[Phoenix]

OWLSTRIKE

you'll see him in your nightmares
you'll see him in your dreams

There was a moment, at sunset, when time paused and the world was suspended delicately between day and night, frozen between one breath and the next. Caught in transition for the briefest of instances. And then the balance shifted, day gave way to night, and time carried on as it always had, with one day bleeding into the next. Time - slippery at best, relentless at worst - healed all wounds, they said. Owlstrike could feel his lip beginning to curl at the memory and forced his expression into practiced indifference; the trees had ears, and even apparent solitude could not be entirely trusted. Not in TreeClan. Condemned from birth for the blood rushing through their veins, his family's fate had been predetermined by a clan to which none of them had truly belonged. His family had all been sentenced to exile or death before they could even walk, and as such, he had been powerless to do anything but watch as they stole his loved ones and replaced them with platitudes. Give it time, they said as his father was banished from the only home he'd known. You'll feel better soon, they promised as he stood before the mutilated body of his sister. They chipped away at his mother and father and brothers and sisters, one by one, until he was the only cat left standing, and then they had the audacity to tell him that time healed all wounds - as if the losses of his parents and each of his siblings did not carve from him pounds of flesh that left him empty inside.

Empty, but for a glowing coal of resentment that had been fed the pain and humiliation of each consecutive loss and now flared into a healthy flame.

His ire was what they all deserved, but some were more guilty than others - and as such, it was for their blood on his claws that he thirsted. Lionstar. Even in his head, the name was hissed with the venom of a viper. After the kidnapping of his kits and the death of his mother, Owlstrike had nothing left in TreeClan, but he wanted to - needed to - see that golden figure head crippled or dead before he left.

Mud from yesterday's rain clung to gray paws as he finally reached his destination. Stepping delicately around one of the curved stone spires, the warrior entered StarClan's Claws with the quiet confidence of a cat who knew that everything that went bump in the night ought to fear him. A chameleon in a fur coat, he knew all too well that in battle, as in life, wars were not won with the sharpness of the claws but rather the sharpness of the mind. Battles were fought in the space behind the eyes, and victory in that theater was the harbinger of victory in every other arena. As long as he could silently convince an opponent of the futility of fighting, he need never unsheathe his claws to achieve dominion - though in his case, the threat of danger was not so much a bluff as it was a promise.

Not that many cats had ever been aware of the predator hiding in his heart; indeed, he was the sole survivor of all those who could have reasonably estimated the extent to which he would go for his family. All smiles and pleasantries when necessary, he played the game well, but seasons of carefully maintaining that facade had only fanned the flames of his growing resentment. Moons of service to the clan, and he was still Grayowl's grandson first and a TreeClan warrior second. No matter - their time would come.

Gold eyes turned their piercing gaze toward the large boulder sitting in the middle of the stone spires. As he recalled the image of Lionstar standing on top of that rock at every Gathering, he could feel his lip curling into another sneer, but this time, in favor of burying it beneath that mask of carefully constructed indifference, he turned his animosity into action. With an ease that took some leaders moons to develop, he scaled the boulder until his lithe frame perched atop it. Slowly, he turned in place, eyes traveling from the densely wooded forests to the open plains and winding rivers. Far above, the last streaks of red were swallowed by the gathering darkness, and as his gaze fell upon the trees once more, he knew that his clan would be preparing to sleep while their neighbors rose with the moon. They truly were opposites in every way, TreeClan and NightClan. Perhaps their long-standing hatred of each other was not as much incidental as it was simply fated.

A flash of white fur interrupted his musing, and he turned his attention to watch a pale figure cross the clearing. The newcomer's name came to him a moment later, faintly remembered from one Gathering or another. Their clans may have had bad blood between them, but Owlstrike had no particular grudge against the other tom that would prevent him from reaching out. Slipping easily into the charming persona with which he conducted all of his interactions, he greeted the NightClan warrior with a short nod and a neutral, "Hello Frostjaw." A brief pause, and then, in the spirit of the relatively recent truce between their clans, he offered, "I was just admiring the view. Would you care to join me?"

Look at him, making pleasant conversation. Lionstar would be so proud - or would be, if he were talking to a cat from any other clan. The flame of resentment briefly flared, but it soon settled in the face of an old and weaker indignity. The day Lionstar and the rest of TreeClan would be proud of him would be the day Owlstrike died.

you're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan

designed and directed by his red right hand

red right hand | background image | Ginger Fawn (lionstar mention)

[Ginger]

Frostjaw

nightclan warrior 38 moons

Frostjaw had felt compelled to rise and leave camp earlier than even the moon-rise patrol that would be starting the night off for the clan. StarClan must have wanted him to do something, to be somewhere. Anyways, he needed to get away from camp and clear his head. Darkstar's recent failure to survive the kitting of StarClan's future protectors had given the usually steadfast tom reason to question his leader. 

