****Arrowheart's POV****
"Arrowpaw, is that you?" A familiar voice asks behind him.
Arrowheart turns tiredly, his blood stained paws crusted over with burgundy red as his chest kept heaving every so often. The fight against the dog had taken a lot out of him. He wouldn't want to admit it, but there was no way he'd be able to travel much farther today.
The Shadowhunter's paws feel as though they're being weighed down; there are a few black spots in his vision. He blinks rapidly to clear them out though some continue to remain. He almost thinks it's an illusion when he sees Silverpaw and some other stranger standing beside her.
The gray she-cat is thinner than Arrowheart remembers, and he can't figure out if that has to do with the ribs jutting out beneath her pelt or how the apprentice has clearly grown some in height. Despite her raggedness, Arrowheart still can see the gleaming green of his friend's eyes, the vibrancy of her spirit shining through.
The stranger beside her seems to be only a few moons older. The tom is a bulky figure of dark brown fur and amber eyes. A faded claw mark wound spirals down one of his forepaws, a silver line of flesh visible to only the most observant of eyes. Arrowheart wonders how the tom got it.
"It's actually Arrowheart now." Is his first reflexive response, the pride of receiving his warrior name hums inside his chest with a happy tune. He pads towards the two newcomers, only slightly limping from the pain. "Silverpaw it's been so long."
The thin she-cat lets out a laugh at that, her green eyes full of warmth as he sits down in front of her, pressing up his forehead against her own. The brown tom watches them curiously, a flash of what Arrowheart thinks to be jealousy in those amber depths. Arrowheart almost finds it laughable that any cat imagines him to be straight, but judging by the newcomer's expression it is no laughing matter to him.
"It's actually Silverthorn now." Silverthorn parrots back Arrowheart's own response from being referred to as still a 'paw'. The two pull away from each other laughing. From so close up, Arrowheart doesn't think it'll be much longer before his friend notes his disheveled appearance.
"So, who are you traveling with? I don't believe we've been introduced yet." Arrowheart says.
Patchfur, Sparkpaw and Simon pad over to join the group of three at their own pace. Patchfur stands close by Arrowheart, allowing the Shadowhunter to lean against his boyfriend's side. He takes up the offer gratefully, his tail still drooping behind him from exhaustion. Some of the dried up blood is flaking off him now, the burgundy specks metallic in smell as they litter the dirty, dank alleyway floor.
"I'm Strikeclaw. I think Silverthorn has mentioned you before." Strikeclaw flicks his tail behind him, one ear twitches nonchalantly.
"I see." Arrowheart mewed.
He finds himself shifting closer to Patchfur- not of fear, mind you- to show who he is intertwined with, to calm down Strikeclaw who clearly feels strongly about Silverthorn. If Strikeclaw relaxes marginally at his actions, and Patchfur preens at the public display of affection, no one chooses to mention it.
Silverthorn peers closely at Arrowheart, taking in every detail. Her green eyes widen suddenly, presumably when she spots the crusted over burgundy blood painting his paws, turning the dash of white on his black body a tinge of red.
"Arrowheart you're hurt!" She exclaims.
"No, I'm not. I just-"
"You should've seen him! He fought off that dog like it was nothing." Sparkpaw says cheerfully.
Both Silverthorn and Strikeclaw look surprised at that. He can hardly blame them; the idea that one cat managed to beat a dog would seem absurd to any sane cat. If it hadn't been for the fearless rune, I doubt I even would've thought to attempt it.
"You fought off a dog? How in StarClan's name did you manage that?" Strikeclaw asks. The werecat sounds genuinely impressed.
The Shadowhunter glances down at his shoulder where the fearless rune had been. It was gone now, though the tingling feel it left behind still remains. The sensation ghosts over his skin, the fabricated confidence thronging through him from ears to tail tip. He can't help but shiver from the feel of it, nor can he help it when his body starts to buckle and his vision dims from exhaustion.
