[Insidious]

Name: Dimkit < Dimpaw < Dimgaze < Dimstar
Age: 34 moons.
Gender: Tom.
Clan: NightClan.
Rank: Leader.

Picture:

Description:

Not a trace of colour doesn’t fit from the tip of his nose down to the end of his tail. The messiness through which dim gray and ash white disperse is as beautiful as it is artistic, making the pigmentation of his body appear scattered and disorganized, as if upon birth neither hue knew where it was supposed to go. Lacking vibrancy, the tomcat is precisely as is named: dim. His colouration is ghostly; easily related to that of a black-and-white photograph in the flesh. Darker grays are most abundant along the outlining of his pointed ears, occasionally present across his spinal chord, into his limbs, and along the base of his tail in the form of thin streaks. His dominant colour is quite similar, being a lighter, smokier shade of gray. It can be found within every single one of this tomcat’s body parts, only harmonizing with the previously mentioned darker gray in the areas that said shade was listed to inhabit. Ash white ticks of fur stand out most prominently in his muzzle, though they can be seen leaking down his neck and into his chest as well, traveling in mismatched directions from this point onward throughout the remaining length of his body.

If Dimstar's features weren’t already phantasmal enough, one would be quick to change their mind upon peering into the pair of lifeless, colourless white eyes that stare right back. Whatever normal eye colour he was meant to have, be it blue, green, brown, or even gray for the sake of rarity, had failed to make an appearance from the moment he opened his eyes. This tomcat’s creepily coloured eyes fixate with a tantalizingly mesmerizing essence of both beauty and mystery combined. His eyes are very well the most intriguing to be seen throughout all of the Clans, for no other can claim that their eyes are white without lying through their teeth. It is haunting, and yet captivating beyond belief, to look deeply into his eyes and find not a single trace of colour. They are as white as the clouds, and as white as the fresh blanket of snow that befalls the Clans in leafbare. He’s grown used to receiving that second glance, and watching as those around him widen their eyes or step back in sudden shock - for some, terror. It’s both a brilliant and an extraordinarily rare gift that has been bestowed upon him, and for that he would never think to wish it away.

Dimstar is an incredibly tall feline, built with a common amount of muscle to support his size. He’s not so tall as to tower over those around him to exceptional lengths, though he’s certainly one of the last that would be looked to and considered small. Both graceful and of a perfected posture, Dimstar is lithely bodied and thus able to maneuver with the thoroughness and the silkiness of air. His pawsteps are silent and calculated to a tee, known to not even emit the slightest of sounds when trekking through crunchy snow. He’s the equivalent of a living, breathing ghost. A creature so clearly alive, and yet possessing a handful of elements reserved for the dead.

Description Summary:

A gray tom with white eyes.

Personality:

Dimstar is the essence of robotics. It is as if each thin hair on his body was wired to behave on the behalf of one whom cannot fathom an adequate reason to partake in the ordeal of feeling; so emotionless that the thrum of a heartbeat inside of his chest has been questioned, rumoured, doubted, to the point that some do not believe that a heart persists to beat at all. His eyes, the white of apparitions, are soulless. His expression does not so much as twitch, his eyes passionless, his mouth a tight line, always an enigmatic display of apathy resting within the unchanging features of his face. There is nothing to be had from this tomcat, for he is beyond the point of seeing reason. He is narrow-minded, honing a perspective that is entirely idealistic, based upon the belief that there is an achievable state of perfection that both himself and his Clan can reach with satisfactory effort and dedication. Emotions, assumable by this point, are not a necessity to him, and he would steadfastly deprive every feline of the ability to feel if it was within his power to do so. Despite seeming distant, detached, and outright cold-blooded in the eyes of the common cat, his inability to be affected or swayed by emotion gives him an objectiveness in times of hardship that most can only dream of possessing. He will not form a personal relationship with any feline that surpasses his relationship to another, and because of this, he can settle disputes and offer a clinical viewpoint without being accused of harbouring favouritism. Dimstar is never untruthful, and as a result of such, he can be trusted to soothe violent affairs both precisely and efficiently, offering his aid out of a sense of duty as opposed to a genuine concern for the wellbeing of those involved.

