Post by Phoenix on Nov 10, 2016 0:03:10 GMT -5
now was acknowledged the presence of the red death
Life in LightningClan was different without Rookfrost as their medicine cat. He had grown quite accustomed to glancing across camp to see the manifestation of death lurking in the shadows of his den, empty gray eyes watching with general disgust as their simple-minded clan mates went about their day. Though he would never have considered himself to be close to the midnight wraith, the senior warrior was of the opinion that he had a better understanding of the other tom than almost any other in their clan, and he knew that it was not out of a desire to improve the lives of others that Rookfrost had maintained his position as medicine cat but rather the thirst for knowledge and potentially new victims. Treating the same old maladies every day had to get old, especially for one of the black cat’s intelligence, so Whiteshade had had to assume that the former medicine cat had lived for the days when something new and strange would arise; if he were medicine cat instead of a warrior, he knew that he would. And now that he thought about it, he had never seen Rookfrost look quite as gleeful as he had on the day that he had broken and reset Blazefang’s leg and knocked out his brother. The normally indifferent medicine cat had practically smiled, and when he took the time to think about that particular trio of brothers, Whiteshade found that he could understand the sentiment.
Of course, on the other side, he had never seen Gustclaw look quite as gleeful as he had on the day that he had learned of Rookfrost’s resignation and, though there was officially no confirmation of it, his demise. The silver tabby tom was not alone in his opinion, for there were undoubtedly many others in their clan who found themselves rather relieved that the dismal shade to whom they had to turn for medical attention had been replaced by a far more caring, far more normal, (and far more boring, in his opinion) she-cat. Unlike her predecessor, Kindleflare held no interest in the macabre or discovering what monsters lurked in the night and preferred to stay within the relative safety of the medicine cat’s den once the sun had fallen below the horizon. How she could be related to Nightstep, he did not know, for the two were entirely opposite in nearly every way. At least Nightstep could see him covered in blood, even be covered in blood himself, and speak more than a single word.
He had a feeling that Kindleflare still made an effort to avoid being alone in the company of just him and his sister, and while a part of him found her nervousness rather amusing (and indeed, did not make any effort to soothe her anxieties), the stammering and stuttering and shaking was all rather tedious when all he wanted was a simple cure.
But no matter. With a slight twitch of his tail, the alabaster cleared his mind of all his musing about the new medicine cat of LightningClan and cast a crimson-eyed glance around the camp. A thick layer of fog had settled across the moorland overnight, and it successfully blended with his alabaster fur, giving him a truly ethereal appearance. If he was a lesser cat, he might have chosen today to settle himself down outside the nursery and see how many kits he could frighten by simply looking at them, but as he was one of the more respected, if not feared, senior warriors of the clan, he had opted instead to relax along a different edge of camp (though in truth, he had lost interest in that particular game as an apprentice, since there was never any question about the results – he always managed to frighten everyone). Although he made an effort to act the part of a responsible and dutiful senior warrior and as a consequence was more often than not patrolling or hunting or something combination of the two, there had seemed to be a general consensus among the warriors that remaining in camp on such a foggy day was for the better. After all, it would be so unfortunate if someone were to get lost and never be found again. If Rookfrost had been there, Whiteshade knew that he would be especially devastated if that someone was Blazefang or a relation of the younger tom.
With a half-eaten mouse between his paws, the devil of LightningClan glanced around at the abnormally busy camp. It seemed as though warriors and apprentices alike had decided to take full advantage of the unexpected day off, for they were clustered together in groups that were spread throughout camp. By his own design, the alabaster tom, of course, was enjoying his solitude, though given the nature of the clan and everyone’s apparent willingness to engage even the most reluctant of participants in an inane conversation about an equally boring topic of conversation, he did not expect to remain that way for long. Crimson eyes glanced around, wondering where Nightstep and Cherrypool had ended up. At the very least, they would be interesting conversation partners, but a quick survey around the clearing did not reveal their locations. While it was likely that Nightstep was enjoying the company of Palescreech somewhere private, it was also possible that they had been smart enough to flee the camp before it had been decided that everyone ought to remain in its vicinity. After all, Whiteshade knew that his sister was not one who enjoyed large crowds. She had never been quite as comfortable in her skin as he.
and the red death held illimitable dominion over all