[Desmond]

Extending to 6/1 by request, and because I'll be busy this weekend anyway. Can't let time go to waste!

[ataraxic_gone]

"Love is the only burden you don't carry
the weight of, so no I will not give up
my collar. Even when my soul has left
my body you leave this with me, you
leave me in one peace."
Username;; dewly_noted
Cat Name;; Shadow
Gender;; male
Age;; 61 moons
Clan;; BeachClan
Rank;; wave runner [probably changing to a spiritual rank once it's arc 2's ranks]

Prompt;; [treasure]
Green. A natural colour that mirrored none of him, he was white, black and gold but this collar was green. Green of someone else, green that favoured the instincts of another. It used to make a clinking sound as he ran, an unnatural aid to the survival of the creatures he hunted. Used too was the key point of that phrase, the clinking bell had fallen off many moons ago- he had tried to keep it with him, carrying it but it had fallen between the gaps along the human's long paths of asphalt. It was gone but the green of his collar remained.
It was as green as it had once been, the sun had warn it down until there was nothing left but a pale haze of colour. It was still green, but it was washed out. The memory of what it meant hadn't been affected by that change. It hung around his neck a testament of a hazardous time in his adolescence when he had faced death and been saved by another.
He called her his family, even though she walked on two legs and spoke another tongue, she lifted him from the darkness and healed his pains. They dedicated time together. She dedicated her time to healing his wounds, gentle and persistent even as he pushed her away. He dedicated his time to working a way into her heart, settling close despite the way he had once feared her kind.
The green collar, given to him, stayed with him, a testament to a time in his life which had long since left him for the past.

The collar had worn too far and now with the sharpest tug it fell from his neck, broken in half. He kept it with him, settled in inside his nest. Faded, torn, scratched and now broken. It remained his treasure, perfect despite it faults. He kept it close, he kept it his.

[Desmond]

I'm so sorry that this took so long to judge. The ability to concentrate to read with a more critical mindset has not been my friend as of late -- and it's still not, but I mustered it together to take care of this because you guys deserve a winner in this one. <3

Username;; Sixbane
Cat Name;; Leechsneer
Gender;; Tom
Age;; 34 moons
Clan;; Gladeclan
Rank;; Warrior

Prompt;;

"You gave me the chance I needed to prove to myself I could change, and that I was not who I became"

♦I am/was part of something that I consider the enemy

"It wasn't that I hated them, it was that I hated myself because I was them, and because of them, my worst enemy has come to exist within myself."

Leechsneer never hated his old clan for existing, it wasn't their fault they were shaped by the remnants of their pasts and that their customs were that of cruelty. It wasn't their fault that he fell into the marsh, and they only watched as he was covered in the leeches that changed his name. It was in their nature, and apathy- in their blood. His youth was spent a nameless kit, unloved and forced into a toughness that shaped his every move. It wasn't until this that he earned his name. In most instances, such a course upbringing would force someone to bend, to bend to the same stiffness and he saw this clearly. The others in corrupt generations had become too scared to stand up, or perhaps it was just easier to be a follower, than put ones foot down against a machine too ancient and almighty for one individual to seem to have much power.

Leechsneer wasn't exempt. After prying himself from the pool, ripping the leeches from his flesh, and dragging himself back to camp worn and bloodied, he found himself becoming just the same as them. A harsh lesson for the young, newly dubbed "Leechkit" to learn. He was never this way by choice. His early days were spent trying to fight them, trying to fight the imposition of a clan that cared only for strength by trying to show kindness to his clanmates, for beyond it all his character was good and he had the will to do good. But for every attempt he made, he faced rejection and biting words, if not claws, dug across him. Earning the scars that would forever remind him that even his family couldn't always be trusted.

Despite his fighting the will of a clan far stronger and older than his own pitiful attempts at command broke him. It jaded him. As he faded to Leechpaw, and later Leechsneer, a mocking name taunting the scars he wore on his face, he soon found himself sitting among his clanmates. One of them. Finally, he understood them. And he hated them. He hated himself.

He was a fighter, but he would not be killed by the only family he had only to prove them wrong, because at this point, he didn't really know if it really was wrong anymore. He found himself disillusioned with the idea of freedom, of free choice. It opened too many inevitability for him to suffer for it. It was too difficult to fight back, and despite what he wanted to believe of himself, he was a follower, through and through. When anger turned on him, he'd back down. He tried the life of fighting for good and just, but it did nothing but leave him with pain and scars, and on far too many occasions the fear of death itself.

He found himself most days wondering what good even was anymore, and who's ability it was to decide that. Could that be decided? Was it his place to? Morality, he became ambiguous, his fear lead him to it and his cowardice secured it. He could not fend off the fears that forced him to become his own enemy, and he didn't even realize that was who he was until it was too late. He couldn't see the change in himself until he found himself doing the same things that they had done to him, and when it did occur to him, he didn't have the mental fortitude to combat it.

Congrats!