[Dia.]

Congratulations!

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Username: houndpine

Cat Name: Cloversun

Gender: male

Rank: laoch (warrior)

Age: 41 moons

Clan: Clan Fell

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬[/center]

"Hey Clover," Burningfell greeted as she stepped up beside him where he lay atop a smooth rock, basking in the pale but warm leafbare sun.

Clover tried to hide his small jump at the sudden voice-- she'd approached on his blind side, and he hadn't been listening to his surroundings, too absorbed in his thoughts.

"Hi," he meowed in response, tilting his face towards her so he could see her fully. She was smiling warmly at him, which helped to ease the anxiety in his gut that he still felt whenever she or another of the high ranks approached him, even after all these moons.

"I just wanted to check in on you," Burningfell explained, sitting beside him and curling her fluffy tail around her haunches. Clover scrambled up to his front paws to match her posture, though his tail twitched too restlessly to wrap it around his paws.

"Honeydusk mentioned that you've been having nightmares again. It's been a while, hasn't it? Not since you first found us, back when my father was still ceann-cinnidh."

Clover twitched his whiskers, glancing away from Burningfell briefly. He owed her father a debt for accepting him into the clan, but some part of him still knew that he'd only really joined because he was reminded of his own father. The former ceann-cinnidh had the same cold, commanding eyes that his father had.

“You will join our clan and serve us as a loyal warrior,”‌ Burningfell’s father said, and so Clover did. He always did as he was told, after all.

Clover gave his shoulders a small shake and refocused on the cat sitting next to him, offering her a small, sheepish smile.

“Don’t worry about me,”‌ he said. “It’ll pass.‌ The cold season just always reminds me of when I‌ left them and found my way here.”‌

Burningfell nodded sympathetically, studying his face for a moment.

“If you’re sure,”‌ she said finally. “Please tell me if the dreams get worse, or if I can do anything to help. You do so much for our clan, you need to let us take care of you in return.”‌

“Of course,”‌ Clover lied. “Thank you.”‌

✹✹✹

He dreamed that night, despite the valerian that Honeydusk had given him to chew, a familiar sympathy in her eyes.

His father was in his dreams, as he always was. His brother, too. This time it was a dream from when they were just kits, young and naive and hopeful. Clover supposed he was still naive and hopeful, despite everything.

“You’re too soft,” his father told Clover in the dream, just as he’d done countless times in life. His eyes were dark and lifeless, the way they were since their mother died, too weak from giving birth to kits for her body to fight off the cough that wormed its way into her lungs. “This world’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

His brother Cypress laughed, and laughed, and laughed. One moment he was still a kit, the brother that would curl up beside Clover at night and gently hush him as he cried. The next he was fully grown, a broad-shouldered tom with eyes just as hard as their father’s, a sneer curling his lip.

“You’re too soft, Clover,”‌ he hissed, their father’s words in his mouth. “I’m gonna chew you up and spit you out.”

Clover woke suddenly, breath loud in his own ears, the scars over his missing eye aching.

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

Clover padded back into camp early the next morning, the pale leaf-bare sun barely risen over the horizon. He’d slipped out of the camp to go hunting, unable to sleep again after his dream, the voices of his father and brother echoing in his ears.

He dropped the rabbit in his jaws onto the fresh-kill pile, then nosed through the rest of the prey to pick out the smallest vole he could find. His stomach rumbled with hunger and anxiety as he took the vole back to his den to eat.

“You can eat more than that little scrap,”‌ a sudden voice said, making Clover jump and drop the vole, his heart set racing.

He glanced around to see Marshfang sitting at the edge of camp, watching him. The other laoch had unsettled him ever since he first came into the clan, her sharp gaze and tongue and tendency to violence constantly reminding him of the cats he had left.

“I don’t mind,”‌ he replied, grinning at Marshfang. He really didn’t– he liked providing more food for the clan than he took. It the least that he owed them, for saving his life even after everything he’d done.

Her muzzle twitched into a wry smile. “You’re too good to be true, you know that?‌”

Clover tilted his head, tail twitching. “What do you mean?”

