The Surviving Few (Warrior Cats)

Chapter 6.5 - sharp shadows of the past

"How'd you know Sharpsight?"asked Leafwillow, distractedly drawing her paw over her ear. She sat beside Poppypaw, rays of sunlight falling upon her brown coat. Ears pricked, she listened intently, seeming much more interested in Poppypaw's answer than grooming her own pelt.

"Er, well, he fished me out of the lake once, and then I kind of helped him out in a battle against the rogues." She paused, hesitating. Her dark-ginger pelt appeared to shine in the bright sunlight, reflecting the daylight beautifully. Her green eyes, however, were dark, and she seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden, as if unsure of something. She continued, "and.. er, there was the exile—"

Sharpsight, who, Honeydusk realized, had also been listening, let out a rather angry hiss. He sat some tail-lengths behind Leafwillow and Poppypaw, his black fur ruffled. His tail lashed behind him, swiping over the grass, which, as Honeydusk had seen so many times already, dissolved to small ashes. The sight no longer fascinated nor saddened her; she had seen it way too many times to care, really.

Poppypaw's ginger tail flickered, looking as if it was on fire. She said, rather awkwardly, "er, forget I said that. No, really, saving lives brings Clan cats together, rivalling Clan or no. It's... how we work." She looked frightened as she met Leafwillow's green, questioning eyes, who had now completely given up on smoothening her wild fur. This was much more important, it seemed.

"...Really. It's as simple as that." Poppypaw sounded both scared and hopeful as she spoke.

"That's... nice," concluded Leafwillow. Admittedly, Honeydusk was surprised her sister had not been more... demanding, in a sense. She had accepted Poppypaw's reply without as much as a word of doubt of its truthfulness, and she had not even asked about 'the exile'. Honeydusk had never been much of a curious individual, at least not of things quite like this, but she could not stop herself recalling the last moons' gatherings. Surely Spotstar would have told the other Clans about something as important as an exile.

...

"I'll say it as it is, Goldenstar," said Drizzlestar, souding calm and controlled. Her eyes, however, were troubled, dark. "We're losing. There's no point denying it. Do you agree, Spotstar? Dewstar, Ripplestar?"

Ripplestar gave a brisk nod of his head, whilst Dewstar shrugged weakly, hopeless. Spotstar opened her mouth, as if wanting to say something, but closed it again as Goldenstar began, "we mustn't lose hope, not now, and not ever. Our warriors are more than capable of defeating a bunch of crow-food-eating rogues who follow no code of honour whatsoever."

"I hear you, and I see where you're coming from, Goldenstar, but I can't deny that the rogues know how to fight. They have killed more of our warriors that I am willing to admit, and I am hesitant to let more lives get lost in the paws of these 'cats'." Spotstar's eyes were but thin slits, showing no distinguishable emotion, and she added, "I would like to ask our medicine cats one question. Have StarClan sent you any signs? Any new prophecies? Have they communicated with you at all?"

The group of medicine cats shook their heads simultaneously. This was expected, though the cats gathered around them and the leaders let out small, disappointed sighs.

"Oh, and there's one more thing I would like to mention—"

...

Honeydusk swallowed a frustrated sigh as her memory broke off. It was her intent, of course, as she had gotten to the part where the rogues had attacked, before the fire broke out, but still. She felt it essential to know that Sharpsight was someone she and the group could trust. Cats who were exiled were usually not very trustworthy; this she knew from experience.

Poppypaw, now wearing a guilty expression, frowning, stood up and walked over to Sharpsight. Leafwillow's gaze followed her until she and Sharpsight, who had now risen, too, moved too far away to even bother listening in on them. It was a mystery that was not for them to solve.

Honeydusk looked past her sister at Raindrop and Ryespring, who sat beneath a tall and sharp rock which rose toward the sky, speaking in low voices. Shadows fell upon them like a delicate pattern of markings, giving them a sort of mythical appearance. It contrasted perfectly with Raindrop's intricate spotted, blue-gray fur.

Raindrop's amber eyes locked with Honeydusk's, and they sat, looking at each other, for a long while. No words were shared between them; Honeydusk thought she could see more than enough just by returning the glance. Raindrop's eyes were warm, though clouded, as if attempting to keep a sea of emotions down. She felt a sort of connection between them, too. They were both just numb. Though for somewhat different reasons, she guessed.

She was handling this whole thing so well, or, she was managing, as Raindrop had said, because StarClan had told her it would happen.