His kits were to be strong, that was for sure. They killed their mother coming out. But was Darkstar strong enough?

Those were blasphemous thoughts. Darkstar was chosen by StarClan to lead the clan, and her many lives were a blessing, for they allowed her to lay down her life for her kits while still getting to be their mother and train them to be strong warriors. 

StarClan, I need you, he thought to himself. What better way to connect with StarClan than at StarClan's claws? He could use the air, and he needed to know what his next steps were. Was he to train his offspring both spiritually and physically? Was he to urge Darkstar to acknowledge that NightClan was straying too far from the path laid for it by StarClan? 

Before he knew it, Frostjaw had found his way to StarClan's Claws. His cool blue eyes surveyed the rocks that would bring him closer to the night sky, stopping abruptly at a pair of glowing golden eyes staring at him from across the clearing. He wasn't alone. 

Opening his mouth, the tom crinkled his nose ever-so-slightly as the scent of TreeClan assaulted him. So not only was he alone, but he was alone with a clan that had forsaken StarClan in every way. Frostjaw had heard the rumors of their medicine cat's ... lackluster connection to StarClan. And Lionstar...Lionstar was weak and afraid, as all souls become once they remained on this plane for too long. His time was up. Frostjaw could not understand why TreeClan's leader was so reluctant to make his journey to StarClan, where all were united. Where all sins were forgiven. Even the sin of being in TreeClan.

At the tom's invitation, Frostjaw raised his brow. This was unheard of. But upon the realization that the warrior who had invited him to sit was Owlstrike, things made more sense. While Frostjaw did not know much of the drama of other clans, it was hard not to know about Owlstrike's bloodline. Especially since it was one of many sources of weakness for the clan. Refusing to give validity to the strongest members of the clan was simply abusing the gift that was given by StarClan. Owlstrike was an outcast in his own clan. 

"StarClan brought me here, and here you are. This is no coincidence." In a few leaps and bounds, Frostjaw had cleared the distance between the two warriors. He now sat on the same level as Owlstrike, although he sat much taller than the smaller figure of Owlstrike. 

Turning his gaze away from Owlstrike, Frostjaw looked to the night sky. Tonight, the stars seemed to shine brighter than usual, making the night sky appear more brightly illuminated. Interesting.

"The night sky has many things to tell to those who are willing to listen," he rumbled, mostly to himself. He would always listen. "How can you bear to live in a clan that is so far removed from the souls who walk the silver pelt?"

Usually, if presented with a singular TreeClan warrior, Frostjaw would attack without thinking. But tonight, things were different. It was in the stars. 

only in darkness can you see the stars

Phoenix & 594 words

[Phoenix]

OWLSTRIKE

you'll see him in your nightmares
you'll see him in your dreams

As gold eyes noticed the slight pause and the raised eyebrow, the ghost of a smile flickered across his features. You hesitate because a TreeClan cat and a NightClan cat have no business acting with any sort of courtesy. Or perhaps because only the paws of leaders may rest upon the boulder, so to stand atop it is something akin to spitting in all of their faces. There were many cats in his own clan who might have told him to climb down from the rock, scolded him, as if he were a kit, for his show of disrespect with words dripping with barely concealed reproach. Would Frostjaw do the same? Imperious and striking, he had every appearance of a cat who drew very clear lines between the sacred and the sacrilegious and held not only himself but everyone around them to the same high standard. Surely you must disapprove of this particular show of irreverence. With some mixture of pleasant surprise and satisfaction, he watched as the large white feline leapt up beside him in a fluid motion that washed away his idle expectations.

Yet here you are anyway.

In the moment that piercing blue met equally intense gold, Owlstrike had the sense that there were two predators sitting atop the boulder that night - one who cast his gaze toward the stars and another who directed his toward the trees that had been his only home, even as he nurtured the flames of resentment that would one day burn it down. Frostjaw could believe what he wanted about StarClan and coincidences (or lack thereof); the TreeClan warrior knew that dead cats in the sky had no bearing upon his actions. Undoubtedly condemned to wander the Dark Forest for eternity or sentenced to roam wherever loners went (if, indeed, such places truly existed), his family were not among their number, and he had been shaped far more by his kin than anyone or anything else - StarClan included. The NightClan warrior's quiet voice caught his attention, and Owlstrike flicked an ear in consideration. He had never genuinely professed to being an ardent believer in their starry ancestors, but his present companion seemed to be the type who never strayed far from their many creeds. Did he proselytize those who did not seem faithful enough, those who were - what was it - so far removed from the souls who walk the silver pelt?