Just because he is not perturbed for another cat’s sake does not mean he will be any less inclined to put his life on the line so that someone else might live to see another day. If there is a plausible way in which both himself and the feline in danger might survive, then he will be quick to take action. However, this odd, unexpected heroism extends to a select few only - if you are of his Clan, then he will keep you safe as he is able, but if you are not . . . then he will let you die, and he will have decided to let you die with the same ease as it takes to draw a breath. Dimstar does not burden himself with the excess responsibility of watching over all feline life with his calculative, intelligent eyes, for he simply does not care what tragedy might strike any Clan that is not his own. He will not sympathize with an outsider to his Clan because he does not even sympathize with a Clanmate. If he could have it his way, then cross-Clan romances would never contaminate the mind, and as a result of such, there would never be a good enough excuse for someone to switch their allegiance. He does not believe that someone should be welcomed into the ranks of a Clan that is not theirs. Having rose to the occasion, serving his Clan as its faithful and punctilious leader, a grave adversity will afflict any that are proven unworthy of his Clan’s name upon crossing the border.

Disloyalty, in his articulate opinion, is a horrific offense and deserving of execution, though he will stand by idly just like everyone else to see the infrequent off to an enemy Clan to be with their lover, having chosen to hold the prospect of kittens in higher regard than their own affiliation. Despite no longer extending his will to protect to a deserter, he will never quite frown upon those that find themselves within this classification to the same extent as someone born an enemy, for once they were of his Clan - but he will kill them just the same, should sure a dire circumstance rest upon his shoulders. Dimstar finds the mortality of all but a leader (and even they are eventually reduced to the same lifespan as everyone beneath them) to be fickle; it can be toyed with, manipulated, and altered in the blink of an eye because of choices and consequences. Since he fulfills his duties as both a leader and warrior with such devotion to behaving properly by his definition, to serving the way he believes a warrior is meant to serve, he will become a prized asset because of his abnormal take on loyalty, focusing wholeheartedly on his Clan’s growth and strength until his own mortality decides to turn against him.

Dimstar’s outrageous lack of humanity, paired with his toneless disposition, allows him to speak with immense elocution, his word choice sparkling enough to make up for the glassy look in his eyes. His mind behaves like a machine, the way he speaks often as organized and professional as a filing system. Insults are registered by this tomcat with the same consistency as compliments, often regarding one in the same manner as he would regard another, creating a generalized result with which he will respond. He is far too empty in the emotional department to genuinely be bested by someone’s verbal abuse. He does not concern himself with the actions, or the opinions, of anyone that is not of his Clan, but a Clanmate is equally incapable of getting through to him. Communication is how conflicts are solved, bonds are formed, and how so many other things are accomplished, so it becomes questionable whether or not Dimstar is right in the head when he does not value communication in the way that he should. He only participates in conversation when there is something significant to be shared, or to be gained, and finds it otherwise to be a waste of his voice. When nothing important is being spoken of, the conversation motivated by pointless chatter alone, Dimstar becomes coldly dismissive. He is by no means a regular cat, and will sooner indifferently imply his lack of interest than attempt to carry on a dissatisfying conversation. His focus is his Clan, and everything he does comes back to his Clan in one way or another. If you wish to hold his attention, then you will not get to do so for a long period of time unless you are benefiting his understanding of the Clan, somehow aiding the supremacy of the Clan, or, to his distaste, simply engaging in small-talk while doing something, like hunting, for the wellbeing of the Clan.

He attends to the fortune of his Clan so authentically, so intensely, that he holds his own will in higher regard than StarClan’s. He finds the Clan of the stars to be hatefully misguided - they have taken from him until there was nothing left to be stripped, and for that his loyalty to them has recoiled. Do not mistake his distrust for disbelief, for he in fact is a believer, but he will not attempt to prove this in the face of anybody’s accusations. Dimstar does not care if he is liked by his peers, by those that follow him, because even though his actions might sometimes seem unnecessarily cruel, might seem wrong, he does not do anything that he does not entirely believe is for the Clan’s own good. His care for the Clan will cater to everyone inside of the Clan, but not always in a way that will seem fair or just. Personal feelings are of no relevance to him, because feelings cannot keep them advantageous as a unit. He cannot be talked into something that he does not believe in; he cannot see reason when it goes against everything he will strive for his Clan to possess. If StarClan, their deity, has no hope of influencing him (their riddles and their prophecies accounted for, but not always taken into consideration in the form they are supposed to be) then there is certainly no hope for the common cat. He does not care about you directly, about your opinions, definitely not your feelings, but the most important thing to him is undoubtable loyalty and proper service. If you have this, then he will do what is best for you, not what you think is best for you.

