Post by ♫.Starredmyst on Nov 20, 2007 14:02:29 GMT -5
[shadow=white,left,300]Patchstar[/shadow]
"All that I'm living for
All that I'm dying for
All that I can't ignore alone at night
All that I'm wanted for
Although I wanted more
Lock the last open door --
My ghosts are gaining on me"
~Evanescence, ‘All That I'm Living For’
You.♦.May.♦.Call.♦.Me
Name. Patchstar
Warrior Name. Patchpelt
Nicknames. Patchy, but he will rip your fur off if you call him that. xD
Gender. Male
Age at Death. 50 moons
Birth Clan. IvoryClan
Past Clans. none
Current Clan. StarClan
Rank. Leader
-.-.-.-
Stare.♦.On.♦.My.♦.Splendor
Build. To put it bluntly, well, Patchstar is...fat. He was always a bit on the stocky side -- heavily built, large-boned, thick-muscled -- but now, well...he's let himself go. Right from the foundation, there is no resemblance between himself and his daughter -- it's clear that Starredmyst takes entirely after her mother.
Fur. Patchstar was named for his bicolor fur; random large splotches of black and white. It would look nice enough, but there's no "solid" edge between the black and the white, but a sort of speckling of the two colors, giving him a ragged, patched look.
Eyes. Your usual plain yellow-green.
Other. Like Starr, Patchstar's pelt is smooth, scarless and...well, a little oily too. He's never been in battles -- as a kit he was the youngest of three and indulged, because no one ever expected he'd end up taking the lead. Well, IvoryClan leaders are known to go a little...odd at the end of their life...
Personality. Patchstar isn't the most intelligent of cats. It's not that he's stupid, necessarily -- he's just never been out there to learn what life's like. He needs his deputy and family to keep him on the line, but he has learned with experience and most of his decisions aren't as stupid as they might have been in the past. In addition, he completely lacks empathy; his decisions are made entirely according to expediency and his current mood. He isn't intentionally cruel, precisely -- he just thinks in numbers rather than emotions, and doesn't much care how others feel if it gets the job done. It's a trait that could make the perfect leader in a moral cat, or be the failing of one that's already got his flaws.
Hobbies and talents. When Patchstar makes his mind up, there's no going back on his decisions. He's an absolute ruler to the pin in attitude, though the truth is it's just a show. He absolutely adores his kits, Darktalon and Starredmyst, and knows how to be manipulative, in his own blunt sort of way.
Faults and dislikes. Patchstar really doesn't give a care for his Clanmates and charges, except as tools to be used. He's not a brilliant strategist and needs advice to really get by. As pampered youngest son, he hardly knows how to hunt or fight and rarely leaves Clan camp.
-.-.-.-
As.♦.I.♦.Have.♦.Lived
Parents.Swiftfeet & Redstar
Siblings.Talonfall, Fireclaws, Fleetrunner
Teaching Me.Markedpelt
Proteges. None
Closer than a friend.Shimmersoul
After me.. Darktalon, Starredmyst,Moonkit
Other Family. Silversoul&kin[in-laws]
Gone but unforgotten.
Swiftfeet - died of old age
Redstar - died of old age/disease
Talonfall - killed in battle against Patchstar
Fleetrunner - left the Clan
Shimmersoul - died giving birth to Moonkit
Moonkit - stillborn
Markedpelt - died of old age
History.
Patchkit was born in a litter of four, the last-born and least important of all his siblings. His father was already Redstar, the proud, cruel leader with a brilliant tactical mind; his mother, quiet, pale Swiftfeet, mate of the leader so to keep her own family alive.
From the first few moons there was a fierce competition between the elder three siblings. There was sweet-voiced, arrogant Fleetkit, talented and the youngest apart from Patchkit; always a few steps behind was her next-eldest brother Firekit, loud and bold but not too quick on the uptake.
And Talonkit -- Talonkit was the one to be frightened of. Clever, proud, ambitious, popular Talonkit, who feared nothing and would do whatever it took to get his way.
