Watching the Dawn [Moli]

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The sun was just peeking over the horizon, only just beginning to spread little fingers of pink and orange and heather-gray across the sky. The stars slowly twinkled out of existence up above and a huge white tomcat sat with his thick tail wrapped around his large paws, and with his head thrown back to look up at Silverpelt. He watched as the stars gradually dissipated in the presence of the approaching dawn and wondered which one of them was his beloved mate. A pair of large squirrels sat neatly in front of his paws—dead, of course. No living squirrel no matter how stupid would dare sit in front of the paws of its predator. Whitestorm wondered if his mate watched him as he longed to watch her. Things had been so lonely since she died. He felt alone among a Clan that was either swept up in Tigerstar’s lies, or hated everything he stood for. It felt as though there was no one left who simply loved the Clan. No one who just felt loyalty to the Clan. They either loved or hated Tigerstar, but that wasn’t what Clan life was supposed to be about. Clan life was supposed to be about honor and protecting those you loved. It was supposed to be long patrols to protect the borders of your home. It was supposed to be feeding the young and the old, caring for the sick and the weak, and pride in yourself and your Clanmates.

Not anymore, he sighed to himself. It was all so different after Bluestar’s death, his beloved aunt. She had practically raised him after his dear mother Snowfur was viciously murdered by a Twoleg monster. And that whole catastrophe with BloodClan—what on earth was Tigerstar thinking? Whitestorm certainly didn’t trust Scourge. He was cold and calculating, and probably soulless if it was even possible. Those eyes… every time he felt Scourge’s gaze on him, he felt an uneasy prickling at the back of his neck. The big white tom listened to his instincts—they had kept him alive this long, and he wasn’t going to stop listening to them now.

He heard the early risers begin to stir; he was currently sitting just outside camp. His ears angled back to better catch the sounds of shifting cats. He opened his mouth to drink in the scents, hoping to locate someone friendly that he could chat with. Heaving himself up to his paws, he picked up his pair of squirrels by their tails to bring them into camp. Maybe there would be something else in the fresh-kill pile; he didn’t particularly feel like eating a squirrel today. He paused again and saw that the sun had stretched even farther away from the horizon. Broad streaks of bright orange decorated the sky. He loved watching the dawn. One of these days, he figured, the dawn would bring a bright future as well as a bright day. Whitestorm turned his paws towards the camp entrance and padded inside.

word count // 504
ooc comments // none
tags // anyone!(:

[Moli]

Tigerstar's eyes blinked open, then he forced them shut again. He had been having such a perfect dream - one where he ruled the Clans, and everyone respected or feared him or both. The dark tabby was almost tempted to return to that dream, but his eyes flicked open again at a single realization: why dream, when it could become reality? He stood and stretched, reveling in the softness of the sand that coated the leader's den. How long he had waited until he could sleep in here undisturbed! He had killed Bluestar in this same den. He relished the sand beneath his paws even more with that friendly reminder. She had grown old and weak, pandering to the other Clans. He used to respect her at one point, but she had always treated him differently. Why? Did she remember his father's departure? Or was it that she had been afraid of him.

Well, she would have been right. Too late for that now, though.

He padded outside of the den, listening to his Clan waking in their dens. He left Foxheart to organizing patrols, looking around and surveying his domain. It was small, but that would change in time. He saw Spottedtail looking at him, but she looked away when he saw her noticing. Foolish she-cat. He didn't have time for a cat like her. He already had kits - strong, loyal kits that would become strong, feared warriors. At least he hadn't fathered a medicine cat. He could have never understood that. Healing was a wasted art - no cat feared a healer. He looked up when he saw the entrance move slightly as a cat passed through it - Whitestorm. Seeing his old friend, he approached the white tom.

"Good morning, Whitestorm. Anything to report?" He asked silkily, noting his friend's return from outside of camp. Whitestorm, he could rely upon. Sure, he was sad about Bluestar's death. Many of the Clan were, but now he was the leader, and that was all he needed. He needed loyal strength that Whitestorm had. It was so very useful to have, when you were going to lead TigerClan.