Mirroring the other tom's pose, he tilted his chin and directed his gaze skyward, though his apparent devotion was but a shadow of the sincere piety that sat beside him. A discussion of the merits of StarClan was not what he had expected tonight when he invited Frostjaw to join him; Owlstrike, however, was nothing if not adaptable. "Is your clan truly so full of saints that you can't imagine life among the sinners?" He let the question hang between them for a moment, watching the white feline out of the corner of his eye, as the corner of his mouth quirked upward to temper the blow of what could easily be misconstrued as an insult. Any supporter of Lionstar would be shaking with rage at the idea that TreeClan did not house the paragons of virtue as they liked to pretend, and they would undoubtedly be quick to accuse NightClan of having very little ground to stand upon when it came to talking morals. (Owlstrike, on the other hand, found himself mildly amused by the thought.) After all, it had been NightClan who had launched that surprise attack while the entirety of TreeClan slept in their nests.

But he would, nevertheless, give Frostjaw the answer he desired. Neck beginning to complain from holding such an awkward position, he lowered his head to fix the other warrior with a steady gaze. "I make the best of what I am given," Owlstrike said with a quiet sigh and the faint air of a long-suffering martyr. With the ghosts of his thoughts on Lionstar lingering in the back of his mind, it did not take much for him to manufacture the enduring weariness of the misunderstood and underappreciated. "Search for loyalty where there is none, yet still attempt to inspire some despite knowing the futility of my actions." A flick of an ear. Much the same as you, I imagine. Though while Frostjaw, with his fealty to StarClan, likely sought loyalty toward their hallowed ancestors, Owlstrike found himself much more interested in identifying those loyal to him.

"If I may, why do you ask? Surely there are more pleasant topics of conversation than life among the - ah - heathens that populate my clan."

you're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan

designed and directed by his red right hand

red right hand | background image | Ginger

[Ginger]

Frostjaw

nightclan warrior 38 moons

Frostjaw felt Owlstrike's golden gaze burning into him, so he turned from the stars to look directly into the tom's eyes. Owlstrike spoke with a cool confidence that surprised the white tom. What ticked Frostjaw off was that the TreeClan tom had hit the root of the problem in one sentence. 

Owlstrike was smarter than Frostjaw had given him credit for.

NightClan was struggling. Despite being the clan closest to StarClan in all ways possible, certain cats were beginning to show signs of deviation from their calling. Warriors that refused to kill their enemies, that could not stand up to a fight, and even worse, that openly blasphemed about StarClan. 

But he would never admit that openly to a TreeClan cat. 

"Even the worst sinners of my clan reach closer to the stars than the most pious of yours." It was not meant with anger or hostility. It was simply fact. "We live by the night, under StarClan's constant watch. Those of us who are true to StarClan are cleansed of our sins under their eyes."

As Owlstrike continued to speak, Frostjaw narrowed his eyes. There was always loyalty and camaraderie under StarClan. If TreeClan had been closer to the night, they would not be plagued by dissent. They would be whole. 

Why had StarClan willed the two warriors' paths to cross? Owlstrike was a lonely soul who found no loyalty, who found nothing good in his clan. 

Looking back into Owlstrike's eyes, something caught Frostjaw off guard: his eyes glowed with the same intensity of the stars lighting up the night sky. Was it true? Could StarClan really be putting their faith into someone from a blasphemous clan?

This one is different. He has no love for his clan. He doesn't belong with them.

He could not come on too strong. Guiding someone toward's StarClan's light was a delicate process. 

"One does not have to search for loyalty when they are loyal to those who will never abandon them." His gaze turned to the heavens once more before looking towards TreeClan's territory, which seemed even darker than the night itself. Even when StarClan's light was at its brightest, it didn't dare venture near TreeClan.

"I ask because you are different. You're better than them. Any imbecile with a pair of eyes could see that." Again, no malice whatsoever. Frostjaw spoke with a cool and detached tone. He knew what he was saying was true, and there was no claim that could change his steadfast and sound mind. 

