Chapter Text
Scourgepaw was drowning.
Thick, dark, tar-like water pressed against his body from all sides, worming in thick tendrils against his fur, constricting Scourgepaw’s bony chest and wrapping around his throat.
Instinctive fear tore through him as he kicked up and around, struggling to attack an opponent he had never truly fought. The water was crushing, far more than it had been when crossing the stepping-stones, and when it bore down its impressive weight upon his throat, another sharp squeeze of the old terrors of kittenhood strangled at his bones and through his delicate chest.
It was completely dark, no sky in sight, no light that he could see through his fading vision, his head pounding in pain, as cold piercings of confusion and fear sharply cut through his veins.
He had no bearings, no memories, nothing of the sort other than what he could feel. His stomach felt another rush of familiarity, though he could not place why it was so, as freezing revulsion tore through him like a claw through a leaf, and at the same time a hollow pit inside his heart that weighed heavy.
Scourgepaw began to flail, but his efforts were far and away, in vain. The water was sludge-like in texture, like the wet food that his housefolk gave him. It was like swimming through the honey Featherwhisker occasionally gave him licks of, cold and thick and sticky.
The sickening revulsion inside him grew stronger as he began to remember what had transpired just before.
*I killed Leopardpaw.* The thought finally dawned upon him, cold and heavy, dragging him down deeper into the slimy water. The coldness in his veins grew more and more painful as he began kicking up in hope, trying to free his lungs.
The more he fought, the darker his vision got, but the closer to the surface he got.
Clawing up the thick water, he fought for his breath as the world went blurry and dark around him.
Bursting through the surface, Scourgepaw gasped for breath, the sticky water forming spikes along his fur, and quickly took a moment to collect his bearings.
There was seemingly no light, only the thinnest area of refraction where the water split from the sky and where Scourgepaw could discern where his body lay. He could see nothing of the rippling of the waves other than how the black water’s edges cut into the dark, starless sky.
Taking another breath, Scourgepaw looked down into the water.
Ripples were emerging from below the surface, as two small pinpricks of light, like drowned stars, shot up from the depths. The light began to grow brighter, and brighter, and a familiar feeling of horror overtook Scourgepaw.
It was following him.
A yelp of terror shot out of Scourgepaw’s jaws, as he jumped up and splashed back down into the thick water.
Regaining his bearings, Scourgepaw whipped his head from side to side, trying to look for any sort of land, or anything to cling onto.
*There!*
Across the waves, cutting against the dark sky, lay a large outcropping of rock, jutting out of the dark sea, where the white foam of the waves crashed against the dark stones.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Scourgepaw began to try and paddle towards the outcropping.
He was all too painfully aware of the… thing… following him from behind him, and flinched as a large crash resounded from behind him. Scourgepaw whipped his head back, and gaped in horror as a large wave crescendoed over him, crashing onto his head and dragging him down.
In a blind panic, the little black tom flailed his paws, trying to grope for any land…
There!
Scourgepaw’s claws hooked into the rocky outcropping he had seen earlier. Dragging himself up, as the wet sticky water clung to his fur like burrs, and pulled him down in turn, his head once again broke the surface of the water, safely secured onto the rocky outcropping.
Where was he? Was he dreaming?
Scourgepaw shivered, and looked behind him, expecting to see the two lights behind him.
They weren’t.
Scourgepaw’s stomach dropped, and he felt his fur begin to bristle as from the top of the outcropping, a long, nerve-wracking scrap of claws on stone resounded out and echoed into Scourgepaw’s thin chest.
*Scraaaappppe*
Scourgepaw narrowed his eyes and turned back towards the outcropping, and looked up.
His icy-blue eyes, cold and splintering, stared directly into the glowing, fiery, furious eyes of Leopardpaw.
The light from Leopardpaw’s eyes shone on Scourgepaw, and he saw what the truth had lied bare for him, the entire time.
It wasn’t water.
It was blood.
Disgusting, red, thick, and stinking blood.
Scourgepaw felt a scream rip out of his throat, but he couldn’t hear it. Leopardpaw, the blood dripping from her fur, a huge rip glittered across her throat, and clear tears cut through the dark crimson running from her glowing eyes.
Scourgepaw couldn’t wretch his claws out of the small slots in the outcropping— he was stuck watching Leopardpaw slowly stalk towards him, her eyes shining.
She stood in front of him, and paused, before leaning down her muzzle to Scourgepaw’s left ear. He strained to listen to what she was saying, but it was drowned out by the waves of blood crashing on the outcropping.
Suddenly, Leopardpaw reared up on her hind legs, and slammed her front paws onto Scourgepaw’s head, shoving him into the blood, and holding him as he thrashed in terror.