“You’re always so cheerful and helpful. Surely you’re not always this happy.”‌

Clover shrugged. “I am happy, usually. This is the best my life has ever been, why wouldn’t I‌ be?”

Marshfang simply regarded thoughtfully him for a few long moments, so Clover smiled at her again before picking up the vole and continuing on his way.

Licking his paws clean after his meal, his mind circled back to Marshfang’s words.

Of course, he was happy. He’d always been happy, even when he was still with his father and brother and the macraidh they’d led. He had been the one who smiled at others even though they never smiled back, who never complained about going without food or shelter even when the others had plenty, who still helped out wherever he could even when fresh scars marred his fur. Now that he belonged, truly, in this clan that had taken him in, how could he not be happy?

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he climbed to his feet and stretched, feeling the tug from the scars along his back and stomach, before padding out of his den.

The rest of the clan was beginning to wake now, cats greeting each other with sleepy purrs. Clover felt a smile come unbidden to his face at the sight of his clanmates.

“Clover!”‌ Wolfsweet’s voice made him turn to see the gray cat approaching him.

“Good morning,”‌ He said brightly, returning her smile.

“I‌ hate to ask this, but I‌ need to help Burningfell out this morning,”‌ Wolfsweet mewed, looking apologetic. “Would you mind taking Amberpaw out on patrol this morning?‌ They’re always restless at the beginning of the day and we could use a dawn patrol.‌”‌

“No problem!” Clover liked Amberpaw; they were feisty but also friendly and genuine, and were good company on patrols and hunts. He hoped that one day the clan would assign him his own apprentice.

“Amberpaw!”‌ Wolfsweet called, her soft, melodious voice suddenly loud and commanding. Clover hid a grin as the apprentice dashed over, skidding to a stop just before running headlong into their mentor.

“You’re patrolling with Clover this morning,”‌ Wolfsweet explained. “Remember what I told you about listening, not just looking?”

Amberpaw nodded, flicking her tail dismissively. “Got it!”‌

Wolfsweet rolled her eyes fondly, mouthed ‘thank you’ to Clover, and trotted off towards Burningfell, who seemed to be in one of her usual worried moods based on her ruffled fur and lashing tail.

“Where do you wanna head first?”‌ Clover asked Amberpaw, happy to go along with their wishes.

“The cliffs!”‌ the apprentice replied without hesitation, and Clover nodded easily.

“Alright, let’s go!”

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁[/center]

Clover looked over the gray, choppy sea, sitting at the edge of the cliffs while Amberpaw cast around nearby for any tracks or scents they could find.

He’d grown up further inland, in a twoleg town, and the sight of the sea never failed to make him realize just how much his life had changed since he was young.

It had been just him, Cypress, and their father when they were kits. Clover and Cypress quickly learned how to scrounge for scraps of food, as their father could more often be found wandering through the streets picking fights than providing for his motherless kits.

They’d grown, though both of them scrawny and underfed. Cypress often had to defend his softer, smaller brother from rats, other cats, and dogs. In turn, Clover idolized his brother and sought to do whatever would make him happy.

One day his father started hanging around other cats. They were the kind that Clover usually made sure to avoid– they had hard eyes, scarred pelts, and sharp claws. Clover didn’t want to be around his father’s friends, but Cypress seemed impressed by them, and he started to stick closer to their father. So Clover did too because his place was by his brother’s side.

His father and the other cats started calling themselves the macraidh– the gang. They stalked up and down the streets and used their numbers and ferocity to intimidate other cats into giving up their meals, their shelter– anything that the macraidh wanted. If somebody refused to give them what they asked for, they’d use their claws and teeth to get it.

The first time Clover tried to stop them from raiding the den of a pregnant queen, his father seized his right ear in his jaws, shaking his head until he tore the tip off. Clover watched, blinking hot blood from his eyes, as they took the queen’s food and the ragged blankets she’d curled up in.

