sʜᴇʟʟ sʜᴏᴄᴋ [warrior cat fanfiction]

chapter four.

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❝ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀ ❞

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The panic that had rapidly built itself up inside himself filled his every limb. His chest ached every time he had the slightest thought of his clanmates. Even closing his eyes wasn't enough to keep them out of his head.

Part of him blamed Poppynose for the spike in anxiety. But this lasted for only a few moments. His heart thumped with nerves and guilt, his emotions a mess that he couldn't even start to decipher. It was a relief, in a slight way. After so long of not being able to feel anything, he knew that at least he wasn't the blank cat that most thought him to be. But it was a heavy price to pay.

Poppynose and him shared something secret. The midnight visits to the rock where they first became friends would become something to look forward to, Larkthroat knew.

Still yet, he sometimes found that he despised Poppynose. The tomcat should have stood up for him, all those times. But, alas. . . . Larkthroat heaved a sigh, his thoughts whirling so fast that his train of - admittedly distracted - thought had run out of fuel. He instead turned his attention to the near present, not the future or any kind of dark premonitions for the future.

The past few days were blurred together, and where one day started and ended wasn't clear to him anymore. All he knew was that, when Poppynose finally told his clanmates of his wishes, they had rejected him. They had rejected him as they had rejected Larkthroat. And so the cycle continues.

Larkthroat stared bitterly at his browning moss nest, paws tucked underneath him and short pelt spiking in the chill of evening. It occurred to him that he needed to change his nest, yet he had hardly enough motivation to eat, let alone be active. Poppynose was beside him, the tom curled up in his nest as if he was sleeping.

Listening for the deep breathing that indicated sleep, Larkthroat heard none, and he knew the tomcat wasn't asleep, but he decided he would not bother his friend. Both Poppynose and him had a mutual understanding of the solitude they both desired frequently and when to give it to the other.

The sudden movement making him flinch, Larkthroat quickly sat up straight in his nest without meaning to. Something compelled him to rise to his paws, something he couldn't put his claw on. A buzzing filled his head. He quietly shook out his pelt and glanced around the nearly empty den as pieces of dried moss floated down from his coat.

Poppynose slowly raised his head to look at Larkthroat, his eyes flat and whiskers limp. "What are you doing?" he rasped, his blank eyes boring into Larkthroat's own. The white-and-brown tabby tomcat was startled at those eyes. The eyes that had been his just before he explored a friendship with the warrior. He absentmindedly blinked a few times before regaining his voice.

"Come on," Larkthroat meowed sharply, his voice harder than he would've liked. Poppynose jerked his head towards Larkthroat in surprise.

"But. . . ." The tortoiseshell tomcat hesitated, his eyes a desperate plea. "They hate us. We can't go out there. We-we can't -"

Larkthroat's heart pounded against his rib cage and he nearly gave in, a sense of dread weighing him down. But then he gathered all the courage he had - which wasn't very much to begin with - and shook his head. "Poppy. We can't just keep moping around. They're going to say things either way. It's just the way they are. At least we can show them we aren't pathetic losers."

Poppynose let out a short, derisive snort. "We are pathetic losers, Larkthroat."

He flashed Poppynose a dark look. "If you aren't going, I'm going. I'm not going to be held back by you." In a blur of noise and colour, the tomcat swept outside. He didn't look back, anxious of what Poppynose's face looked like.

As soon as he stepped into the clearing, several cats turned towards him, their gazes burning. Larkthroat stared at his white paws. Poppynose is right. Why did I do this? Two sets of paws appeared in his vision, and two sets of eyes pierced his pelt.

"Larkthroat, where's your little she-cat friend?"

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Larkthroat launched himself in a random direction, going opposite of where the voice had come from. His unsheathed claws connected with the grey tabby furred face of Swiftscratch. Loontail, from where the jeer had come from, stepped backward, eyes wide.

The molly let out a yelp of pain, scrambling backwards. "Hey!" she snarled, and when Larkthroat looked into her eyes, he realized there was an unhinged gleam in them. The overwhelming rage in her eyes didn't match the situation.

"I-I didn't mean to!" Larkthroat whispered, horror filling his chest. Swiftscratch nodded towards her companion and the calico tomcat bounded away. As Swiftscratch pushed him out of camp, he heard the tom exclaim at something in the sky, no doubt trying to capture the attention of the Clan. His legs felt weak and useless, panic making him stumble and not watch where he was stepping. Through a haze of anxiousness, Larkthroat realized what was about to happen.

As the sounds of the Clan melted away and the forest became thick and wild, having strayed off the path, Swiftscratch halted and spun around to face him. Her eyes were the tortured sort that accompanied him through the war.

"Please." Larkthroat's voice was scarcely a whisper.

Swiftscratch lifted one of her front paws off the ground and extended her claws out. The crazed she-cat turned on him, with her wildfire eyes blazing, and there was a resolution in her ill gaze that frightened Larkthroat beyond anything that had happened for a long while. "Nobody can hear you. You . . . you deserve this, Mockingbirdsong."

Realization hit him like a wall. "Swiftscratch," he whispered, pity seeping into his voice like raw honey. "I'm not who you think I am. He died moons ago." As she stood in front of him, he closed his eyes, his veins turning to ice as he realized he could do nothing. "Oh, Swiftscratch. you aren't the only one who suffered from the war."