Patchkit, though -- Patchkit, later Patchpaw, was well out of it, and he was perfectly content to let it lie that way. It had been established early on that the youngest kit would never become leader -- there was no chance Patchkit, weak and pudgy, stupid, gullible, would ever take the lead in the competition. Patchpaw didn't care -- quite frankly, he had it better just being leader's kin. All he could ever want and nothing to lose for it...and there was no chance he'd dare risk letting Talonpaw think he was a threat.
Time passed. Patchpaw became Patchpelt, and began to fall away from his family and their infighting. His mother, he stayed close to -- but Swiftfeet had always been frail, and when the first signs of old age began to close in on her she seemed almost glad to leave her feud-bound life. So Patchpelt began to spend more and more time away from his family, and more with the rest of the Clan, a layabout who liked to make trouble...
Unfortunately, Talonfall was doing the same -- and with a lot more success.
It is a well-known fact that the leading line tends to get a bit...odd in their old age. Critics of the system claim it's due to inbreeding. Whatever the case, when Redstar started to show signs of being a bit...off, cats began to worry. The great talented ruler had fostered dependence from all of his cats. He hadn't yet chosen a successor. What would they do if he died this way?
That question was soon to be answered.
Redstar was better than stories of leaders in the past; he wasn't entirely mad, simply eccentric and a bit confused. It was clear his mind was beginning to deteriorate, though, every time he claimed to hear the voice of a dead cat, and it was with something like relief that the medicine cat announced that this case of greencough would mean the loss of his final life. On his deathbed, Redstar called his four kits to his side.
The four assembled; Talonfall and Fleetrunner were glaring daggers at each other, certain that he was going to announce one of them leader. Fireclaws had been put out of the running not long before; lacking a charismatic personality and more than brute strength, he had the last vote before Patchpelt.
But it wasn't any of those three Redstar mentioned. And he died too soon to revoke that decision.
"Patchpelt, I want you to take my place. It's...the least I can do for -- your mother. She wants it so."
All three of his siblings were furious; Fireclaw glumly so, well aware that he had just taken last place, and Fleetrunner with a passionate anger that she could find no way to vent. Talonfall, though -- he had a dark look on his face and it was clear he had nasty thoughts in mind. Accidents. Mysterious deaths. Outright rebellion.
There were two cats in the Clan that both of the toms had found especially beautiful. Silversoul and Shimmersoul -- pretty, gentle she-cats, with silvery laughs and a love of life. They were the beautiful twins, the ones everyone had set their eyes on, and both of them had chosen. Silversoul had already become the mate of a darkly handsome, middle-class tom by the name of Jetfur; Shimmersoul had been wavering between the two heirs for moons now, but was now beginning to turn her eyes toward Patchpelt. Sweet, gullible, stupid Patchpelt, rather than overbearing, cunning, angry Talonfall --
But Talonfall wasn't going to have it. Any of it.
He quietly took Shimmersoul aside shortly before Patchpelt went to Moonstone, and said things to her. Quiet things, dangerous words, that she would never dare repeat even after her tormentor's death. Talonfall did the same thing to his love that Redstar had done to his; alternately threatened and cajoled her, promising danger to herself and family if she kept away, a wonderful life with a perfect tom if she would just do as he said. And he had more in mind than Redstar's simple wish to have the cat he desired.
So it was that, late one night, Patchstar's love crept into his den and attempted to ambush him. It was sheer luck that she was held, not killed as the cats who backed her; and, once assured of her safety no matter what, the she-cat's story spilled out.
The entire Clan was grimly furious, from the lowliest scorned apprentice to even Fleetrunner, who was a staunch supporter of the two she-cats and a close friend to Silversoul, the threatened cat's sister. There was no question of it; Talonfall was going to be stopped.
Patchpelt fought his brother, honorably. There was no question that he would lose. It was not surprising when Fleetrunner intervened at the killing blow and struck her brother from behind, eliminating both a danger to the Clan and her fiercest rival in one final bite.