Every time Clover tried to speak up against the macraidh, another one of them would leave a new scar on his pelt. Eventually he stopped speaking up, and instead, he just stood by as they did as they pleased.

“You’re soft,”‌ Clover’s father said to him one day. It was his favorite refrain, and his mouth formed the words with familiar, oft-expressed spite.

Cypress glanced over at them disinterestedly, then looked away again. There was a time when he would have defended Clover, spoken up for him and distracted their father.

“You need to start pulling your weight around here,”‌ their father said, his gaze dark and heavy on his least favorite son. “Start helping out when we go out collecting.‌”

Clover felt his stomach drop.

✹✹✹

“Clover!”‌ Amberpaw called, jolting him out of his memories. He stood and turned to see Amberpaw had gone further than he realized, standing a way down the long line of the cliffs.

“I think I‌ found something!”‌ the apprentice said, tail waving enthusiastically.

“Let me come take a look,”‌ Clover called, trotting over to the younger cat. “Good job!”‌

“Some tracks, and an unfamiliar cat’s scent,” Amberpaw explained, using one paw to gesture at the cat prints she’d found in the loam. “Maybe it’s a rogue!”‌ They sounded excited at the thought.

Clover smiled to himself and stepped forward to inspect the tracks.

The breeze shifted, carrying an all-too-familiar scent to his nose.

Clover froze, feeling the fur rise along his back and tail.

Cypress.

“…ver. Clover! Hey, what’s wrong?‌ Clover!”‌ His awareness of Amberpaw’s loud, worried voice gradually brought him back to himself. He realized he was standing frozen, back arched and fur raised, his ears pinned back to his head.

“It’s–” his voice failed. He cleared his throat and tried again. “‌It’s Cypress.”‌

“Cypress?”‌ Amberpaw asked, their tail lashing with confusion and worry.

“My brother,”‌ Clover said numbly.

“Isn’t that… a good thing?”‌ Amberpaw said, tilting their head. They’d just been a kit when Clover had stumbled onto Clan Fell territory, the deep scores over his eye still fresh and bloody, lost and alone. They hadn’t heard the fragmented story he’d told the patrol who found him, and he supposed the cats who had kept it to themselves.‌ In the midst of the cold dread in his chest, he felt a bright spark of warmth for his clanmates.

“No,”‌ he responded finally. “No, it’s not a good thing. He’s not… he’s not good.”‌

Amberpaw said nothing, watching him with sympathy in their eyes. He was suddenly conscious of how young and inexperienced they were, how vulnerable they’d appear to Cypress.

“Let’s head back to camp,”‌ he said, keeping his voice calm and mustering the best smile he could. Amberpaw didn’t seem very reassured, but they just nodded.

“And leave so soon, brother?” Cypress said, stepping across the moor towards them.

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁[/center]

Clover was suddenly young again, frozen, staring at his brother after the first time that Cypress ever gave him a scar, leaving two stripes across the side of his muzzle. He could taste his own blood in his mouth again.

“Not even going to say hello to your dear old brother, eh?‌”‌ Cypress said as he stalked closer. His eyes flicked to Amberpaw, who had arched their back and stuck their tail straight up in the air, stiff-legged and defensive. Cypress laughed, the sound sending an ice-cold shiver down Clover’s spine.

“And who’s this little thing?‌ She your new little sister, Clover?‌”

Amberpaw hissed. “They.”‌

Cypress looked confused for a second, then looked angry that the apprentice had managed to throw him off. He took a step forward, eyes narrowed dangerously. He was at least twice as heavy as Amberpaw, broad-shouldered and well-muscled, and the sight of him approaching Amberpaw finally snapped Clover out of his paralyzed state.

He leaped in front of Amberpaw, shielding them with his body.

“Don’t touch them, Cypress,”‌ Clover said, his voice much stronger than he felt. “Go back to camp, Amberpaw. Fetch Marshfang and the others while I‌ talk to my brother.”‌

Amberpaw hesitated, then darted out from behind Clover. Cypress made a move as if to lunge for them, but Clover hissed, drawing his brother’s attention back to him. Amberpaw streaked away across the moor. She was fast, and Clover knew it wouldn’t be long until the rest of his clan came to his side. The thought calmed his racing heart.