He finds himself unable to reply to Strikeclaw, his throat achingly raw for no apparent reason he can find. So instead he seeks solace in his instinctive comfort of his boyfriend. Arrowheart finds himself murmuring quietly into the bicolored tom's ear, his breath puffing out in hot pants as he exhales. Around him the brick walls of the alleyway fade away, as do Sparkpaw and the others. Only Patchfur remains a vision at his side.
"Help..." He rasps before collapsing.
****Patchfur's POV****
Patchfur is the first to react to Arrowheart's sudden collapse. Having been pressed close to his boyfriend when it happened, he's able to keep the Shadowhunter steady as he lowers him down onto the ground.
The stillness of the Shadowhunter seems very wrong. Patchfur is unsettled by the lack of movement from his boyfriend. The only reassurance he has that Arrowheart is still alive is the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, in tandem with his beating heart.
"Is he alright?" Shellfish asks worriedly.
He, Sparkpaw and the two werecats were crowded around Patchfur and Arrowheart, their eyes filled with worry. The warlock pushes back the desire to let out a snappy retort, the guilt of his own actions dredging up inside him.
If I hadn't led us into that dead end, Arrowheart wouldn't have had to fight against a dog until he had no energy let to spare. This is all my fault. A quiet voice inside his head disagrees, the husky intonation of not dissimilar to Arrowheart's own voice when he first wakes up in the morning.
"You're wrong. You couldn't have predicted this. I don't blame you." The voice tells him this with such a ferocity Patchfur feels taken aback. He can't recall ever hearing someone come to his defense so strongly before, even if it was inside his own head. I wonder if Arrowheart would agree?
Silverthorn leans over to cautiously sniff Arrowheart's flank while blue magic from Patchfur ghosts over the young tom's frame. He knew well enough already that it was exhaustion that had knocked out the Shadowhunter so using his magic to heal him would be unnecessary. So instead he was cleaning up the black tom's soiled fur, making the blackness of it return, the white dash on his chest pristine yet again.
"Yes. He's just exhausted." Silverthorn tells them.
"I can't say I'm surprised. Fighting that dog must've taken it out of him. How did he manage to do that by the way?" Strikeclaw asks yet again. His amber eyes are curious for this knowledge unbeknownst to him.
Patchfur exchanges glances with Sparkpaw and Stop. They all knew that they couldn't speak up about the new runes Sparkpaw is able to create, not while they still have no idea how she's able to do it. That and we can't go about freaking out the cats we're trying to find.
"He managed to catch the beast by surprise. He landed on its back and went to town." Patchfur begins his tale...well not so much a tale per say. Arrowheart's opening move had been to attack the dog's back, so that much was true.
Sparkpaw catches on to Patchfur's words and continues the warlock's tale. She describes the way Arrowheart nimbly dodged the dog's gnashing yellow teeth, the way he scratched at the mutt's deep brown eyes. By the time the two HunterClan cats are finished with their explanation, Silverthorn and Strikeclaw seem satisfied with what they've been told, and do not ask anymore questions regarding the matter.
Strikeclaw glances up at the sky worriedly. "We need to find shelter for the night. This alley isn't safe or defendable enough for us to stick around."
"Where do you suggest we go? Are the rest of WolfClan nearby?" Silph asks, his tone taking on an excited edge on the second question.
Silverthorn shakes her head. "Our camp is at least a day's journey from here. And at any rate..." her green eyes narrow in suspicion. "Who are you two?" She gestured at Sparkpaw and Stony before turning to Patchfur. "And what's a MagicClan cat doing on a journey to find WolfClan. I thought helping other clans wasn't something Wishstar indulged in." She says this last sentence rather annoyed, her tail flicking behind her.
Patchfur can't help the droop of his tail at her words. He had put MagicClan in the back of his mind the best he could during the journey. He was not always a Clan cat, but MagicClan is the Clan he grew up in, where there were other cats with the same gifts he possesses.
Well, not exactly the same gifts....or the same mark. Patchfur being himself can always see past the glamour he has set up on his body. He can see the white fur mixed in with the ginger and black patches. As a tom, he wasn't meant to be a tortoiseshell, but with his parentage he is a special exception to that unspoken rule.