"Take it," were the last words she told her brother, shortly. "I would have been like him. I know I would."
Shortly before Patchpelt became leader, she would disappear into the mists of Clan boundaries, never to be seen again. Patchpelt would become Patchstar, and the slow corruption of a lazy mind would begin; in the meantime he had his Shimmersoul, his love, and it was the only thing he had ever wanted in his life.
Unfortunately, that was soon to be denied him...
He was thirty moons old when his kits were born. Two beautiful, healthy young cats; Darkkit, with the same black-and-white pelt as his father, and Starredkit, who looked like her mother to the hair. And another --
Something went wrong. Nocat would know what, just that -- suddenly something was wrong. There was no medicine cat present; someone went to fetch her. Shimmersoul stiffened, and her eyes closed --
She would die with the last of her kits, tiny Moonkit, and Patchstar's life would fall apart.
It is only through his kits that he managed to live through that painful time, realizing his loss; his kits, and his love's sister. Silversoul was a loving, no-nonsense sort of cat; she fostered the two motherless things with a friend and helped her brother-in-law back to his former life. He would heal, slowly, and begin to look ahead in his life rather than behind; but he would never, never forget his lost love. Darktalon and Starredmyst would become all he lived for, all that mattered to him. The Clan, too, of course; but it was not an ambition that had ever been overly important to him and would never truly become so.
But life goes on, and things change. As Patchstar entered his forty-seventh moon, things were beginning to stir in the Clan, new ideas and dangerous ambitions...and no one has a clue how he will weather them out.
Since then.
Patchstar began to hear the voices of his dead Clanmates, his father and his mate. Unknown to him, StarClan was setting out to remove him from his position of power; they had selected Darksong as their champion. Patchstar was, as ever, abusive to Darksong, whom he had no reason to favor; finally, driven over the edge and determined to make things right, Darksong killed the half-mad leader.
-.-.-.-
Pics
Mini graphic a la TnT
Mini graphic a la WxNSD
-.-.-.-
In.♦.Addendum
xx♦Rubbish cow =3
-.-.-.-
In.♦.My.♦.Day
It was going to be a good day.
Patchstar knew it inherently, could feel the fact thrumming through his veins in an odd sort of excitement. He didn't know why. The medicine cat would have told him it was a sign from StarClan. As if...
The sun had not yet risen. Cool darkness, mid-newleaf nighttime flooded his veins with a strange exhilaration in much the same way opaque blue shadows filled the entrance to his den; mysterious, but somehow exciting. Inviting him to come out and play.
It was -- strange. He'd never felt this way before, or not in a long time. Not since he was a young kit, when Redstar and his siblings demonstrated to him that life was not about nighttime dreams and imaginings -- had explained by their cruel way of selfish living that life was not about what you dreamed and believed and felt in your heart, but what you had and how you used it to your advantage. To others' downfall.
Shimmersoul didn't believe that.
Inexorably, the shadows called him. Patchstar stood, suddenly very aware of the heaviness of his own chubby body, a layer of thickness that was not muscle dangling from his stomach; aware, with a faint tinge of shame, of the oily uncared-for condition of his pelt. Shimmersoul always nagged him to take better care of himself -- but he, well, they hadn't been seeing much of each other these past few moons.
Patchstar smiled, very slightly, and stepped out, following the night's call, the faint fragrance of newleaf flowers. The last few stubborn stars sparkled defiantly above the growing line of pale gray on the horizon; their reflections danced in the endless sea before him, sparking and flashing back at the sky as the water increased their brilliance a hundredfold. Strange how anything seemed possible on nights like these -- even StarClan themself...
A shiver rippled the leader's pelt and he diverted his thoughts, pointedly, to the one thing aside from tonight that was capturing the whole of his being. Shimmersoul. Sweet-voiced, stunning Shimmersoul, the love of his life, living of late in the nursery so far from him. Her kits were due any day now -- anytime, the medicine cat had assured him with amusement and a touch of nervousness, and very healthy kits at that; Shimmersoul was his mate, the leader's mate, and would get the best care now that he could give her. That anyone could give her without StarClan's help.