History:

Silverfur was young, she was reckless, but worst of all, she had been in love. The pretty she-cat, with dazzling blue eyes and beautiful fur true to her namesake, had never been known to appreciate boundaries, and because of this she often ignored them, frequently proven as able to bypass them free of consequence. She was adored by leader, deputy, and warrior alike, so perhaps it had been unfair that so many were content to bat their eyes blindly whenever she did wrong, but Silverfur knew how to press her advantages, and so she often did without anyone’s concern following in her shadow.

Sleetfang had always been recognized for being handsome, with his black, white-ticked fur and sharp gray eyes, appealing to the she-cat’s more than any of the other toms could. It made it sensible that someone had been quick to snatch him up, ruining any other swooning she-cat’s chances of settling down with him. He was happy with Fogwisp, anybody could see that. She was pretty in a way that was simple: her white fur was not drastically unusual, and it paired in a way that was sweetly pleasant with her dark blue eyes. There happiness, however, did not stop Silverfur from pursuing someone she had always wanted in the back of her mind. She had grown up with the mentality that she could do anything she wanted, and that it did not matter who got hurt because of it, so she had decided that Fogwisp was not going to stop her from taking a chance on a romance with the tom that, supposedly, could no longer be had.

It was no surprise that Fogwisp was furious when news of Silverfur’s pregnancy spread. Her romance with Sleetfang was shattered, and she placed all of the blame on top of Silverfur’s pretty little head. She became grossly vindictive as the moons passed - she did not know how to feel about the kittens she carried in her womb, because they were a constant reminder that Sleetfang had wanted her, but had wanted Silverfur no less. She planned to eventually take her revenge out on Silverfur, but not while she was pregnant. Despite how much she despised their father, she could not help longing to see their faces when they were born. They would be her kittens as much as they would be Sleetfang’s, and she wanted the best for them as any expecting mother should.

Silverfur coddled her single kitten, Dimkit, who had her fur save for the occasional black or white tinge, opening eyes that had failed to absorb any colour - white as the snow of leafbare. Fogwisp, with much satisfaction, coddled her two kittens: Shadowkit, her fur a beautiful swirl of blacks and whites, and Pantherkit, dominantly black with milder whites than his sister, both opening eyes an exact replica of Sleetfang’s icy gray. The two mothers did not acknowledge each other surpassed the odd, distrustful sneer, failing to enlighten their kittens that they were half-siblings out of hatred for their mingled family trees. Silverfur had neglected to continue her relationship to Sleetfang after learning of Fogwisp’s pregnancy, unamused that she had not been able to fully take him from her. The two queens minded their own business, hostility alight in the air, hardly managing to hold their tongues when Sleetfang insisted that he come and visit his kittens.

Shadowkit and Pantherkit were overjoyed to meet their father, walking in between his legs and swatting at his tail, their small faces trying to make room for their oversized grins. Dimkit, however, showed little interest in interacting with him, obedient and silent at his mother’s flank. Silverfur was content to nurture Dimkit’s attachment to her, while Fogwisp, jealous of her fellow queen despite her repulsion towards her, wished that her own two kittens could behave similarly to Dimkit, seeming as disconnected from Sleetfang as she herself felt. Once again, she felt bested by the she-cat everyone except her seemed to love - it was to the point that she wanted her dead.

Sleetfang had told his three kittens about how they were related without the permission of Silverfur or Fogwisp, who had no choice but to begrudgingly accept that it was no longer a secret that they could keep. Shadowkit and Pantherkit attempted to include Dimkit in their games, but he never expressed a desire to play with them, always keeping to himself, quietly seated closeby to Silverfur. Eventually, they stopped asking, playing amongst themselves, occasionally throwing a wary glance in his direction, wondering why he was such an abnormal kitten who did not want to play like the others did.

Dimpaw was named an apprentice and assigned Ratscar, a muddy brown tomcat with shiny green eyes, a variety of scars on his face inflicted from a battle Dimpaw did not care to inquire about. Shadowpaw was assigned Waspflight, a gold-and-black tabby she-cat, which left Pantherpaw with Deadtail, an unfortunate run-in with an angry badger having stripped the white tom of that appendage. Each newly named apprentice touched their nose to that of their given mentors, and that was the moment that catastrophe struck.