His vision blurred as the blood poured into his eyes, and finally, fully blackened.
Scourgepaw awoke with a yelp in the medicine den. The den was dark and damp, with the musty air flowing back to his lungs, granting sweet-yet-heavy relief to his thin, bony chest, as it heaved from the effects of drowning.
The rain was pounding outside, with rivulets of water flowing just in the entrance of the den, only to be absorbed and soaked into the dirt that lined the base.
He stayed up watching the rain pour for a while, and regaining his bearings, he remembered, in all totality, and with a vividness that was only reserved for frightening or fond memories, his nightmare.
Leopardpaw had been there.
In fact, Leopardpaw had been right there, only like a yellow mist more than a cat, before he had succumbed to the effects of the poppy seeds, a translucent, pale she-cat with black spots.
Right before he had called Bluefur… that.
A flinch cut through his body, making him jump a little, and causing his bandaged wounds to sharply protest as lances of pain shot through his head.
He hissed, quietly, as not to rouse the medicine cat, Featherwhisker, sleeping in his den, and lay his head back down.
I called her Mama
The thought rang in his head, taunting him and throttling him and bashing him over the head with more thoughts of did you enjoy it? Now you have to go back, what does Bluefur think of you now, Scourgepaw? Does she hate it? I bet she does, Scourgepaw, if that’s even what she thinks of you as, not some annoying little pest that came up to her one day and made her feel pity.
Shut up! Scourgepaw thought back furiously at himself. Just shut up! She wouldn’t do that.
Does she really even think of you as Scourgepaw? His thoughts cooed in his head like the array of doves that had once sung every morning, until Tigerpaw killed and ate one, after which they never returned. Does she just think of you as Tiny? As a tiny little piece of fox-dung that clung onto her fur and stayed there?
Does she hate you now?
Embarrassingly, Scourgepaw felt tears well up for a brief moment in his eyes, which he quickly blinked away, and hot shame flooded up his throat to replace it.
She wouldn’t, she… she protected me!
“And look how you turned out.”
At that, Scourgepaw’s ears pricked up, his left one waning slightly due to the missing chunks.
“Mapleshade?” Scourgepaw whispered.
No response came.
His ears flicked back in annoyance as he settled back into the moss. The rain was slowing now, and was drowned out by the flashes of lightning and loud crashes of thunder that took up all of Scourgepaw’s interest. Even then, his mind wandered, against his own will.
He had only called one other cat what he called Bluefur, and had once loved only one other cat the same way now he loved Bluefur.
Quince.
Scourgepaw closed his eyes, and felt the tears boil up again, thinking of the massive gray-furred she-cat that had always looked at him with never a hint of malice in her eyes.
Did I really want to kill her? Or was that just Mapleshade talking? Or maybe it wasn’t Mapleshade. Maybe it was just me.
It was all too confusing for him to understand. He felt like he was suffocating under everything, the lies, the guilt of murdering Leopardpaw, and every small feeling that he had ever suppressed, all of which were bubbling out from inside him.
He didn’t notice he was crying until he felt the wet tears soak all the way through his fur and into his skin. Immediately trying to wipe it off, his paws drew back only more tears, which poured out like the pounding rain outside, which had begun to pick up once more and drown the forest in an intense deluge that seemed to never end.
The dark clouds hung overhead, revealing themselves to Scourgepaw as he craned his neck out of the medicine den to see them. They were truly beautiful, with moonlight piercing their edges with a silver lining that seemed almost as though it was a white-hot fire, illuminating the darkening sky in gorgeous shades of grays and blacks.
The rain poured down on Scourgepaw’s face, intermingling with his tears until his lips could no longer taste the faint sting of the salty tears, just pure, sweet, cool rain that soothed him dutifully.
Thank you StarClan. He thought as a quiet, but ragged, gasp of laughter tore its way from Scourgepaw’s mouth. He retreated back into the medicine den, as to avoid catching a chill from the beautiful rain. Thank you so much for bringing me here.
Mapleshade and her tales of StarClan and glory seemed to grow ever slightly more faded. Those were just words, pretty words, yes, but just that.
Nothing could match this… feeling… that had overtaken Scourgepaw. It was as if a fire had blazed through him.
I’ll figure it all out. Bluefur will be fine with what I said. Whitepaw and Redpaw will be back to normal. Spottedpaw… I’ll protect her. I’ll keep her safe from whatever Thistleclaw is doing to her.
But at the same time, as the rain began to die down, and the pale-pink-and-blue light of a new dawn came shining it’s light through the much paler clouds, and the overwhelming aroma of petrichor hung over the camp, a small prickly of apprehension, and a huge weighing of guilt bled him from the inside.