The night held for a moment, still and perfect, unmoving, unchanged; an eternity of beauty for the space of a second. Patchstar's breath caught.
And then the most painful, piercing wail he'd ever heard rent the night in two --
-- not just because it was so heartrending as to cut to his very soul, but because it came from the nursery --
-- in a voice he knew all too well, that tore him and tore him as the cry went on --
Shimmersoul --
Still in the dreamlike daze that had woken him he ran, ran for his life, paws pounding the slippery sand heavily as he cursed aloud his own useless bulk. He caught his breath the slightest moment as the yowl broke, silenced, then cam again, and at last he was there, there at the entrance, and he was shoving aside all cats in his way, StarClan caring if it were warrior or queen or crowfood a kit --
The nursery was a seething pit of warmth and motion, the soft scents of milk and young kit mingling uneasily with the tang of blood and the sharpness of the herbs meant to stop it. It was dark, too dark for his eyes to easily adjust to the change; he found her instead by scent, by forcing his way to the center of the whirlwind. His eyes locked on her pale blue ones, reflecting what dim light there was in wide pain and worry --
"Shimmersoul --"
"Pat," she gasped, and then the medicine cat was at his side before he could come closer to her, speaking in a low and soothing voice.
"Patchstar, your mate's kits are coming. It's all going fine. Don't look so worried, or you'll frighten her. There, you see, there's one already and the second one's on its way --"
One of the permanent nursery queens, silent and worn, had nudged the first kit to where Shimmersoul could clean it; it was a tiny thing, Patchstar saw, a dark little tom that was mewling angrily at its first sights of life. And the medicine cat was by his dear Shimmersoul's side urging her gently, giving her some herb to help what was happening -- there was a second kit, paler and furrier, and in spite of his near panic he found himself staring at them in something like wonder.
He heard them then, the queens talking quietly, like a premonition he never wanted to hear. "She's lucky," the one said, voice low in the chaos, "I would have sworn she'd have more trouble, delicate little thing. And kits so soon after they were mates, you know; her sister's a little more sensible, is willing to wait a little till their life settles down."
"Don't count your mice before they're caught," a second one advised just as quietly; "there's at least one more kit on its way. You never know what might happen."
A third queen hushed them then, the one that had been attending Shimmersoul when the first kit was born; clucking, with a covert glance at their leader only a spare tail-length away, she said, "Quiet, girls, don't gossip. You'll scare the poor couple out of their wits."
It would have been easy to ignore them. Should have been -- he spent so much of his lifetime now doing just that when cats displeased him. But the thought had made its way inside of his head, insidious, and now it wouldn't leave -- what if something did go wrong? They were right -- his poor Shimmersoul, his love was so small and fragile -- it would take nothing to kill her in such a vulnerable moment -- for the first time in his life he found himself praying that StarClan existed, no, praying to StarClan --
My love, my only love, please, be well --
From a great distance he heard her gasp; heard the medicine cat's sharp command that sent the rest of the queens scurrying. StarClan must have heard him, on this strange night of all nights. Must have hated him, for this -- there was blood and she was dying, he could see it though they tried to distract him, knew what was happening --
They would explain it to him later. There was a third kit, one Shimmersoul had named Moonkit before things began to go wrong. The kit had -- been born wrong, and -- something had happened that made Shimmersoul bleed. It wasn't something the medicine cat could stop, not in time.
But all he saw then was the blood, the blood that was spilling and drying over his dear mate and their two kits -- the lifeless breathless face of the stillborn that already had been named --
And his love, limp, breathless, the light gone from her beautiful blue eyes. He'd have given anything to see them bright again -- anything, even to see the hatred she'd only ever displayed once directed full force at him --
But it was no good. The life was gone from her, her shining shimmering spirit fled from the body too fragile to cointain it any longer; and this knowledge cut him as he bent over her sobbing his life out, broke his heart again and again until there was nothing left of it but glittering dust in the new morning light.