Nobody had anticipated a fight at such an important time. Nobody had reacted quickly enough to stop Fogwisp from tackling Silverfur from behind, cutting the she-cat’s throat before anyone could think to bring an end to the conflict. Chaos ensued: Pantherpaw and Shadowpaw were frozen, horrified, nearby warriors dragging Fogwisp off of Silverfur’s limp body, hissing and swatting at her with unsheathed claws as the leader sentenced her to an immediate exile, Dimpaw observing this whole ordeal clinically, no expression dawning upon his unchanging face as he dismissively turned away from the bleeding corpse of his mother to watch the retreat of Fogwisp, flanked on either side by a none-too-kind warrior.

The three apprentices did not converse much after that, mainly because Shadowpaw and Pantherpaw were too appalled by what their mother had done to Dimpaw’s. The Clan slowly recovered, shaken by what their own Clanmate would do to another, and eventually the three apprentices were right on schedule with their training, able to avoid one another as they so pleased. Ratscar did not treat Dimpaw like he was some soft-hearted kitten that would never move on from his mother’s death. He was hard on him, working him tirelessly, and that was precisely what Dimpaw wanted so that he might sharpen his skills to the best of his ability and one day serve his Clan effectively. What he learned shortly after they began training together was that Ratscar had a certain edge of sadism to his personality, enjoying battle a little too much, craving the opportunity to inflict injuries upon his foe. Every so often he would cunningly find ways to bring sadism into their training sessions, but Dimpaw never took the bait, and it only took a few failed attempts before Ratscar grew fatigued with Dimpaw’s lack of initiative to convert to Ratscar’s ways. The two of them were training in the mountains one evening, mentor trying to teach apprentice the advantages of being able to act in the dark as efficiently as in the light, when an unexpected face decided to make an appearance.

Fogwisp affectionately nuzzled the side of Ratscar’s neck, Dimpaw watching from the sidelines with cold, emotionless eyes. The exiled she-cat turned to him, then, a grotesque smile curling the corner of her lip in greeting. She made flat apologies about killing his mother, likely intended to wound him, but her words did nothing of the sort. He could see the anger growing inside of her as a result of being unable to stir him, his mentor standing idly at the crazed she-cat’s side - a pity that love could even worm itself into the minds of the sadistic, those seeming least likely to be drawn in by its weak promises. Fogwisp took a step closer. Ratscar did not move. Dimpaw looked between the two older cats only briefly before understanding that he had been set up by his own teacher; one who he was meant to be able to trust. When the she-cat lunged, he was ready to meet her, and her downfall had been the expectation that he would meet her afraid.

He had been disadvantaged, as far as experience went, but nonetheless the odds had played into his favour. His mother’s killer was dead at his paws, but he was not overrun with satisfaction that he had avenged her untimely fate, only content with himself for bringing an end to someone that was not deserving of their own NightClan blood. Ratscar was uncannily still out of the corner of Dimpaw’s eye, his expression tight but noticeably pugnacious. Dimpaw, albeit worn out after having just taken a life, would not back down should his mentor pose a threat. Ratscar shifted to all fours, hissing loudly, tail lashing, and that was the moment that the lynx so rightfully named Demon was upon him. He did not think as he pivoted, darting into the shadows of night upon the path to NightClan's territory, nothing behind him except for the sound of Ratscar’s screams and the slight pull inside of him that, despite Ratscar’s betrayal, would have saved him if he could.

If not only because, behind him, he had deserted a loyal NightClan warrior.

Dimpaw had to explain the blood that slicked his fur, but thankfully his story had been believed; he could not help wondering if the leader was merely taking pity on him, even still, for what had been able to happen to his mother at his apprenticeship ceremony. Dimpaw’s killing of Fogwisp was rumoured, some adding to the story and placing their claim that it had been him to turn on Ratscar next, not Demon. He was not concerned with what the other cats had to say about him, for he had been completely honest with his leader, and he had been believed wholeheartedly. He knew that he would never turn on a faithful NightClan cat that he could otherwise help, so it did not matter if a few whispered breaths questioned whether or not he had betrayed his mentor on that dark night, and not the other way around.