And that's not the only thing I'm an exception for. As he's sitting down, he can paw at his stomach to feel the soft flesh there with taut muscle underneath. This muscular stature made him like most every other male in the clans, with one tiny difference.
Or maybe huge difference would be more like it. Warlocks, unsurprisingly are the least fertile of the Downworlders, their direct demonic heritage making it hard for kits to survive pregnancy or even be created for that matter. But this wasn't the case with him though. If Patchfur wanted, if he chose so, he could have kits of his own.
This freakish abnormality had been a breaking point for many of the relationships he'd had in the past, including in part Venomfang's relationship with him. He can recall the former leader not wanting to carry kits herself (not after the death of her first litter of kits from complications in pregnancy), yet still wanting them all the same.
Patchfur had been so enamored with the vampire back then, telling her his deepest secret had been as easy as life in greenleaf when prey ran well and cats were mating. He'd wanted everything with her, absolutely everything.
I was a fool.
So when he found her cheating on him with some other cat -a kittypet no less- to say he'd been enraged would be an absolute understatement. That had been the final straw for him. Venomfang had been making him feel awful during the past year for his abnormality, the thing that made him truly a freak and he had accepted it with the resignation he had for all scrutiny he received for who he is.
A part of him deep down knew her callous actions were wrong, but Patchfur had been so desperate for love he looked past that knowledge. The warlock had such a long history with Venomfang, the idea of rescinding their bond was preposterous, horrific, and insane.
Or at least that's what I had thought. Venomfang, on the other paw was not as loyal. She not only cheated on him but she broke his trust fully. Breaking up with her hurt, but he had finally understood it was unavoidable, as most hard choices in life were.
The break up left him feeling broken for awhile, depression weighing down every paw step he took. If it hadn't been for Prickleclaw and Berrypool, he would've never come to the understanding that he deserved better than a foxheart the likes of Venomfang. They were always there for me, even when I was at my worst.
Thoughts of his two friends- especially his late friend Prickleclaw- sent a pang of loneliness in his heart. If only they could be by my side again. He looks at Arrowheart's still form, his heart clenching tightly with so so many emotions, he has to hold back the mist welling up in his golden green eyes. If only I could have everything I want in life. But he is if nothing else a realistic tom, and he knows that life is unfair.
"I'm Sparkpaw, Arrowheart's apprentice. And this is my friend Simon." Sparkpaw gestured to Simon.
So that's his name...I'll try to remember it.
"It's nice to meet you both." Simon says with an incline of his head. Strikeclaw returns the formality, as does Silverthorn, though her green eyes still held suspicion towards Patchfur. The warlock decides it is time to clear the air.
"You're not wrong about Wishstar." He acquiesced. "But you are wrong about which Clan I belong to. I'm a HunterClan cat now."
"The deputy of MagicClan is now a member of HunterClan. Did Blossomstar and Wishstar lose their minds or something?" Strikeclaw says.
Patchfur holds back a sharp retort, forcing his fur to lie flat. Sparkpaw shoots him a sympathetic glance, as does Simon. He studiously ignores them both as he responds. Arrowheart remains a still lump of black fur on the ground in front of him, his flanks quivering every so often. A faint wind blows in the air, ruffling his fur with its cool crispness.
"They didn't lose their minds, things have just changed." He says through gritted teeth.
"Alright then." Silverthorn says. Patchfur doesn't bother trying to figure out if the werecats have any more questions to ask. He knows that they do.
"So what now?" Simon asks awkwardly.
Seeing as no one else's is really willing to take charge, Patchfur steps forward. "As Strikeclaw said, we need to find shelter for the night. Did you two happen to come across a place where we could rest."
Strikeclaw nods. "Yes. Outside this alley there's a forest with a ravine that has a hollowed out opening where we can sleep in."
"Sounds good. Can you guys lead the way?" Sparkpaw says hopefully.
"Sure. Just follow us. We can hunt before turning in for the night." Silverthorn says before looking at Arrowheart worriedly.
"Do you guys need any help carrying him?" Strikeclaw adds in.