And, in that dawn, he saw that the one living she-cat was the image of the one he had just lost, and his soul splintered over the remains of that loss and latched on to the only two he had left.
[/center][/size][/color]"All that I'm living for
All that I'm dying for
All that I can't ignore alone at night
All that I'm wanted for
Although I wanted more
Lock the last open door --
My ghosts are gaining on me"
~Evanescence, ‘All That I'm Living For’
You.♦.May.♦.Call.♦.Me
Name. Patchstar
Warrior Name. Patchpelt
Nicknames. Patchy, but he will rip your fur off if you call him that. xD
Gender. Male
Age at Death. 50 moons
Birth Clan. IvoryClan
Past Clans. none
Current Clan. StarClan
Rank. Leader
-.-.-.-
Stare.♦.On.♦.My.♦.Splendor
Build. To put it bluntly, well, Patchstar is...fat. He was always a bit on the stocky side -- heavily built, large-boned, thick-muscled -- but now, well...he's let himself go. Right from the foundation, there is no resemblance between himself and his daughter -- it's clear that Starredmyst takes entirely after her mother.
Fur. Patchstar was named for his bicolor fur; random large splotches of black and white. It would look nice enough, but there's no "solid" edge between the black and the white, but a sort of speckling of the two colors, giving him a ragged, patched look.
Eyes. Your usual plain yellow-green.
Other. Like Starr, Patchstar's pelt is smooth, scarless and...well, a little oily too. He's never been in battles -- as a kit he was the youngest of three and indulged, because no one ever expected he'd end up taking the lead. Well, IvoryClan leaders are known to go a little...odd at the end of their life...
Personality. Patchstar isn't the most intelligent of cats. It's not that he's stupid, necessarily -- he's just never been out there to learn what life's like. He needs his deputy and family to keep him on the line, but he has learned with experience and most of his decisions aren't as stupid as they might have been in the past. In addition, he completely lacks empathy; his decisions are made entirely according to expediency and his current mood. He isn't intentionally cruel, precisely -- he just thinks in numbers rather than emotions, and doesn't much care how others feel if it gets the job done. It's a trait that could make the perfect leader in a moral cat, or be the failing of one that's already got his flaws.
Hobbies and talents. When Patchstar makes his mind up, there's no going back on his decisions. He's an absolute ruler to the pin in attitude, though the truth is it's just a show. He absolutely adores his kits, Darktalon and Starredmyst, and knows how to be manipulative, in his own blunt sort of way.
Faults and dislikes. Patchstar really doesn't give a care for his Clanmates and charges, except as tools to be used. He's not a brilliant strategist and needs advice to really get by. As pampered youngest son, he hardly knows how to hunt or fight and rarely leaves Clan camp.
-.-.-.-
As.♦.I.♦.Have.♦.Lived
Parents.
Siblings.
Teaching Me.
Proteges. None
Closer than a friend.
After me.. Darktalon, Starredmyst,
Other Family. Silversoul&kin[in-laws]
Gone but unforgotten.
Swiftfeet - died of old age
Redstar - died of old age/disease
Talonfall - killed in battle against Patchstar
Fleetrunner - left the Clan
Shimmersoul - died giving birth to Moonkit
Moonkit - stillborn
Markedpelt - died of old age
History.
Patchkit was born in a litter of four, the last-born and least important of all his siblings. His father was already Redstar, the proud, cruel leader with a brilliant tactical mind; his mother, quiet, pale Swiftfeet, mate of the leader so to keep her own family alive.
From the first few moons there was a fierce competition between the elder three siblings. There was sweet-voiced, arrogant Fleetkit, talented and the youngest apart from Patchkit; always a few steps behind was her next-eldest brother Firekit, loud and bold but not too quick on the uptake.
And Talonkit -- Talonkit was the one to be frightened of. Clever, proud, ambitious, popular Talonkit, who feared nothing and would do whatever it took to get his way.
