Username: mewmew.
Cat's Name: Dustwind
Cat's gender: tom
Clan Thread: Muleclan
Extra: art
Worst/best Memory:
Smoke hung in the air like a heavy curtain; it was so thick that Dustpaw could hardly see his whiskers in front of his nose. The gray air crept into everything including Dustpaw’s lungs which screamed for clean, clear air but instead of clean air pure terror filled his being. The young apprentice was confused, disoriented; his mentor and the rest of the border patrol were missing all divided by the walls of flame that overtook the grassland. He cried out once or twice but the roars of the flames were so loud that not even he could hear his own voice. His body felt frozen too scared to move he dug his claws into the ground and closed his eyes shut. If he closed his eyes maybe it would all go away faster, he prayed to Starclan it would all go away. This is the end. I am going to walk with them. Help me Starclan.
Time seemed to stand still as Dustpaw praying the same words over and over. It felt like a quarter-moon had passed yet at the same time only a second. What didn’t make sense to him at all was why the fire hadn’t engulfed him yet. “Open your eyes, Dustpaw.” A voice spoke softly and a cool feeling lay across his shoulders. The apprentice slowly opened his eyes which automatically began to sting from the smoke. Before him, amidst the smoke and flames was a giant brown ticked tabby tom with lighter legs and soft green eyes, it was Coyotepelt. A moment of relief filled Dustpaw as he saw his mentor whom he rushed to as a fearful kit would rush to its mother’s side but, as he buried his face into the shoulder of his mentor he noticed that the cat felt cool and had no sent. Relief was quickly replaced with sorrow.
“Are you here to take me with you?” The young odd eyed cat looked up at his mentor’s somber face.
“No, not yet. I am here to help you get home. Now come. Stay close to me.” The tom began to walk away, Dustpaw frantically running after him. The fire around them blazed eating everything in its path, pressing on the two as they quickly moved along the grassland.
Suddenly, something caught Duspaw’s eye. The thought of fire left his mind as he felt his feet grow heavy. A figure lay not too far off from where he stood; the figure’s back was turned to him and badly burned by the flames yet he knew in his heart that it was a cat and as his eyes focused more, ignoring the sting of smoke, Dustpaw could see the unique coloring of his mentor which had given him his name, Coyotepelt. The apprentice started to move towards the body when he was suddenly stopped.
Coyotepelt had grabbed the smaller cat by the scruff and pulled him away as a flame raged up singeing the hair on his nose. “Keep moving!” Coyotepelt hissed through the grip he had on the apprentice. Dustpaw flailed trying to get a grip on the ground as he was being pulled. “No! I can’t leave your body! I must take it back!” He cried, half pleaded. The older tom released him only to begin pushing him.
“Leave me! The fire is starting to grow bigger. If you do not hurry you will die as well! Hurry! Go! Run” Dustpaw was propelled forward by a giant push. He tripped over his paws a few times before he was at a full sprint forward. With one last look over his shoulder he saw he mentor rising up on his back legs as if he was about to enter battle with the fire. That was the last he saw of Coyotepelt.
He wasn’t sure where he was running to, only that he was going in the direction he was told to. Finally, Dustpaw came to the river that protected the clan’s camp, crossed it, and collapsed on the bank. His entire body ached as he sucked in the air that was hardly touched by the smoke. He laid on the bank with his eyes closed and his heart heavy. He would forever feel this loss.
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Dustwind’s eyes snapped open and the fur on the back of his neck stood on end. The warrior’s den was peaceful and quiet as his clanmates slept around him but his heart raced a thousand miles per hour and he felt like he was gasping for air once again. 48 moons had past since Dustwind had received his warrior name but he was still plagued with the same nightmare on the eve of his naming ceremony. It was as if Starclan didn’t want him to forget how he received his warrior name. Not that he could ever forget that night, the guilt of surviving was almost worse than the thought of him joining Starclan that night. Shakily Dustwind rose from his nest, arched his back in a stretch, and quietly walked out of the den. It was a claw-moon which allowed the sky to be filled with the night stars.
“Why did he die? Why did you spare me?” He meowed softly to the night sky as he watched a star shoot across Silverpelt. His heart dropped knowing that another four seasons would come and go with no answer from Starclan. “May you find good hunting, swift running, and shelter when you sleep Coyotepelt.” He meowed the soft goodbye before turning away and returning to his place in the warrior’s den.