Odds + Ends (random book)

SCRIPTORIAL | Round Theta - heretics

October(?) 2017
WattyWarriors
Watty Warriors Fan Magazine SCRIPTORIAL

Single elimination one-on-one short story writing tournament for Warriors.

Result - eliminated

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Where is this... what is this?

Her vision was clouded, and the crowd of cats only got larger. Their dark pelts stood out against the deep white snow that covered the ground, the light of a half moon guiding their congregation. All of them were whispering, chanting, or shouting.

So I made it after all... you better be right about this, Mousetail. Of all our ancient ancestors, you pick the most vile and ruthless. You better be right about your omen.

The frigid stone they were standing on was above the group, wiped clean of snow. She looked down at her strong paws, her stocky legs. They were covered up to her chest in dried mud. She could feel it stiffen her tail as well. The rest of her fur was clean, grey with a tinge of blue.

She felt something cling to the front of her face. Glancing around, she knew it matched the shape of her head, and the inside reeked of dried flesh.

Why does my fur look like mine, and why am I my real age? I'm supposed to be the medicine cat of their clan, not Panzer, not me... and what in the name of the Stars is this thing on my face? It smells of death... it better not be what I think it is.

"Gather, young ones, gather!" A deep voice boomed across the congregation. The cats silenced their meows as they continued to gather around. "Witness our offering. Know our obedience!"

That must be the leader... blood prophet is what they call him, I think. Now I'm just missing the sacrifice.

She looked to her right. The blood prophet was a tall, lean black cat. His fur was long and his tail fur had several bones wrapped up in it. He was careful to keep any of them from touching the ground.

"This, the moment we have waited twelve moons for. The animals that walk on two legs, construct massive structures, fight wars with things beyond our comprehension. This is the image we are to follow. The image the Stars want us to follow!"

The group, now hundreds of cats, unanimously hissed. Their attention was fixed on her and the blood prophet.

Wow. This smell is going to be with me for days. Give Mousetail a good kick in the flank for this. And now I have to listen to this tom blow hot air out his mouth. Just get this over with.

"You young warriors have been trained from birth for this moment. For tonight, we begin to fulfill a destiny only StarClan could lay for us. Some are as old as our blood healer, and even more of you were born less than two moons ago. Yet all take part in our right!"

The blood prophet pointed to his left, past the she-cat. "Bring it out."

Panzer looked left with the rest of the crowd. A shining rock reflected her. She gasped when she recognized her old body and blue-tinted fur. The top of a hollow cat skull was pressed onto her face.

So I really am me. This isn't right. My fur is a twoleg-made trait. Cats my color didn't exist this far back in time. What are you trying to tell me?

From behind the reflecting rock came two warriors and a she-kit, no more than three moons old. They had their jaws clamped down on her ears, forcing her towards the blood prophet.

"Please," she yelled, "don't do this. Take me back to the border. I promise I'll leave you alone just please!"

"Do not struggle, young one. You are a prophet as well. A false prophet, named Rye, just as all those before you. StarClan does not reincarnate cats! You are no more Rye than the power they claim you have!"