Patchkit, though -- Patchkit, later Patchpaw, was well out of it, and he was perfectly content to let it lie that way. It had been established early on that the youngest kit would never become leader -- there was no chance Patchkit, weak and pudgy, stupid, gullible, would ever take the lead in the competition. Patchpaw didn't care -- quite frankly, he had it better just being leader's kin. All he could ever want and nothing to lose for it...and there was no chance he'd dare risk letting Talonpaw think he was a threat.
Time passed. Patchpaw became Patchpelt, and began to fall away from his family and their infighting. His mother, he stayed close to -- but Swiftfeet had always been frail, and when the first signs of old age began to close in on her she seemed almost glad to leave her feud-bound life. So Patchpelt began to spend more and more time away from his family, and more with the rest of the Clan, a layabout who liked to make trouble...
Unfortunately, Talonfall was doing the same -- and with a lot more success.
It is a well-known fact that the leading line tends to get a bit...odd in their old age. Critics of the system claim it's due to inbreeding. Whatever the case, when Redstar started to show signs of being a bit...off, cats began to worry. The great talented ruler had fostered dependence from all of his cats. He hadn't yet chosen a successor. What would they do if he died this way?
That question was soon to be answered.
Redstar was better than stories of leaders in the past; he wasn't entirely mad, simply eccentric and a bit confused. It was clear his mind was beginning to deteriorate, though, every time he claimed to hear the voice of a dead cat, and it was with something like relief that the medicine cat announced that this case of greencough would mean the loss of his final life. On his deathbed, Redstar called his four kits to his side.
The four assembled; Talonfall and Fleetrunner were glaring daggers at each other, certain that he was going to announce one of them leader. Fireclaws had been put out of the running not long before; lacking a charismatic personality and more than brute strength, he had the last vote before Patchpelt.
But it wasn't any of those three Redstar mentioned. And he died too soon to revoke that decision.
"Patchpelt, I want you to take my place. It's...the least I can do for -- your mother. She wants it so."
All three of his siblings were furious; Fireclaw glumly so, well aware that he had just taken last place, and Fleetrunner with a passionate anger that she could find no way to vent. Talonfall, though -- he had a dark look on his face and it was clear he had nasty thoughts in mind. Accidents. Mysterious deaths. Outright rebellion.
There were two cats in the Clan that both of the toms had found especially beautiful. Silversoul and Shimmersoul -- pretty, gentle she-cats, with silvery laughs and a love of life. They were the beautiful twins, the ones everyone had set their eyes on, and both of them had chosen. Silversoul had already become the mate of a darkly handsome, middle-class tom by the name of Jetfur; Shimmersoul had been wavering between the two heirs for moons now, but was now beginning to turn her eyes toward Patchpelt. Sweet, gullible, stupid Patchpelt, rather than overbearing, cunning, angry Talonfall --
But Talonfall wasn't going to have it. Any of it.
He quietly took Shimmersoul aside shortly before Patchpelt went to Moonstone, and said things to her. Quiet things, dangerous words, that she would never dare repeat even after her tormentor's death. Talonfall did the same thing to his love that Redstar had done to his; alternately threatened and cajoled her, promising danger to herself and family if she kept away, a wonderful life with a perfect tom if she would just do as he said. And he had more in mind than Redstar's simple wish to have the cat he desired.
So it was that, late one night, Patchstar's love crept into his den and attempted to ambush him. It was sheer luck that she was held, not killed as the cats who backed her; and, once assured of her safety no matter what, the she-cat's story spilled out.
The entire Clan was grimly furious, from the lowliest scorned apprentice to even Fleetrunner, who was a staunch supporter of the two she-cats and a close friend to Silversoul, the threatened cat's sister. There was no question of it; Talonfall was going to be stopped.
Patchpelt fought his brother, honorably. There was no question that he would lose. It was not surprising when Fleetrunner intervened at the killing blow and struck her brother from behind, eliminating both a danger to the Clan and her fiercest rival in one final bite.
"Take it," were the last words she told her brother, shortly. "I would have been like him. I know I would."
