{Book 1 of the Times of Turbulence arc.}
(Art, story, and characters by me. Setting and original series by Erin Hunter.)
FOREVER UNFINISHED, I HAVE BETTER PROJECTS!
Highwings, a new and happy warrior of ShadowClan, finds that she comes into the scen...
Highwings bounded along the darkened silvery forest, prey dangling from her maw. She felt better about meeting with Tiltpaw now; last night she had denied any updates, due to her fear for his safety, but now she had reassured herself enough to feel that maybe, just maybe, there really was nothing to worry about. Maybe Battlestar had actually let this one go. Was it possible? Anything was.
And besides that, she had things she wanted to talk to him about. Most notably, she wanted to check in on Hollowfortune, as it had been two days since a proper update on his condition. She also wanted to vent about Nokit's new discovered disability and his new name, and perhaps receive words of wisdom from the apprentice. She was not sure how she felt for Moorsprint taking after a blind and deaf cat - how could cats like those even survive? - and surely Tiltpaw would provide her with some guidance. He always seemed to be wiser than her in these respects, and understand those cats more.
Another thing she wanted to start getting was updates on the rogues. She'd thought about it a few times, but had never really resolved to ask him about it until now. WindClan was the closest to the barn out of all the Clans; maybe Tiltpaw had some information on the rogues that she didn't. She could use it to help her Clan somehow. To help all the Clans, she corrected herself. Rogues were a universal threat, applicable to all four Clans.
She entered the tunnel with her tail high, still somewhat on guard for possible threats. Her gut instinct last night may have been random, but she was not willing to take that chance. As she padded into the tunnel, she called out, "Tiltpaw?" She could smell his scent, but could not see his silhouette sitting upright in the tunnel. Caution took over, and she crept forward, bit by bit. "Tiltpaw?"
The scent of old, clotted blood filled her nose, and a dark fear overshadowed her previous relief and free spirit. She felt the immediate need to exit the tunnel, but kept going, for Tiltpaw's sake. Please have it be a couple of mice who killed each other in here or something. Please don't let it be what I think it is. And as she approached nearer to the scene of the crime, the blood-scent getting stronger, she was able to pick out, with her eyes, the cause of the intense stench.
It was exactly what she thought it was.
It was Tiltpaw, lying there on the floor, soaked in his own blood. He had obviously been there like that for a while, told loud and clear by the rotting stench emanating from his corpse. He seemed to be splayed out in a position not natural for a body, with his paws outstretched and upside-down, seeming to be positioned as though he was facing Highwings. It looked like he was in some kind of begging position. It would have seemed real and genuine, had it not been for his bloodstained fur, his sightless eyes...
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Highwings did not call out to him. Highwings did not do anything. She unsheathed her claws, digging them into the ground as though to keep herself from flying away from this crazy and outlandish reality. No. She could not believe it. This could not be happening. This was not real. That could not be Tiltpaw. He was perfectly fine last night. He was perfectly fine and alive. So why was he not fine and alive tonight? No.