What if Bluefur stops loving you? You murderer an apprentice in cold blood. You are nothing but a disgusting, selfish monster.
While engrossed in himself, he was roused from his thoughts, and any lingering drowsiness, by the sound of Featherwhisker yawning and stretching behind him.
“Good morning, Scourgepaw.” The plump tom meowed a friendly greeting. Scourgepaw flinched despite himself. It had been just over 2 moons since he had been part of the Clan, but such an unearned gesture of friendliness still rubbed Scourgepaw the wrong way.
“Good morning, Featherwhisker.” Scourgepaw’s voice was slightly hoarse due to disuse, yet his pitch remained high and clear. “Er… where did Bluefur go?”
Featherwhisker pinned his ears back in a thoughtful manner, as if he was trying to recall those events from last night, which had been overshadowed by the gruesome and tragic news of a ThunderClan apprentice murdering a RiverClan one.
“I don’t remember…” Featherwhisker muttered. “I had fallen asleep before you did. I can try and fetch her, if you want.”
“Yes, please.” Scourgepaw breathed before his mind could tell his body to keep his mouth shut.
“Very well then.” Featherwhisker nodded and trotted out the entrance before pausing to look back at Scourgepaw.
“Do you feel okay, Scourgepaw?”
“What?”
“I would understand if you didn’t. It’s very hard for anyone, especially someone so young, to have to go through with what you did.” Featherwhisker mewed sympathetically. “I’ve seen it. Many apprentices come here, complaining of tightness in their chest or heaviness in their hearts.”
Scourgepaw pinned his ears back. He hated talking about his feelings. He had talked to Spottedpaw, albeit untruthfully, and that ended in failure.
And a small kernel within himself didn’t feel comfortable simply with Featherwhisker’s sympathies. Did he even deserve it, after such a monstrous act?
“I’m fine.” Scourgepaw curtly replied.
Inexplicably, the look of concern on Featherwhisker’s face grew more, with a slight twinge of fear. Scourgepaw flinched. Did he say something wrong?
The plump medicine cat shook his head as if in disbelief.
“Scourgepaw,” He gently explained, “I’d be more concerned if you didn’t feel anything than if you did. If you feel shame, regret, or anything like that, don’t be afraid of it. It shows that you’re a good cat.”
Am I? The traitorous thought whispered in Scourgepaw’s head. It didn’t stop me the first time.
“I—“ Scourgepaw stopped, and shook his head to get rid of the prickly heat of embarrassment. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can you get Bluefur, please?”
Featherwhisker let out a sigh of slight exasperation, but swept his long plumy tail over Scourgepaw’s shoulders in a comforting sweep and left the medicine den.
Scourgepaw was alone, and stretched his neck up to try and see the familiar blue-gray pelt emerge from the warrior’s den or the gorse tunnel. A prickle of excitement ran through him when he caught a glimpse of the she-cat emerging from the gorse tunnel, and making a beeline for the medicine den.
Featherwhisker intercepted Bluefur right in the middle of the clearing, and whispered something into her ear. Scourgepaw strained to hear it, but couldn’t pick it up.
The two adult cats walked over to the medicine den, and Featherwhisker left to give them some privacy. Scourgepaw couldn’t read the look in Bluefur’s eyes. Was it sorrow? Happiness? Disappointment?
“Can I talk to you?” Scourgepaw croaked. “In… in private?”
A small noise came from Bluefur’s throat, that Scourgepaw couldn’t quite decipher, but she nodded her head, and turned around. Scourgepaw limped up and rested his flank on hers, letting out a small sigh of relief from the aching as she helped support his small body.
They walked out through the gorse tunnel, and into the forest. Dappled patterns of light poured out from in between the bright green leaves of newleaf. They stopped right outside the sandy hollow, and faced each other.
Scourgepaw laid down, groaning slightly as the sun-drenched sand soaked its warmth into his belly fur. Bluefur sat down on her haunches right next to him, and swept her tail tightly over his shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Bluefur.” Scourgepaw whispered. His eyes were fixed on the golden sand in front of him. “I shouldn’t have called you that.”
“Scourgepaw—”
“No! I’m sorry, Bluefur. It wasn’t my place to call you that. You shouldn’t have to carry that burden.”
Bluefur let out a sigh, and rested her chin on top of Scourgepaw’s head, minding the pressure she was putting on it so as to not hurt him, and gave him a gentle squeeze with her tail.
“Oh, Scourgepaw.” Bluefur meowed. “I would be honored to be considered your mother.”