Pretty Little Kittens Who Lie (Warriors (cats) Fanfiction)

Chapter Five: Ember after fire

Chapter Five: Ember after fire

Some dawns had passed since he warned the other leaders and the rumors about Tigerstar’s return were thinning, along with the ThunderClan leader’s credibility, when a familiar black loner was back in his den. With his fur sticky with mud and dried leaves, he was panting, his yellow eyes wildly alert.

“What is it, Ravenpaw? Have you seen Tigerstar again?” inquired Firestar hopefully, greeting once more his old friend who had obviously ran all the way to the ThunderClan camp in a hurry. His deputy, followed by a fluffy white warrior, Firestar’s nephew Cloudtail, entered just after the loner, curious to hear Ravenpaw’s dreadful news.

“No. It’s worse than that.”

“Aw, come on. What can be worse than Tigerstar!” cried Graystripe out loud, rolling his eyes.

“Hum… Scourge.” Ravenpaw told him.

The four cats stared dead quiet at each other, until Cloudtail could not keep down his indignation any longer. It was simply too much.

“You must be kidding me?! Firestar killed him. I was there!” scolded the long-haired white tom, outraged. “We beat the crap out of that long-clawed freak. There’s no way he’s alive. And Tigerstar even less!”

He was fuming with rage at the stupidity of his superiors. How could Firestar be so gullible?! They had all been there, on the battlefield. Scourge fell from Firestar’s fangs while Tigerstar was… destroyed, beyond any possible glamourous repair from ancestors living in the stars. This was utter fox dung! They were old fools to believe otherwise.

“Cloudtail…” warned his leader, his patience reaching its limit with his rebel nephew’s arrogance. Addressing them with such disrespect was unacceptable.

“What? It’s true. You’re just a bunch of scared kittypets. Whining like little kits that sees monsters that aren’t there. You’re all pathetic.”

The ThunderClan snarled at him.

“Get out, Cloudtail.” growled Firestar, though it was unnecessary since the white warrior was already leaving.

***

“Whitepaw, have you seen Cloudtail?” asked a white she-cat with ginger spots, calling her daughter. The side of her face that wasn’t horribly scarred showed a worried expression. The apprentice joined her frantic mother, her mates Squirrelpaw and Leafpaw behind her.

“No. Why?”

“I… can’t find your father. He was angry earlier. I’m afraid he went to do something reckless. Can you please ask around? Maybe he’s just hunting.”

“Okay, Brightheart. We’re on it!” chimed Squirrelpaw, ready for action.

The warrior touched noses with the three young she-cats to thank them and trotted to the elders' den to question them.

***

The sun was setting over a backstreet alley filled with garbages, boxes and crates. There, rogue felines were enjoying the last bit of sunshine that the end of the day had to offer. Inside a large tumbled broken old fruit crate rested lazily a big cat with a slightly flat nose. The sunlight that passed through the wood planks drew bloody red stripes on his pelt.

Ember was the leader of a reformed BloodClan. Though, more structured and less violent, they were still a very nasty group of city cats. He had a long-haired auburn coat, the color of falling leaves, and pale yellow eyes. It was said that his dark red fur was the result of bathing in the blood of his enemy.

Of course, that wasn’t true, but they did not need to know that. He had a reputation to maintain. Some nicknamed him the Red Death, which, again, was highly exaggerated. Ember was young, broad-shouldered, muscular and his thick pelt made him appear bigger, however, he was never even near as astounding as they liked to describe him. Well, nothing like Scourge, anyway.

“Ember? … Ember, are you in there?”

“Yeah.” the auburn tom replied, yawning.

A wrinkled skinny creature stepped inside the BloodClan leader’s makeshift den built out of an aged wooden crate that still smelled like rotten apples. The weirdly shaped cat approached him with a crooked walk and sat awkwardly next to his nest.

“What can I do for you today, Blankpelt?” inquired Ember with an amused tone. Blankpelt was an exotic feline that twolegs found very precious and valuable, but on the streets, he was regarded as ugly and grotesque, since his skin was smooth and furless like a newborn rat. He used to be a fancy kittypet named Mister Diamond and was later called Blankpelt by rogues. Ember had suggested better names like Moon Plague or Pale Terror, but the other tom would not change it. He was the most peculiar cat he had ever met and enjoyed his company the most. Inside the Clan, he played the role of advisor and semi-healer. What he lacked in physical strength, he made up for in brains.

“If you could describe Scourge, how would you do it?” rasped the unusual cat with his ageless voice. An odd question from an odd cat. Ember was used to his eccentric habits.

“Hum... I’d say deadly. Black, small, but swift, with the dog fang claws we don’t use anymore. Why?” the leader asked, then joked “Is he coming back?”

“I think so.”

Coming from any other cat, he would have laughed at the silly idea, however, his friend was cold and reserved, joking around was not part of something he did.

“Care to elaborate? Because, I’m not sure what you’re telling me, right now.”

“I happened to see a tiny cat like the one you just described. Adding blue eyes, a white tipped paw and the spiked collar signature of former BloodClan. More members claim to have witnessed the same.”

What sort of nonsense was that? If his cats were to believe Scourge’s return, there would be riots. The dark auburn tom jumped out of his dirty rags bedding and stomped the wood with an angry paw.

“Well, I think it’s rubbish!” Ember yowled, irritated, nearly spitting in the other cat’s face.

Blankpelt blinked mechanically, his expression neutral, unreadable.

“Don’t you!?” he added, annoyed by the lack of response of the hairless cat.

“What I think is that it is too high of a likelihood to be a coincidence.”

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To be continued...

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