A flash of anger strikes through Patchfur. Perhaps he should not be mad, or jealous. After all, Arrowheart is quiet a large tom, despite not being fully grown yet. But the idea of some other tom carrying MY boyfriend around....NO, just no. This is one of those times he was completely okay with being petty, and he's pretty certain Arrowheart would feel the same way if the situation was reversed.
"I can handle it." Patchfur says firmly.
To demonstrate this, he uses his magic to lift Arrowheart up. Wisps of blue light curl around the Shadowhunter, the feather light touch of them making Arrowheart twitch in his sleep. Carefully he uses his magic to lower Arrowheart onto his back, the weight of him would probably be near crushing if it weren't for the magic supporting Patchfur.
"Are you sure?" Sparkpaw asks. She leans close to Patchfur to whisper in his ear. "I can help you if you need me to."
"Yes. I'm sure."
Patchfur grunts from the effort of keeping his boyfriend steady, swaying slightly in the effort to adjust the weight evenly across his back. Strikeclaw watches him with narrowed eyes, Silverthorn and Simon wearing curious expressions on their faces. When Arrowheart is finally settled a top his back, Patchfur begins to stagger forward.
"Okay then, I guess we'll get going." Simon murmurs, falling into place behind Patchfur with Sparkpaw at his side. Silverthorn and Strikeclaw follow them wordlessly, taking the lead in a matter of a few short bounds. For the rest of their journey to the ravine, the group remains silent, Arrowheart's soft snores the only sound emitted into the night air.
*****Arrowheart's POV*****
Dream Sequence...
Arrowheart's paws crunch down on blades of grass, frozen from the chill in the air. He is in a forest somewhere that he can't recognize. The trees here are tall and foreboding in nature, barely making a single noise as air whistles in the breeze. The stickiness of pinesap clings to his forearms, as does the prickly pine needles. All of it reminds him of FangClan's pine forest.
I wonder if that's where I am now?
But he couldn't be. This place may be similar, but the forest here was much too dense to see anything, which was not the case in the stretch of forest the vampires call home. That, and the smell of swamp was missing; there was no owls hooting into the night.
Arrowheart decides to move forward to see better. His breathing is the only sound that accompanies him, his breath coming out in short white puffs of air. Eventually the trees thin out a little so he can see the stars overhead. If not for the light of the full moon blasting down upon him, he is certain that he would be unable to see even the white dash of fur sprawled across his chest.
The moonlight makes this dash a shade of silver now, and he finds himself almost envying cat's with white fur. It is without a doubt that those cats would looked stunning in the darkness, with silvery tinting to make them look like pieces of fallen stars.
In a way, that was what Clan cats were, right? After all, when they did it is to StarClan that they will go. The prospect is both as enticing as it is mind boggling. I wonder what it's like up there? He lets his blue eyes slide up to look at the many stars gathered in the night sky. The clusters are so luminous, it is almost as if it's unreal what he's seeing.
Like this is all just some dream.
He finds himself picturing Patchfur sitting beside him. His boyfriend has likely stared at the stars many times before himself, but that doesn't stop Arrowheart from thinking about pointing out constellations to his boyfriend, showing him the beauty of the night.
The two would lay down together in the grass. They would be mindless of the frigidness of the frozen fauna as they cuddled closely. Arrowheart would share his warmth; Arrowheart would share his love. He can imagine Patchfur returning both in full, his heart singing with all the wonder of their relationship. They would be together always, as all mates should be.
Or maybe not mates...I don't know if we're there yet.
He really wants them to be there.
He wants to be mates.
Maybe Arrowheart is a lovesick mousebrain. Maybe he's out of his mind. But he likes to think what he and Patchfur have together can be so much more than temporary. That they can be forever.
That's what I want: to be forever with Patchfur.
He's so busy staring at the stars he almost misses the voices coming from nearby. The hissing mutters of angry cats catches his attention rather quickly, drawing him out of stargazing.
It is with silent paw steps that Arrowheart approaches the source of the noise, the voices getting even louder as he stalks closer. As he is downwind the scent of these strange cats spirals into his nose to make it twitch.
The smell of blood and dirty water and fresh dung makes him gag inwardly. His eyes water from the awful sensation. He has to blink back tears before pushing himself into a nearby thorn bush to get a good view of the strangers.
