ShadowClan has never faced such an awful leaf-bare. But now, cats are starving and falling dead to a new illness. Desperate to survive this all and figure out what is happening, the ShadowClan medicine cat known as Hemlockfoot resorts to eating his...
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Hemlockfoot watched from a distance as the tom stumbled around in the snow. The wind had begun to pick up, carrying his scent towards the medicine cat. WindClan. But... how? How did an old cat manage to get through RiverClan territory and into the pine forests of ShadowClan?
The medicine cat made his way towards the tom slowly. He was frail and thin, with a sleek ginger tabby pelt and dark yellow eyes. Hemlockfoot had never seen such a pitiful looking cat before, especially one this thin and elderly looking.
"What's wrong?" Hemlockfoot asked as he approached.
The old tom looked at him, fear flashing in his eyes. "Everything hurts... I feel weak... WindClan couldn't help me..." he rasped.
The ShadowClan tom got closer and saw the blood dripping from his jaws. Could an elderly tom have done something as bad as murder? Maybe it was prey? Or maybe...
"My name is Rowantail... I need help..." the tom began again. "Please... Please just help me..."
Hemlockfoot felt a wave of hunger crash over him. It wasn't just hunger though. He knew, deep down, that this cat wouldn't surge a functional purpose anymore at this age. He knew that he would die soon enough. All he needed was a little push.
"Follow me, I can solve your pain," the medicine cat said calmly. "Just be quick. I can't let my clanmates see you."
Large snowflakes began to fall through the branches as they arrived at Hemlockfoot's secret den. It was a small hollow log, which was usually covered in vibrant moss when the weather was warm. Hemlockfoot considered it his own little hideout where he could go to escape the stress of his duty. But now, it would serve as a place to deal with the pitiful cat.
Rowantail collapsed in the den, his breathing shallow and raspy. He let out a weak cough, blood coming out as well. Hemlockfoot sunk his claws into the snow below him, trying to summon all his strength. It was now or never.
Using an old technique passed down from generation to generation of ShadowClan medicine cats, Hemlockfoot hooked his claws into the back of the old tom's neck, shoving them in deeply and quickly. The old tom hardly had time to scream before he had already been stunned and killed.
The silver-and-white tom hovered over his body, eying him down. He flipped him over, pressing his head against Rowantail's chest in search of a pulse. Nothing.
"I'm finally giving you a purpose," Hemlockfoot told him. "You were bound to die anyways... But at least now your friends and family don't have to watch it. At least now you're serving one last purpose."
Hemlockfoot had no idea what had overcome him to do what he did. It was like a switch. One moment he had been filled with anxiety and dread, but now he felt powerful and relaxed. Before he knew it, he had killed an innocent cat.
The taste was... not as bad as he had expected. Perhaps it was the hunger that he had been experiencing. Or maybe cat was just naturally delicious. Either way, Hemlockfoot found himself enjoying his meal.
He looked down at the body, slowly realizing what he had done. A sick feeling began to rise in his stomach.
Stay calm, Hemlockfoot. He was trespassing. He was old and weak. He served his purpose. StarClan sent him here just to complete one final task.
"I need to hide you," he said, beginning to worry. "I'm so sorry."
Grabbing the tom's injured scruff, he began to drag him through the snow. The blizzard, which had gotten worse during his feeding, would hopefully cover the trail of blood that followed the two cats. Hopefully.
Luck seemed to be in Hemlockfoot's favor though, because when he looked up, the trail was covered rather well. Perhaps he'd have to injure himself just to be safe though. No harm in being extra careful.
• • • •
The medicine cat stumbled into camp, a large gash on his chest bleeding profusely. He had decided his best alibi would be getting attacked by kittypets after venturing a little past the border for some herbs.
"What happened?" asked Newtdash, rushing up to him. "Did RiverClan do this?"
No, I did this. I killed an innocent cat and then tore my own claws through my flesh. Something must be wrong with me... Maybe I have bloodcough.
The sounds of more voices snapped Hemlockfoot from his thoughts. "I went a little past the Twolegplace border... There were extremely rude toms lounging around where I was... I didn't mean to cause trouble..."
Rainpaw rushed over, a bundle of herbs in his jaws. Hemlockfoot smiled at him, pride shining in his eyes. He did a good job training his apprentice. Even though Hemlockfoot knew his wounds wouldn't kill him, he was glad that Rainpaw would be helping him out. Maybe one day he'd actually save a life.