Shortly before Patchpelt became leader, she would disappear into the mists of Clan boundaries, never to be seen again. Patchpelt would become Patchstar, and the slow corruption of a lazy mind would begin; in the meantime he had his Shimmersoul, his love, and it was the only thing he had ever wanted in his life.
Unfortunately, that was soon to be denied him...
He was thirty moons old when his kits were born. Two beautiful, healthy young cats; Darkkit, with the same black-and-white pelt as his father, and Starredkit, who looked like her mother to the hair. And another --
Something went wrong. Nocat would know what, just that -- suddenly something was wrong. There was no medicine cat present; someone went to fetch her. Shimmersoul stiffened, and her eyes closed --
She would die with the last of her kits, tiny Moonkit, and Patchstar's life would fall apart.
It is only through his kits that he managed to live through that painful time, realizing his loss; his kits, and his love's sister. Silversoul was a loving, no-nonsense sort of cat; she fostered the two motherless things with a friend and helped her brother-in-law back to his former life. He would heal, slowly, and begin to look ahead in his life rather than behind; but he would never, never forget his lost love. Darktalon and Starredmyst would become all he lived for, all that mattered to him. The Clan, too, of course; but it was not an ambition that had ever been overly important to him and would never truly become so.
But life goes on, and things change. As Patchstar entered his forty-seventh moon, things were beginning to stir in the Clan, new ideas and dangerous ambitions...and no one has a clue how he will weather them out.
Since then.
Patchstar began to hear the voices of his dead Clanmates, his father and his mate. Unknown to him, StarClan was setting out to remove him from his position of power; they had selected Darksong as their champion. Patchstar was, as ever, abusive to Darksong, whom he had no reason to favor; finally, driven over the edge and determined to make things right, Darksong killed the half-mad leader.
-.-.-.-
Pics
Mini graphic a la TnT
Mini graphic a la WxNSD
-.-.-.-
In.♦.Addendum
xx♦Rubbish cow =3
-.-.-.-
In.♦.My.♦.Day
It was going to be a good day.
Patchstar knew it inherently, could feel the fact thrumming through his veins in an odd sort of excitement. He didn't know why. The medicine cat would have told him it was a sign from StarClan. As if...
The sun had not yet risen. Cool darkness, mid-newleaf nighttime flooded his veins with a strange exhilaration in much the same way opaque blue shadows filled the entrance to his den; mysterious, but somehow exciting. Inviting him to come out and play.
It was -- strange. He'd never felt this way before, or not in a long time. Not since he was a young kit, when Redstar and his siblings demonstrated to him that life was not about nighttime dreams and imaginings -- had explained by their cruel way of selfish living that life was not about what you dreamed and believed and felt in your heart, but what you had and how you used it to your advantage. To others' downfall.
Shimmersoul didn't believe that.
Inexorably, the shadows called him. Patchstar stood, suddenly very aware of the heaviness of his own chubby body, a layer of thickness that was not muscle dangling from his stomach; aware, with a faint tinge of shame, of the oily uncared-for condition of his pelt. Shimmersoul always nagged him to take better care of himself -- but he, well, they hadn't been seeing much of each other these past few moons.
Patchstar smiled, very slightly, and stepped out, following the night's call, the faint fragrance of newleaf flowers. The last few stubborn stars sparkled defiantly above the growing line of pale gray on the horizon; their reflections danced in the endless sea before him, sparking and flashing back at the sky as the water increased their brilliance a hundredfold. Strange how anything seemed possible on nights like these -- even StarClan themself...
A shiver rippled the leader's pelt and he diverted his thoughts, pointedly, to the one thing aside from tonight that was capturing the whole of his being. Shimmersoul. Sweet-voiced, stunning Shimmersoul, the love of his life, living of late in the nursery so far from him. Her kits were due any day now -- anytime, the medicine cat had assured him with amusement and a touch of nervousness, and very healthy kits at that; Shimmersoul was his mate, the leader's mate, and would get the best care now that he could give her. That anyone could give her without StarClan's help.
The night held for a moment, still and perfect, unmoving, unchanged; an eternity of beauty for the space of a second. Patchstar's breath caught.