What he sees catches him off guard.
The forest opens up to a small clearing filled with mostly sand. A few lilac flowers poke out from surrounding ferns, the purple of their petals gaining a whitish sheen from the glittering dew hanging off them.
The scene would be beautiful, if not for the two cats in the center of it. Nor the ugly red pentagram drawn in the dirt made with what Arrowheart knew to be blood. What he presumed to be the origin of said blood lay in a mangled, oozing pile in front of the flaming lines.
He had to hold back the urge to vomit at the sight of a rabbit torn a part over the earth, so bloody and torn apart that whatever its body had looked like was impossible to identify now. In fact, if it hadn't been for the long lengths of swerving ears, he doubts he would've known it was a rabbit in the first place, as the strewn out intestines coming from the prey's stomach covered up two long feet and its bob tail.
The sight of such badly treated prey angered him. Blossomstar taught him, just as his parents did that prey was always to be respected. If Badgerstripe or Silvermoon or Blossomstar were to see this lump of bloody rabbit, he has no doubt they would be highly disappointed in the cat responsible for such debauchery.
"Prey provides us with the nutrients and energy we need to survive, so it deserves to be treated with care." Blossomstar's words echo in his head.
The words do little to lessen his anger, though his rage also has the underlying tones of fear nestled inside. Whoever was responsible for doing such an awful thing would likely have just as bad intentions for every other creature in the forest. These cats must be monsters if they would do such an awful thing.
His concerns were further concerned when he recognized one of the cats. Frostfang stood outside of the demonic circle, his expression wicked with dark thoughts. The sinister air he exudes made Arrowheart shudder. How Sparkpaw is related to that monster is beyond me.
He notes with some surprise that the normally battle scarred white tom only has a few wounds on him, the missing wounds on his shoulders, nose and flank make him appear so much younger than what he is used to; his gray tail tip and ears are a lighter sheen then the dark gray Arrowheart has seen on the Circle leader.
And yet it is the sight of a rune that sends the deepest trill of fear through him. A parbatai rune in emblazoned on Frostfang's chest, the stark black lines of it visible even without activation. He supposes that is due to the older tom's light colored pelt, as Littlebird: Nightrose's former mentor is a white she-cat that always has visible runes too.
By the Angel! Who in the name of StarClan would want that foxheart to be their parabatai?! To that Arrowheart had no answer, and a part of him never wants to find out either.
The cat inside the pentagram....well, they didn't give off the appearance of a cat much at all. Not with the demonic wings sprouting from the she-cat's back, nor her unnatural blood red eyes nor the sharply barbed tail and horns that adorn her.
This "cat" is outfitted in a tortoiseshell like coloration, with the exception that the splotches of ginger she has are much more burgundy red then what normal genetics would allow. The red matches the hue of her eyes and the barbs of her tail that were dripping with yellow, acidic venom in droves.
Her wings are a stark contrast of the dark colors, instead having a light amber shade, with splatters of purple here and there. A few dark patterned lines are drawn over the she-cat's predominantly white chest.
These lines, while from a distance would seem to be Shadowhunter runes, were in no way so. These lines screamed darkness and agony and evil intent, nothing like the angelic feel of Shadowhunter runes.
These abnormalities could've possibly been her warlock mark, but if that was the case, why was she in a demonic pentagram. He also comes to the conclusion that if not for all the strange extremities of the stranger, Arrowheart supposes she would've been beautiful.
But as that's not the case, Arrowheart doesn't like her.
Not One Bit.
He wants to pull away; he wants to run. But instead of running his paws have a mind of his own, dragging him out of his hiding place to get a better view of the two evil cats.
Arrowheart can feel himself trembling when he is in open view of two cats he knows are not his friends. It is not necessarily Frostfang that he is afraid of, but the strange she-cat. She exudes a darkness he has never witnessed before. To be honest, it scares him.