((First time writing him. Phew! Hope it turns out okay. And yes, I put my other TC cat in there, so sue me. xP))

[gray]

The birds were just beginning to chirp, sharing the news that it was morning with the whole forest as though the very rising of the sun was a miracle—although, Whitestorm supposed, it was. How the great ball of light rose and set day after day was a mystery that was far beyond him, but he trusted StarClan to continue making it do so until the end of time. He found the motion of the sun and the nightly reappearance of those little ice chips called stars quite amazing, as well as the growing and shrinking of the moon. Whose idea had then been? Who controlled that? It reminded him that there was always wonder to be found even in days as dark as these. Whitestorm padded over to the fresh-kill pile and deposited his squirrels, deciding that he wasn’t hungry at the moment. He turned to acknowledge the approach of a Clanmate, seeing his leader. The great tabby tom was a truly massive cat, with broad shoulders and huge paws, and dangerous long claws. His warrior name, after all, had been Tigerclaw.

Whitestorm dipped his head respectfully to his leader. “Other than a very alarmed mouse, nothing out of the ordinary,” he said with a slight smile, referring to the mouse he had missed earlier. Mistakes happened to anyone, even the most experienced warriors; even an elder could learn from mistakes. Whitestorm’s paw had hit the ground with slightly too much force as he slipped too far into the automatic stalking skill. He had made a mental note to never again let something become automatic.

It was strange for Whitestorm to see his kithood friend as leader, strange to realize how much had changed. While he didn’t agree with most of what Tigerstar had done so far as leader, he also couldn’t bring himself to believe that the brown tabby tomcat was truly cruel. Actually, out of anyone, Whitestorm felt Scourge was the real villain. Hopefully, Tigerstar would see that soon as well. “How are things going for you?” he inquired curiously, hoping that he could maybe work around to discussing BloodClan. The sooner Tigerstar got rid of them, the better. They had no sense of loyalty; the rogues only obeyed their so-called leader out of terror, unless they were Scourge’s lackeys. Those types stayed with him for the benefits and the protection of being Scourge’s ‘friend’. It seemed like an incredibly lonely existence to Whitestorm.

Speaking of lonely, he really missed Willowpelt. He loved her so much, but was glad that his two sons—especially Sootpaw –resembled her. How little Sorrelpaw had ended up as a tortoiseshell was beyond him, but she had white patches. White fur, like him. But there was no resemblance greater than that between Tigerstar and his son Bramblepaw. Whitestorm could only hope that Bramblepaw proved to have better judgment than his father.

word count // 479
ooc comments // none
tags // moli

[Moli]

"Good," Tigerstar mewed at Whitestorm's report. It was good to hear that there were no stirrings in the forest just yet. Of course the other Clans would be primed to attack, now that they knew about Scourge and BloodClan. They were only there to help achieve TigerClan, a goal that Tigerstar would achieve at any cost. He had hoped that the cost would be mimimal, and the Clans would understand why he had done what he did. He had hoped that, maybe, they would agree in the need for a single, powerful Clan. With TigerClan, they could take on any threat, any enemy. Even monsters and Twolegs would be no match for the strength of all the Clans together - under his leadership, of course.

"That remains to be seen," He replied, when asked about himself. "It all depends on how the other Clans decide to take to the news that BloodClan had allied with us. I only wish they could understand what I really intend to do." He spoke with sadness in his voice, as though he felt sorry for their lack of understanding. Honestly, he was quite fed up with all of their whining and complaining. If they had just agreed, like Leopardstar, then this would all be much easier. He could rise to power, take what was his, and no Clan would challenge him again!

But he couldn't tell that to Whitestorm. Not yet, anyway. He needed the warrior to believe that there were solely good reasons behind his TigerClan, and the involvement of BloodClan. Originally, there had been. But then he had thought of all the weaklings that ThunderClan and the other Clans had, and realized he would have to take stronger measures. There was no room for weaklings like elders or sick cats in TigerClan. Medicine cats might still be useful, but only on the cats who would heal. Otherwise, there was no point in keeping them alive, was there?

