, shooting out beside Blackstar. Mud caked his paws as he ran around the group, taking in the battle. Blackstar was quick to lunge at Beetlestar, who was swift and lean, faster than most. A tiny brown tom hesitated, shocked and horrified, before shaking his head and jumping onto Blackstar’s back. A gray she-cat rogue attacked Miststep, who was saved by Redwing. Briarstar began wrestling with the WaterClan warrior that was Sorrelclaw.
     Something slammed into Scorchpaw, setting him off balance, and he hit the ground and groaned. Claws dug into his flank, and he kicked away the brown and white rogue tom that raked at him. “Get off of me!” He spat, scrambling to his feet. He caught a glimpse of Poppy darting towards the woods before teeth connected with his tail. He yowled and swiped at his attacker.
     “Fight me!” The rogue spat. He was young, only a few moons older than Scorchpaw. And yet he looked threatening, even if he was smaller. He bared his teeth. “Fight me you Clanborn coward!”
     The cat lunged, claws outstretched. Scorchpaw dipped to the side and crashed into him, sending him flying. The rogue moved as quick as a breeze, leaping to his paws and flying through the air. The force of his attack and weight pinned Scorchpaw, who cried out when teeth embedded into his shoulder.
     Pained and panicked, Scorchpaw shut his eyes and lashed at the rogue. He felt his claws hook flesh, and he ripped downward, blood immediately gushing onto him. The rogue let go and wailed. All of his weight crashed down, and Scorchpaw clawed wildly at him and pushed him away, gasping for air. He flailed for a moment before opening his eyes.
     A pair of amber eyes stared back at him, glittering for a moment. The pupils dilated slowly, growing round like the moon. Scorchpaw forced himself up and stared at the rogue as he twitched, blood pouring from his throat.
     He’s dead.
     The realization felt worse than any claws, running along Scorchpaw’s spine and tearing through his neck. He watched the life bleed from the rogue, blood mixing with the mud.
     “Sparrow!” Another tom called. “Sparrow? Sparrow!” It was a brown tabby who ran to the corpse, eyes wide. “Sparrow! No!”
     Scorchpaw could not move. He had killed a cat.