It had become no easier for Shadowpaw and Pantherpaw to approach Dimpaw, especially after news of what he had done to their mother. There was no mistaking the tension he observed in their gray eyes; the pieces of them that, despite Fogwisp’s treachery to NightClan, to Dimpaw’s mother, had loved her anyway. An apology did not sit unspoken on the tip of his tongue. Fogwisp had attacked him, and for that she had died. He did not kill her because he held a grudge. He did not kill her because she had attacked him, either. Fogwisp had turned against NightClan, had deluded her Clanmates and then murdered one of their own, and for that Dimpaw had executed her. There was no pardoning someone that did not deserve the precious blood coursing through their veins. He would not have fought her if she had not gotten violent with him, but alas there was nothing he could to lessen the hatred in her eyes - how when she looked at him, she saw a shred of Silverfur - and for that he had no choice but to end her life. Dimpaw believed that Shadowpaw and Pantherpaw would come around, would understand that he had done what needed to be done, and until then, he would wait out the lengths of their rancor towards him and his actions.

Dimpaw was reassigned to Gracklewing, an older she-cat who upheld the importance of sharpening the mind. She understood how much potential existed inside of a mind like Dimpaw’s, and for that, she dedicated countless hours to ensuring that he could properly hone his own intelligence. He learned from her in ways that he had been unable to learn under Ratscar’s instruction. She did not push him, but instead let him push himself, and it was through that process that he began to recognize what a mind like his could genuinely accomplish.

NightClan’s leader acknowledged how the three apprentices had grown over their moons of training, and so renamed them as follows: Shadowmaple, Pantherstride, and Dimgaze. They were vigil for an evening, and then arose the next morning to their brand new set of warrior duties. The trio was assigned to the odd hunting patrol/border patrol together, and Dimgaze found that Shadowmaple was slowly starting to open up again, perhaps forgive, even though Pantherstride still often begrudgingly took to the occasional, curt nod and nothing more whenever Dimgaze was concerned. He would not push either of his half-siblings into trying to include him once more as they had tried when they were kittens. Truthfully, he did not care to spend time with either of them, far more inclined to devote the entirety of his time to ensuring that NightClan was at its most prosperous. The leader was quick to take notice of Dimgaze’s dedication to the Clan’s wellbeing, and so he received his first apprentice before Shadowmaple or Pantherstride: Leafpaw, a brown tabby she-cat with bright green eyes and a shy smile.

She was an average apprentice, listening quietly to instructions and taking his advice into deep consideration whenever it was given. All in all, he saw no reason to complain about her, for surely she would become an excellent warrior in time. Dimgaze noticed that Pantherstride often insisted he tag along whenever he went out with Leafpaw to train, often claiming he could assist with her lessons. He dismissed the likelihood that Pantherstride had become infatuated with her, regardless of the many signs that were apparent. He trusted that his half-sibling would be able to control himself and, when along for their lessons, be of the assistance that he said he could be.

Dimgaze was given the honour of attending a Gathering, Leafpaw at his side. It was Leafpaw’s first time being among cats of the different Clans, and her sudden interest in a TreeClan apprentice around her age was making Dimgaze skeptical. He watched the pair carefully, only allowing himself to dismiss the possibility that she would ever consider romanticizing him once they were retreating from the Gathering, the look on her face sullen. Leafpaw was newly named Leafstorm after six successful moons of training, and although content that he would no longer be required to train her when he could be hunting for the Clan, he was satisfied to have provided his Clan with another dutiful warrior.

That was, until Leafstorm partook in the worst kind of betrayal. She departed from NightClan, not looking over her shoulders once as she pranced gleefully towards TreeClan to be met by the face of her lover. Dimgaze did not concern himself with interfering in Leafstorm’s love life, as she had betrayed NightClan and was no longer of any use to him, but there was no ignoring the look of dread that had passed over Pantherstride’s face when she left. Dimgaze knew that he resented the tomcat in TreeClan that had captured Leafstorm’s heart; he could only hope that his half-sibling was loyal enough to prioritize his duties to NightClan over following Leafstorm to TreeClan like a lovesick, pouting kitten.

Time passed, and Dimgaze had entirely swept Leafstorm from his memory until yet another conflict stirred between NightClan and TreeClan. Dimgaze had encountered Leafstorm on the battlefield, his former apprentice unblinking, unsure of whether to attack him or find a different opponent. He had made the decision for her, pinning the NightClanner turned TreeClanner to the ground and killing her with one powerful blow to the neck. He did not care that he had once trained her, or that she had once admired and looked up to him, because now she had been nothing more than a treacherous feline that had turned against her home in favour of pursuing love. It had been easy to kill her, but difficult to anticipate the feeling of claws sinking into his back, throwing him to the ground a fair distance away from the rest of the fighting. White eyes met the familiar gray of Pantherstride’s, no surprise registering on his expression as he waited, curious, of whether or not his half-sibling would kill him over having watched Dimgaze drain the life from the pathetic TreeClanner that had left their Clan. Pantherstride hesitated a moment in the midst of his rage, and that was when Dimgaze reacted, using the force of his legs to kick his half-sibling off so that he might rise. The two stared at each other from the newly established distance between them, and it was only then, the tension in the air thick, that Dimgaze turned away from Pantherstride so he wouldn't do something else he would regret, but not before both of them saw the stunned look in Shadowmaple’s eyes, having witnessed the whole thing.