((Please feel free to correct me if there's a derp in any of my posts, okay? :3))

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Flicking the tip of his tail in acknowledgment of Tigerstar’s reply, the big white tom scanned the camp for any signs of his stirring Clanmate. His sun-baked-sand-yellow eyes were keen, tracking every movement and little rustle; his slightly tufted ears did the same. Running pawsteps would send vibrations through the ground that would gently almost tickle the warrior’s sensitive paw pads. Whitestorm’s heart leaped in triumph when Tigerstar—Tigerstar first, not he himself –brought up BloodClan. “That remains to be seen. It all depends on how the other Clans decide to take to the news that BloodClan has allied with us. I only wish they could understand what I really intend to do.”

[/I] The disappointment at being misunderstood was evident in the big tabby’s voice. Misunderstanding was often the difference between life and death, and could determine the outcome of a situation quickly. It could cut like talons and shred relationships. Proper communication, and levelheaded reception—those were vital.

However, sometimes there was a clear reason why others jumped to conclusions that weren’t on par with what the deliverer of information was attempting to convey. Shifting his paws uneasily, Whitestorm cast around for what to say. He had to approach this delicately. If he said the wrong thing, Tigerstar would become angry and would never speak to him of anything with any sort of importance again due to the ‘betrayal of trust’ he would be sure to see. Conflicted, he wondered what to say. On one hand, he knew Tigerstar desperately needed—whether he realized it or not –the approval of someone, just one other to tell him he was doing what was right. The leader’s word was law, after all. However, Whitestorm felt certain that this whole BloodClan thing was… wrong. Scourge didn’t even believe in StarClan. He firmly chose not to, which went against the very basis of Clan life—meaning, BloodClan was no Clan at all; it was nothing more than a collection of cats who craved power, protection, or destruction. Not to mention a few misguided souls, Whitestorm reminded himself. Not everyone was depraved and twisted.

Finally, Whitestorm stopped shuffling his paws and looked—well, almost looked –Tigerstar in the eye. “Well… There may be a very good reason why they don’t understand, Tigerstar,” he began carefully. “Bringing in a strange group—one whose leader chooses not to believe as we do –is quite,” he searched for the right word and found it, “unprecedented. No one has ever done a thing quite like it before.” He hoped he didn’t sound accusatory or judgmental, because that certainly wasn’t his objective. “Perhaps…” What he wanted to say was perhaps an alliance with BloodClan is unwise, but he knew he couldn’t voice that out loud. Instead, he said, “Perhaps if it was more clear to the others why, exactly, TigerClan would benefit us all, they would be more understanding.” It was a long shot. Whitestorm knew the way Clan cats thought. They were fiercely proud of their Clan, and mixing everyone together was probably unwise. There was no good way to shift the leadership and the StarClan-created system. Quite frankly, Whitestorm didn’t want it to anyhow. Things were the way they were for a reason. Going against it would cost a lot of lives.

Thinking again of Willowpelt, he decided that there had been quite enough death in the recent seasons.

word count // 562
ooc comments // lol no derps(:
tags // moli

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[Moli]

Tigerstar considered Whitestorm's words carefully, listening for disloyalty and questioning. He couldn't let that happen - it would be a shame to be forced to remove his kithood friend from the Clan. He was a strong fighter, something Tigerstar would need in the days to come. After a moment, he decided he heard nothing. Honest feedback might be good. Only if it served his cause, though.

"If the other Clans do not understand my dreams for TigerClan," Tigerstar said slowly, thoughtfully. "I thought it would be helpful to bring a Clan who does understand. They are our allies, nothing more. Belief in StarClan..." He paused for a moment. He didn't really care what a bunch of dead cats had to say. They had given him his nine lives - that was all he had needed from them, other than maybe support. But giving his lives had been evidence of their support, wasn't it? Yes, it must be. "Well, it's too bad. But BloodClan will not move without their orders from Scourge, and he will not move without me. They will be a great asset to us."