“You think I’m here to hurt you,”‌ Cypress observed.

“Well, the last time I‌ saw you it was with two eyes,”‌ Clover replied, feeling the phantom pain of Cypress’s claws ripping across his face.

Cypress barked a short, sharp laugh. “You’ve acquired a spine since I‌ last saw you, brother. Our father would be so proud if he was still alive to see it.”‌

Clover flinched, his mind spiraling back to the last time he saw their father.

“I told you it was your time to start contributing something,”‌ his father said as Clover stared in horror at the young cat, barely older than a kit, trembling in the center of a circle of sneering macraidh cats. “Go ahead, give the wretch a little swipe of the claws. That’ll teach him to give us what we ask for quickly, next time.”‌

“N–no,”‌ Clover stammered. “I can’t.”‌

“You can’t?‌”‌ His father snarled, stepping closer. “You can and you will, boy. That’s an order.”‌

“No,”‌ Clover said again, his heart racing and his mind full of nothing but blind panic and the knowledge that he couldn’t do what his father asked.

With a low yowl of anger, his father knocked him over and stood over him, a paw on his throat. Clover struggled frantically under the weight.

“You good-for-nothing waste of prey,”‌ his father hissed. “Either you teach that little rat a lesson, or I’ll teach the same lesson to you.”‌

Clover didn’t say anything, too panicked and afraid to do anything but push uselessly at his father’s bulk with his paws.

His father scoffed, then let him to his feet, turning his attention to the terrified young cat. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

He raised his paw, claws unsheathed, and something inside Clover broke. He lunged at his father, knocking him off balance. His father roared in anger, turning his fury back upon Clover in an instant.

It was bad fortune more than anything that killed his father in the end. Clover turned tail and ran across the street. His father, blind with rage, streaked after him. He never saw the thunderbeast coming.

“You killed him,”‌ Cypress hissed now, the same look of ruined devastation on his face that had marred it when he saw their father’s broken body. That look had been what preceded the terrible blow that ruined Clover’s eye.

“It was an accident,”‌ Clover gasped, backing away. “I never meant to kill him.”‌

“Well, I‌ meant to kill you,”‌‌ Cypress said. “But you ran away like the coward you are before I‌ could take more than your eye from you.”‌ He stalked forward, eyes burning, muscles bunching as he prepared to strike–

A‌ loud yowl filled the air as a dark blur shot into Cypress, knocking him off balance. He stumbled, then recovered as Marshfang hissed at him. Wolfsweet and Burningfell were close behind, their furious voices joining Marshfang’s as they fell into place on either side of her.

Cypress looked taken aback by the sudden array of spitting, snarling warriors facing him. He faked a lunge forward, but none of them flinched. He darted a furious, hateful look at Clover, then seemed to come to a decision.

“I’ll come back for you, brother.”

“We’ll still be here when you do,”‌ Burningfell said, her voice strong. “Now get off my territory.”

Cypress lashed his tail, then turned and loped away across the moor. The warriors watched his retreat until his figure faded into the swaying heather. Clover watched too, his heart slowing as the fear left it.

“Thank you for saving my life,”‌ Clover said. Again, he thought.

“Come back to camp,”‌ Burningfell said softly. “I think it’s time that you realize just how important you are to our clan.”

✹✹✹

Burningfell smiled down at Clover from atop the meeting rock, her eyes shining.

"I name you Cloversun, a laoch of Clan Fell, for your bright spirit, your warmth, and the light that burns within you and vanquishes even the darkest and coldest of nights. Clan Fell is proud to have you as our own."

Cloversun thought his heart would burst as his clanmates cheered and congratulated him, their smiles full of the same love that he felt for them.

[ 3000 / 3000 words ]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬[/center]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[houndpine]

Aaaaaaa my son!!
Thank you so much, I'm so excited to develop him and my clan further together!

[astraf]

ack congrats!