It was clear that Pantherstride had been shocked when a meeting was not called for that sentenced him to exile, having attempted to harm his own Clanmate in the battle. He shared looks with Dimgaze over the passing days that communicated his unease, but Dimgaze neither quelled his worry nor spoke a word about what Pantherstride had tried to do. Even though he had attacked Dimgaze, he had not went through with it. He had returned to NightClan, and he had accepted his own exile for having wronged a Clanmate. He did not know if Pantherstride was thankful, because he never spared a moment to inquire. He did not know if Shadowmaple thought her brother deserved to be exiled after what he had nearly done, or was equally thankful that Dimgaze had decided to keep that knowledge between the three of them. Although they were half-siblings, joined by Sleetfang’s blood, there was no commonality between them - they would not stand together and compromise, because they had never been that close. That secret remains between the three of them, always unspoken on the tips of their tongues when they are near each other. Dimgaze does not blame Pantherstride, though to this day, he is wary of the chances that such a fire might ignite beneath his pelt again, driving him to do something that will pin him unworthy of his place in NightClan.

Roleplay Example:

D I M G A Z E
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The battle was aggressive, even in the eyes of a tomcat that did not fear the blood that slicked the grass beneath his paws, pairs locked in ferocious combat, hissing at each other, cutting each other, until someone was too weak, too badly broken, to so much as lift a paw in defense. That, he observed, was when the victor would back off, whether of NightClan or TreeClan, wounding their foe until they were perched helplessly on the brink of death, and then leaving so that they might suffer the pain of their injuries, of their loss, with the battle cries of fighting cats pounding in their flattened, scarred ears until their respective medicine cat might chance an approach to tend to those lucky enough to have been spared by the enemy. Unlike the others, he did not make a habit of sparing his enemies, of battling according to the code, because if he was going to have to fight, genuinely fight, then he would wound his opponent until they were perched helplessly on the brink of death, and then he would finish what had been started, leaving a cold corpse on the field that, later on, the medicine cat could regard sorrowfully before moving on to a life that could actually be saved.

He was in the middle of the battlefield, positioned almost idly, disinterestedly, as angry spar partners within a nearby vicinity attempted to accommodate his unflinching body into their fights, some violent maneuvers hardly missing him as they would be swung over his head at the last minute, or navigated away from one of his limbs, to inflict damage upon the opponent that, as of now, actually sought to do them harm. Dimgaze did not hunt for a TreeClan cat without a partner, but instead waited patiently to be hunted. It was then that he locked eyes with a potential aggressor, undaunted by their fast approach, by the predatory glimmer in their fire coloured gaze, preparing at the last second to defend himself from a carefully plotted attack - he did not miss the way that his opponent’s eyes shuddered with confusion at his inaction - before a familiar blob of black-and-white dashed passed his unattended flank and countered the TreeClanner mid-swing. He knew better than to believe that Shadowmaple had saved him; he was perfectly capable of settling his own matters, and was often successful, for so few knew how to handle an efficient robot. Instead, it was labeled so simply as to claim that his half-sister had taken advantage of the nearest opportunity to throw herself into battle, and so Dimgaze turned away from her, from her own personal affairs, with nothing to showcase his non-existent concern surpassed the flick of a tail tip in the wishing of good luck.

