Monster | warrior cats | book 2

ix | a pondering of passion

aesthetic made by faithwishes-

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Dawn rose over the trees like a thin blade of grass. The morning was tantalizingly near as the sun looked to be not even an inch over the soil. At the peak of the sun, colors spilled onto the sky very thinly but were evidently present. The atmosphere was cool. A whispering wind whistled lightly, awakening the once resting campsite. Despite the action beginning to stimulate the forest; the squirrels bounding from the trees, the rustling of cat paws in the trench, the sun breaking through the tower-like trees; it was dark.

But the darkness didn't scare him. The large warrior perched on the edge of the pond, listening to the faint ripples in the water fall against the stones. He abided in loneliness, dipping the sharp edges of his claws into the shadowed water, proceeding to cleanse the crusted blood from under his nails. The trickling water was at utmost refreshing; it embraced his aching muscles and soothed down every worry in his mind. It cleared away the stains from a previous incident, making the warrior feel at peace with himself.

He flattened his body along the rocks, resting his head upon the cool stone. Each passing, sleepless night, his eyelids became heavier and heavier. He craved for some sleep. Midnight was followed by one nightmare after another. He couldn't escape the rush of blood and agonizing screams hunting him about his dreams. Though in reality, he pondered how much of it he was really dreaming. He was living the nightmare of his own creation. In his visions, he faced a side of him he could never admit revealing. The side of him that regrets what he has done.

"Wolfstar." His name fell hollowly into the air. It wasn't followed by the usual fiery spit of hatred or serious command of a soldier. No, this time, his name sounded normal.

The tom was quick to lift his gaze. His eagerness to see the one who spoke his name so very differently overrode his feelings of exhaustion. When his slimmed, orange eyes laid upon the cat, tension eased off his shoulders. He inhaled some deep breaths, sensing the typical evil spazz in his bones fade. Relaxed, he mumbled, "Smokestar."

Standing at cautious proximity from the occasionally explosive Wolfstar, stood the old ShadowClan leader. Years had passed by between the two, memories beckoned of another time. But all Wolfstar could notice was how much the tom had changed.

Smokestar was once infamous for being the unsafe and forbidding leader of ShadowClan. His appearance used to shout strength. He was layered with large muscles, so powerfully-built he looked as though he were made of iron. Cats used to treat him as if he were a venomous snake, not daring enough to go near him. One look at the leader could send an enemy Clan running for the hills. His prefix suggested his coat color. His fur was somber with shadows and large black stripes glazed his back like a tiger's.

Now everything had changed. He was sited before the WolfClan leader, seeming as though he had shrunk. He was no tiger but a stray cat. All the once throbbing flesh of muscle on his body had dissolved with time. He was starved, every bone on his body sticking through his skin like naked branches on a tree. And his smokey dark fur was outlined in silver regarding his old age. The only way Wolfstar recognized the tom was through his familiar green eyes. They still shone of something courageous.

Speaking every thought that flashed through his head, Wolfstar blurted quite bitterly, "You look awful."

Smokestar slowly neared the ragged rocks on the side of the pond. His lush eyes didn't spare a single glance away from Wolfstar. He gazed intently as if analyzing every piece of the leader. "Something far worse has happened to a friend of mine."

Wolfstar, aware the aged tom was referring to him, scoffed under his breath. There was a history between the two leaders; a friendship even.

Smokestar continued, his voice shifting from its calm state, "As if I should even call you my friend." His tongue grew louder each word as memories of suffering seized his heart. Again, the leader alluded to another time, "You promised me-" But he was rudely interrupted.

"You were never my friend!" Wolfstar was itching with the compulsion to set things straight. With a quieter, but burning hiss, Wolfstar spoke, "You wanted to kill me." The two toms were unaware that they were sounding like squabbling kittens. They were stuck in an argument that held no resolution. It was too late for both of them.

But still, Smokestar pushed. "Because you were a monster!" The insult left his tongue like a lightning bolt. It scared the sky with a loud and threatening bang. The final rage of the storm had struck. There was much hesitation, the intensity of the moment was as thick as clouds. The two toms stood, years of conflict keeping them apart. They stared at each other, hatred black in their eyes. Wolfstar had been called that word many times, he was used to accepting it like it built his ego. But this time was different. Coming from a friend he once looked up to, someone he wanted to fill the paws of, the insult monster pained him.

Hurt, Wolfstar frowned in misery. "Why did you come here? Shouldn't you hate me?" Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the reminisce of his old companion. He was like broken glass; shattered but all pieces were still there.

Smokestar persisted in painful silence. The simple truth was, he wanted to hate Wolfstar. He wanted to end his life, drown him in even more insults. But there was one thing stopping him. "I love you too much to hate you." The words were spoken blandly yet held so much passion. "You were like my brother. We would spend every second of the day together on adventures. You would tell me all about your life and I would teach you of the things I learned as a young warrior." Exhaling a deep sigh, Smokestar carried on. "Our friendship feels like a lifetime ago." Stealing a short glance, the ShadowClan leader could see the sadness boiling beneath Wolfstar's expression. He remembered too. "I used to be one of the scariest cats in the forest, don't you remember? No one dared to talk to me. At first, I liked it, it was satisfying to know I was in charge. But then my life soon got very lonely."

Wolfstar couldn't relate more.

"That was until you fell into my quarters." Smokestar looked back with a chuckle. "You looked at me as if I were a regular tom. You weren't afraid like the others." The brittle tom moved his eyes to his friend's. There, they felt at home. "So I will do the same, Wolfstar. I will always see you as my friend."

The gray WolfClan leader didn't respond. He sat in silence, turning his eyes away from the older leader. The atmosphere around him churned with unpredictableness, he sat in the unknown. Seconds grew to minutes where he didn't move or make a sound. Everything was bolting within him too quickly, there wasn't enough time to comprehend Smokestar's words. But he knew one thing for certain: Smokestar didn't belong here. "Go."

Smokestar's face scrunched. "What?"

"I want you to go." Wolfstar was stricken with impatient longing. His amber eyes were finally alive, not with anger, but with a sense of morality. "I said go."

It was as if Smokestar could hear the words but his mind couldn't connect the command to his body. He knew Wolfstar was merciless; he ruled with an iron claw. Yet, he was telling Smokestar to go...? "I- I don't understand."

"You're free." It was a bare whisper. A small shine of hope. Wolfstar, finally letting down the walls of his pride, was a good tom. But there was a storm of conflict in him. He was the rope in a tug-of-war being dragged from each side to the next. Smokestar could see his old friend trapped in the shadow of a tyrant.

Smokestar didn't dare say much more for the fear Wolfstar would have a sudden change of heart. The old cat skipped over the rocks, easily sliding down the longer pieces of stone. He hurried as best as he could, keeping in mind not to attach any outside attention. He didn't think this moment would ever come. He once accepted his fate was to die in WolfClan, but oftentimes, fate changes.

Wolfstar gazed encouragingly, feeling a strange blaze evoke in his chest. He didn't understand what had got a hold of him; but it felt right. Watching as Smokestar disappeared between the trees, he realized he would have to face his old, resentful self again. And he sensed the instinct to run away from it. Maybe there was hope for Wolfstar after all. 

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