Poisonberry's Vengence

Alone

"Guilt," Art by me! 

Death was a normal part of Hopewilt's life- It was a normal part of the lives of all warriors. Death lived as a shadow cast over the heads of every living thing, waiting, watching, poised to strike at any moment. Death could come in hundreds of forms. Peaceful, like old age, or brutal and bloody like the attack of a wolf, or painful and slow, like a bought of Greencough.

But Hopewilt couldn't get used to the counterpart of life, the natural end to every being's existence. It scared her beyond reason. She felt as though death had chosen her as its target, taking those she loved, and guiding her claws to deal the killing blow to an innocent cat.

As she tossed and turned in the nest of brittle grass, she felt dread creeping over her, a cloud of despair. It settled into her fur, heavy and cloying like the scent of blood that still lingered in her nose. A chill wreaked her body, and half-dried tears streaked her matted cheeks, only adding to the cold in her body, and her heart.

She was a killer. An outcast. A young counterpart of the terrible legends that lived in the Land of Shattered Moons, on track to join their ranks.

She sat up with a gasp, gazing in despair through the bare branches of her 'den', the old Antlerberry bush that had housed her in the night after Bluehawk's attack. Dried berries still hung on the branches, shrivelled yet forever potent. They seemed like a perfect compliment to the cat they sheltered. Unassuming on the outside, yet housing terrible danger, and secrets that few knew.

The day had passed in a feverish haze, littered with tears and nightmares, and waves of despair and guilt. It was now close to dusk, yet Hopewilt felt no urge to return home. Her leg stung where Diamondpaw had sliced through her fur and flesh, but the wound was scabbing and it showed no sign of infection. She was sore, and her body ached with the strain of fighting off the many cats whom she had come into conflict with, and she felt as though she had been standing in a sandstorm, the way her eyes burned.

But she was alive. Unlike Diamondpaw, Darkdaisy, and the unnamed bodies scattered in the clearing after the fight, and potentially even her own mother, if her injuries had been too severe. If Gentlebreeze died, I'd have no one. Bluehawk isn't kin, as far as I'm concerned.

The thought of being completely alone scared her, in a helpless way. She yearned to feel touch, to feel love, to feel the warmth of the company of another cat. If only a brush of fur against her pelt, fleeting like a bird in flight.

But I ruin all of the relationships I have, don't I? I'm not worthy of that kind of affection.

She felt the pressure of tears building again, but none seemed to fall, her eyes already exhausted. Where there should have been hunger, Hopewilt felt only numbness- And even if she had felt hungry, there would be no possibility of catching prey. Her lousy skills and the weariness that was heavy in her bones would spell failure before she even started.

Instead, Hopewilt stood up and began to walk. She knew not where she was going, nor where she would stop, but she needed to take her mind off of the day's events. Laying in silence left too much room for thoughts she didn't want or need.

Dusk eased up into the sky like blood staining a supermassive leaf. It was scarlet and pale, like the sunrise at dawn earlier that day. A bitter breeze ruffled Hopewilt's thick Snowfall-season coat, and the musty scent of damp, dead greenery hung subtly on the forest floor. The snow of that morning had all but melted, leaving drab brown in its place. 

Leafloss was very different from Snowgone. Hopewilt remembered the thick canopy of leaves that had once sheltered her on her hunts, the sweet emerald hues of the grass, and the pastel flowers that had littered the ground- now withered and dead. She wistfully thought of the firey amber, crimson and gold leaves that had hung from the trees not more than a few weeks ago, but those were a temporary thing. Beautiful but short-lived, like most things in the world. 

She wandered as day melted into dusk, then into darkness, reaching the border of the territory and pausing there. Beyond this border, there was no enemy Clan- it was open forest and fields, unexplored by cats in recent history. In the past, there'd been troops sent out to scout for suitable land or notable landmarks or other cats, but not much had been found. It was even rumoured there was an unimaginably massive lake that tasted of tears somewhere a few seasons' worth of travel away, but no one had ever dared to find it.

She peered into the dark across the scent line, the last muted gray light quickly fading. She could, in theory, leave. By the time anyone came looking for her- if they did at all, it would be the morning- or maybe later. And by then, she'd be long gone, a leaf on the breeze, a whisper in the trees. A loner. A non-permanent soul. It was dangerous, sure, but so was staying with BleakClan. Bluehawk's threats hung over her head, and she had no doubt he would find a reason to make them true.

But the second she stepped over the border, a sense of dread washed over her. She couldn't just... Go. It was too sudden. Too permanent. Cats would forget about her- About Screechpaw, about her story. Seasons would pass, and Hopewilt would be a foreign name on her Clan's tongue.

And being a dead, forgotten cat in the memories of all she'd ever loved seemed a worse fate than really dying. 

So she turned back, her limbs beginning to ache again, her eyes yearning to close. She wouldn't return that night, or maybe even the next, but she would stay in the territory. It was familiar and safe, at least. She could gather her thoughts, distract herself, and try to compose her shattered psyche. If that was possible. 

                                                   ∼❆∼

Three days had passed since Hopewilt had been in her camp. She avoided patrols like the plague, only running into two- One of which had tried to bring her back, which she had declined, lying to them and telling her skeptical Clanmates that she was only hunting, and would return by dusk, and one of which who had barely acknowledged her, instead fixing cold stares firmly at their paws while they walked. 

They no longer trusted Hopewilt as far as they could throw her, which was just fine by her. A recluse's life suited her. She played by her own rules and planned her own days, spending them fixing up her new den- a different Antlerberry bush at a secluded far corner of the territory near where she had contemplated running away permanently- hunting to regain her strength, and collecting any interesting object she could find. Namely, small bones.

She was really doing anything possible to distract herself from her own thoughts. Her Nightmares had returned, and they were brutal, leaving her in a cold sweat, chest heaving. 

But the worst one had to be the one she'd had the night before.

In this dream, she was back in the birch grove battling an apprentice. But instead of Diamondpaw, it was Screechpaw pinned under her claws. She watched, helpless and unable to stop herself as his life seeped away, blood spilling blood, his honey-golden eyes going dull and lifeless for what seemed like the thousandth time. And instead of the horrible guilt she'd felt after killing the apprentice in real life, in this version, she felt triumphant. Like she'd accomplished some great feat. Proud, even... She'd woken up with tears in her eyes, panting, her claws dug into the ground so hard they ached, and she didn't fall back to sleep that night. She was too disturbed.

Hopewilt had hoped the dreams had left once and for all, but it was clear they hadn't.

From the chill, and the heavyness of the air, it was clear that snow was coming. Once again, Hopewilt contemplated returning home, but she didn't. She patched a few more gaps between the branches of her new den, and sat in her nest, fiddling with a tiny rib bone that she'd found in the forest, watching as the flakes began intermidently falling. 

She let numbness settle over her body again, cold, and heavy, and cloying like the snow outside, and let out a long sigh.

Maybe she deserved the nightmares.

Fun Fact: Hopewilt's mother is alive, and no other cats perished from their wounds in the battle.

I am so sorry about the lack of recent updates, life is so hectic right now, and my writing has to take a back seat for a while- I'll try to get a chapter out once in a while!