It was then that he saw her. The green of her eyes was more vibrant than he recalled, perhaps sweetened and livened by love, and the expression of shock on her face was, too, different from the usual shyness that he had once perceived there time and time again. The last he had seen of her she was a newly named NightClan warrior, his first profitable apprentice, having fixated an affectionate stare upon the borderline of TreeClan as if her home, the place she had been born, had been meant to serve, was a chapter in her life that she had been proud to close. He knew not how she fared with her lover, with that equally treacherous tomcat from the Gathering that had caught her eye and, within seconds, surely, convinced her that something better awaited her in the warriors’ den of TreeClan once they were older, where she could be happily curled up in a nest with him. Perhaps now she had kittens waiting to see her bright, smiling face after she was finished here, defending her new Clan. And yet, the hesitation that sparked inside of her, paws itching to recoil from a conflict with her mentor, was proof enough in his mind that someone born of NightClan could not ever truly become a TreeClan warrior. A warrior of anywhere except the Clan in which they belonged, but had nonetheless abandoned. Dimgaze would not show Leafstorm mercy, for even though once they had been mentor and apprentice, they were now enemies. With a pleading look in her eyes, something akin to a pout on the edge of her lip, he did something he was rarely known to do in a fight and took the initiative.

It had been over in seconds, because Leafstorm had been grossly incapable of defending TreeClan if it meant facing someone she had once learned from. It was that, among a variety of things, that they would never have in common, because he had disregarded any connection, any bond rightfully between them as mentor and apprentice, the second she had turned her back on LightningClan and looked as though every part of her wanted to. Fresh, pure NightClan blood spilled out of her slit neck, and he watched, arguably mesmerized, as it coloured the grass of the Deer Path a murky crimson. At last satisfied, he stepped away from her dead body, next met by the claws, the unfriendly screech, of none other than his half-brother, Pantherstride, who threw him to the ground in a remarkable display of authentic, heartfelt rage. The element of surprise had been his advantage, but Dimgaze was uncannily quiet beneath the pressing, foreboding weight of his forepaws, blinking white eyes that emitted an innocent curiousity as to whether or not Pantherstride would commit such a crime and turn against one of his own.

“You killed her,” he noted the way that his half-brother seethed, “like she had never been anything more to you than an enemy!”

Unsheathed claws threatened to prick Dimgaze’s neck, but still he did not react to his half-brother’s unanticipated attack. He knew that Leafstorm had once been precious to Pantherstride, before she had been named a warrior, and before she had shown signs of longing to desert NightClan. His unusual infatuation had not phased Dimgaze as a mentor, had not pushed him to voice aloud any deepening concerns as to his inappropriate, feeble crush on his apprentice, because they had never been that close as half-brothers, and Dimgaze cared not to include himself in Pantherstride’s personal business. He had been free to pursue Leafstorm (Leafpaw at the time) if the promise of having a relationship with her had appealed to him so, and had even been free to follow in her shadow like a lovesick puppet on strings across TreeClan’s border in the hopes that, then, she would acknowledge that his feelings for her overpowered whatever her suitor in TreeClan had been able to offer. But Pantherstride had stayed in LightningClan, and thus Dimgaze had not lost faith in his unwavering loyalty.

Until now.

“She was nothing more to me than an enemy as soon as she left NightClan territory without retaining the intention to return.” His words were cold, dismissive, as if this conversation was a waste of his time and he was being forced to explain an irrelevant matter to a frustrated, sadly uninformed kitten. “Just as you will be nothing more than an enemy to NightClan if you prolong this exchange and risk being seen by one of your own. I should hope that, if afterwards you find yourself another Clan, and end up in a battle such as this, in a situation similar to what I had just experienced with Leafstorm, that the inhabitant of my Clan would kill you, too, regardless of how long it has been since you shared his or her den.” His words, although menacing, were not a threat, but instead spoken with the simplicity of facts that he believed would prove to be truths should Pantherstide follow through with his execution.

He had not yet decided whether Leafstorm or Dimgaze, still his Clanmate unlike the recently deceased former, held more merit. Even though he was intrigued about what Pantherstride would choose to hold in higher regard, loyalty or treachery, he made use out of the convenience of his half-brother’s uncertainty, pushing upwards with his hind legs and propelling the unsuspecting warrior off from over-top of him. Pantherstride landed with a grunt, and when he opened his gray eyes, he would see that Dimgaze was already standing. The black-and-white tomcat hastily mirrored the position of his unmoving half-brother, watching him warily, Dimgaze practically able to smell the unease that resided inside of Pantherstride’s chest like a heavy cloud of guilt. He would never know if Pantherstride had intended to kill him, to take his chances, but he did not care if he never found out. Dimgaze turned his back on his half-brother, diminishing the threat that he might counter in the process, returning to where the majority of the fighting continued to take place, directly meeting the eyes of a horrified half-sister, Shadowmaple, as she slowly looked up and over his head to undoubtedly find some kind of an answer in the face of his attacker, her dearest, beloved, full-blooded brother.

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