He gulps as those red eyes briefly glance in his direction. The Shadowhunter's limbs freeze up to leave him stiff as nailed down wooden board. His breath gets caught up in his throat as those red eyes narrow in his direction, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
He can feel himself slump forward in relief when the strange female looks away as Frostfang catches her attention once more. Now that Arrowheart is so close up, he can hear just what exactly the two are saying. It is with deft paws that he summons his stele to activate his hearing rune, and also his speed rune (in case he has to make a break for it).
"What were you looking at?" Frostfang growls out. The Shadowhunter seems annoyed that his companion- if she could even be called that- had lost focus of their conversation.
Arrowheart is shocked by the rudeness of Frostfang. Does he not understand what kind of monster he's talking to? Frostfang may be powerful, but he has the suspicion that the she-cat in the pentagram could tear the white tom limb from limb if she so desired.
"Don't worry frosty, I just feel we are not as alone as you hoped. The chill of spirits from other times is in the air." She murmurs.
Arrowheart knows without a doubt that she's talking about him. The prospect only serves to make his body tremble some more. He forces himself to keep calm, because otherwise he may not find out what he needs to. The tom understands now that he is in a dream of sorts...or more so a vision. He hadn't had one for some time, so he knows he better listen up and listen well.
Frostfang's tail lashes in anger. "I can assure you that we are alone. I made sure of that." Arrowheart watches as the white warrior lifts up a paw. It is stained red with dried up blood that flakes around his claws that are poking up. He licks it idly, not minding the metallic taste apparently. Arrowheart feels increasingly sick.
"Oh. I'm sure you did, Frosty. But this isn't something you can control. They will always be out there, watching you and everyone in this blasted forest." She growls.
Frostfang rolls his eyes. "Whatever you say, demoness." His amber eyes narrow further. "Don't call me Frosty." He snarls.
"Now now, no need to be angry. Let's get back to what we were talking about earlier. How much blood do you need?" Her tone is airy, with a hint of indifference.
Judging from the hopeful smile on her face, Arrowheart guesses that this indifference is false in nature. He is confused by the odd question. Why would Frostfang need her blood? The young Shadowhunter suspects it can't be for anything good.
Frostfang tips his head to the side thoughtfully, his anger seemingly forgotten. "However much it takes for my son to be the strongest Shadowhunter there ever was."
Arrowheart gasps at those words. The strongest Shadowhunter there ever was?! How would that be possible with demon blood? And then another thought occurs to him, worming away in his gut with the frigidness of icy river water.
He must be talking about Goldenclaw!
Arrowheart tries to picture demon blood running through his parabatai's veins. He finds himself unable to see the golden tabby warrior having the same dark blood running through his veins as the demoness does.
Goldenclaw may be a mousebrain, but he's far from being a demon. If anything... I could see him as having extra Angel blood. But that's absurd, right?
Regardless, he watches numbly as the demoness tosses Frostfang moss soaked in dripping black blood. The ichor like quality of the blood does not pass him by, nor does the she-cat's pleasure in handing it over.
"With my blood running through his veins, I'm certain he will be." She says with a smirk. Her red eyes soften momentarily as the strange cat stares at Frostfang. Her eyes are welling with what seems to be some form of emotion, a certain wonder that he can't place.
If Arrowheart didn't know better, he would say the demoness was getting emotional. But demons don't have emotions. Not unless they are Greater Demons or Princes of Hell. Already in his short life, Arrowheart has encountered a Greater Demon. Let's just say he did not look forward to meeting on again.
"Yes. And he will be like a son to you as well as to my beloved Russetleaf." Frostfang says, a satisfied smirk on his face. Arrowheart wants to claw it off of him.
How could he do such a thing to his own kit? What on earth was he thinking?
Arrowheart wants to listen in more, but his attention is grabbed by a new figure joining his side clearing. In the darkness of the night, the newcomer's fur is a silvery red, the white tail tip at the end of his tail like a dying firefly. It had been many moons since he had seen this cat, yet the sight of him was unmistakable.
"Foxtail? What are you doing here?" He asks.
Foxtail, the cat murdered brutally by Vultureclaw just a few short moons ago, look much better compared to the last time Arrowheart had seen him. The blood that had stained his chest was no longer there, nor was the scars the late deputy was inflicted by the battle at Sunningrocks.