And then the most painful, piercing wail he'd ever heard rent the night in two --
-- not just because it was so heartrending as to cut to his very soul, but because it came from the nursery --
-- in a voice he knew all too well, that tore him and tore him as the cry went on --
Shimmersoul --
Still in the dreamlike daze that had woken him he ran, ran for his life, paws pounding the slippery sand heavily as he cursed aloud his own useless bulk. He caught his breath the slightest moment as the yowl broke, silenced, then cam again, and at last he was there, there at the entrance, and he was shoving aside all cats in his way, StarClan caring if it were warrior or queen or crowfood a kit --
The nursery was a seething pit of warmth and motion, the soft scents of milk and young kit mingling uneasily with the tang of blood and the sharpness of the herbs meant to stop it. It was dark, too dark for his eyes to easily adjust to the change; he found her instead by scent, by forcing his way to the center of the whirlwind. His eyes locked on her pale blue ones, reflecting what dim light there was in wide pain and worry --
"Shimmersoul --"
"Pat," she gasped, and then the medicine cat was at his side before he could come closer to her, speaking in a low and soothing voice.
"Patchstar, your mate's kits are coming. It's all going fine. Don't look so worried, or you'll frighten her. There, you see, there's one already and the second one's on its way --"
One of the permanent nursery queens, silent and worn, had nudged the first kit to where Shimmersoul could clean it; it was a tiny thing, Patchstar saw, a dark little tom that was mewling angrily at its first sights of life. And the medicine cat was by his dear Shimmersoul's side urging her gently, giving her some herb to help what was happening -- there was a second kit, paler and furrier, and in spite of his near panic he found himself staring at them in something like wonder.
He heard them then, the queens talking quietly, like a premonition he never wanted to hear. "She's lucky," the one said, voice low in the chaos, "I would have sworn she'd have more trouble, delicate little thing. And kits so soon after they were mates, you know; her sister's a little more sensible, is willing to wait a little till their life settles down."
"Don't count your mice before they're caught," a second one advised just as quietly; "there's at least one more kit on its way. You never know what might happen."
A third queen hushed them then, the one that had been attending Shimmersoul when the first kit was born; clucking, with a covert glance at their leader only a spare tail-length away, she said, "Quiet, girls, don't gossip. You'll scare the poor couple out of their wits."
It would have been easy to ignore them. Should have been -- he spent so much of his lifetime now doing just that when cats displeased him. But the thought had made its way inside of his head, insidious, and now it wouldn't leave -- what if something did go wrong? They were right -- his poor Shimmersoul, his love was so small and fragile -- it would take nothing to kill her in such a vulnerable moment -- for the first time in his life he found himself praying that StarClan existed, no, praying to StarClan --
My love, my only love, please, be well --
From a great distance he heard her gasp; heard the medicine cat's sharp command that sent the rest of the queens scurrying. StarClan must have heard him, on this strange night of all nights. Must have hated him, for this -- there was blood and she was dying, he could see it though they tried to distract him, knew what was happening --
They would explain it to him later. There was a third kit, one Shimmersoul had named Moonkit before things began to go wrong. The kit had -- been born wrong, and -- something had happened that made Shimmersoul bleed. It wasn't something the medicine cat could stop, not in time.
But all he saw then was the blood, the blood that was spilling and drying over his dear mate and their two kits -- the lifeless breathless face of the stillborn that already had been named --
And his love, limp, breathless, the light gone from her beautiful blue eyes. He'd have given anything to see them bright again -- anything, even to see the hatred she'd only ever displayed once directed full force at him --
But it was no good. The life was gone from her, her shining shimmering spirit fled from the body too fragile to cointain it any longer; and this knowledge cut him as he bent over her sobbing his life out, broke his heart again and again until there was nothing left of it but glittering dust in the new morning light.
And, in that dawn, he saw that the one living she-cat was the image of the one he had just lost, and his soul splintered over the remains of that loss and latched on to the only two he had left.