The lithe tom has a cluster of stars around him too, a sign of his Allegiance to StarClan. Arrowheart had no doubt that the former deputy would go to be with their warrior ancestors in the stars when he died, but he still finds the physical signs of Foxtail's new allegiance oddly reassuring. He lets out a sigh of relief he hadn't even realized that he had been holding.
"Hello young Arrowheart. I am here to give you a message." Foxtail says.
Arrowheart's ears perk up as his blue eyes swivel to meet Foxtail's gaze. The former deputy hadn't been the most emotional of cats in HunterClan, but Arrowheart is surprised by the expressionless mask the red tom wears. The somber attitude that Foxtail has is disconcerting, but he does his best not to let that bother him.
"Okay, what do you need to tell me? Does it have to do with Vultureclaw? I promise we're going to get justice for you Foxtail." He tells the older tom.
Foxtail gives him a tired smile, gesturing idly with one paw to the emptiness of the clearing. Arrowheart swings his head around in confusion at the lack of Frostfang and the mysterious stranger's presences.
He also is surprised to see that dawn light is beginning to leak into the sky, mixing dark astral planes with soft pink light. Sunrises always were a beautiful thing to watch.
I'll have to watch one with Patchfur some time. He is reminded of the prospect of stargazing too, and his heart does a happy bud ump in his chest.
"Focus Arrowheart. do not let love cover your mind in a haze." Foxtail tells him sternly.
Arrowheart gives him a sheepish smile, licking his chest fur abashed. "I'm sorry Foxtail....I-" another thought occurs to him. "You're okay with...." He gulps, trying to gather his words into coherent sentences. Foxtail gives him an encouraging smile, his eyes blinking. "You're okay with me being...gay?"
"Yes." Foxtail responds immediately, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
"Really?" He can't help but feel doubtful, uncertainty welling up inside him like water in a balloon.
"Yes. Though I'm surprised that it is Patchfur you hold so dear. He never seemed the type to settle down. But, I suppose he's just turning over a new leaf."
"Oh, I see." Arrowheart murmurs, his black paws scuffing the damp earth.
He can't help but feel awkward now. Conversation on sexuality was not something Arrowheart had imagined having anytime soon, especially not with a dead deputy of all cats.
Foxtail clears his throat, seeming to sense the awkwardness their conversation provided. "But that's not what I came to talk to you about."
Arrowheart nods. "I didn't think so. Can you tell me your message then?"
"Yes. I can." Foxtail pads over to stand in front of Arrowheart, sitting down right in front of him. Arrowheart follows suit, curling his tail over his paws as the late deputy prepares himself.
"Go ahead. I'm all ears."
Foxtail's eyes begin to glow with starry light, his pelt glimmering as he utters out his message for Arrowheart to hear.
"FEAR IS A FORCE OF DARKNESS, DO NOT LET IT RULE YOUR HEART." Foxtail's voice boomed loudly from his chest.
Arrowheart flinches back at the loud projection of Foxtail's voice. After not having a message from StarClan for the past few moons, he had become unaccustomed to the booming voices.
Why do all StarClan cats have to give such loud prophecies?! At this rate I'll be deaf in a matter of moons.
Despite his inward grumbling, he still tries his best to listen to Foxtail. Arrowheart finds the late deputy's message strange and confusing. Why StarClan cats couldn't just say what they meant was beyond him.
"What does that mean? Does it have anything to do with you? What about Vultureclaw?" His head is full of questions. He struggles to get all his inquiries out in time.
Foxtail shakes his head. "There will be a time for that soon Arrowheart. Just remember the prophecies. And remember you can't save everyone."
It is then that the dream starts to fade, the clearing melting away into the shadows. Arrowheart struggles to keep the dream alive. He blinks rapidly to get a focus on the clearing once more.
The Shadowhunter pictures the dark pine trees and the rising sun and Foxtail's ginger fur to no avail. The dream is gone as Arrowheart feels the tug to the waking world. One sentence echoes in his head persistently as it all disappears, the line like many others much too foreboding to forget.
"And remember you can't save everyone."