"Why do you allow weaker souls to control you? The only true source of authority is StarClan." A pause. He knew his audience. "And StarClan rewards those who follow, rather than cast them out."

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only in darkness can you see the stars

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Phoenix & 452 words

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[Phoenix]

OWLSTRIKE

you'll see him in your nightmares
you'll see him in your dreams

"And what of those who are not true to StarClan?" Owlstrike paused delicately, holding Frostjaw's unreadable gaze. "Merely living under StarClan's watch is not enough for absolution, else you would not have any sinners whose worthiness could best that of my clan's most faithful." Gold eyes drifted from blue to stare at the shadowed forest stretching before them. Idly, Owlstrike found himself wondering how StarClan kept any better watch over NightClan when their side of the border had just as much cover - if not more - than TreeClan's. "It troubles you, this degree of degradation within your clan," He suggested, disguising the question as a statement, though the speed with which Frostjaw had leapt to the defense of his own clan's sinners had him feeling fairly confident in his presumption; after all, only someone who cared about the faithlessness of his clan would argue that another clan was even more blasphemous than his own. Amusement flickered through him. He had not expected to find himself in quiet competition with a NightClan warrior over whose clan held the worst sinners.

As a brief silence fell and the chill of Frostjaw's gaze drilling into the side of his head had him turning until blue once again met gold, something in the air shifted ever so slightly. Attuned though he was to the perceptions of those he tried to deceive, Owlstrike did not notice the new element of Frostjaw's consideration until he finished speaking of loyalty and leadership. Ah, I see. So he will proselytize. Somehow, he was not surprised. His mental self leaned back ever so slightly, examining this intriguing angle, as he slotted another piece into place on the puzzle that was slowly starting to reveal who this NightClan tom truly was.

How did Owlstrike want to play this game?

In truth, he cared so little for a group of ancestors that had all but abandoned him and his family that he never quite bothered to decide whether or not he truly believed in their existence. Frostjaw's devotion, however, was unquestionable. Hiding from the transgressions from his clan mates, the white-furred tom would undoubtedly appreciate the company of a fellow believer of StarClan who lived by all of its tenets, one with whom he could commiserate about the miserable state of both their clans and trust that his woes would be fully understood. It was one possibility, and indeed, familiar in that it would be only a variant of the usual role of faithful confidant that he was accustomed to fulfilling. Yet he found himself hesitating, held back by an instinct that suggested that the steadfast devotee was not quite the right fit. What did he have to gain by playing the heretic? Proselytizing until the sun rose. Unpleasant to be sure, but neither did he truly want to play the devoted follower, for the more he opened his mouth to speak about a religion he only pretended to know, the greater the chance that his companion would recognize his pretense for what it was. Something in between, then, a believer gone slightly astray, one who could easily be herded back into the fold.

Anticipation flared within him as he began pulling together the pieces of his charade. All he had to do was lay the proper groundwork, and Frostjaw would do the rest. The NightClan warrior wanted to preach? Let him preach, and he would see what he wanted to see. After all, the best lies were told to oneself and cloaked in layers of truth.

In response to the coolly delivered compliment, Owlstrike inclined his head and glanced away, allowing the corners of his mouth to turn upward in a small but pleased smile. He was better than them. No cat could resist being elevated above his peers; now if only said peers were around to hear Frostjaw say it. But the smile faded as he sobered up. "Abandonment leaves a hole where happiness once was," Owlstrike murmured quietly, drawing upon the anguish he felt in his heart every time he saw the places where his family ought to be. He allowed himself to dwell upon the profound loss that had ricocheted through him as he watched Hemlock and Adder walk away from the clan, a scene that had been as painful and wrong as though two pieces of his heart were walking away with them - which, he supposed, was exactly what had happened. Though his bereavement had not caused him to question his faith as he idly suggested (indeed, his faith had been in an unwavering state of doubt long before the first family member had been stolen from him), the heartache and unfairness he felt was nevertheless very real, and it was with those emotions that he colored his next statement. "Its hollow ache seeps into everything, and the pain makes it easy to seek comfort from any who might offer it, while the fear of future betrayal pushes away those who are unforgiving of such treatment."

"So I try to belong," He explained earnestly, wondering if by weaker souls, Frostjaw meant Lionstar and resolutely shoving aside the flare of resentment within him that demanded he declare that Lionstar of all cats did not control him. "And in a clan like TreeClan--" in the brief pause that followed, he let Frostjaw surmise from that statement what he would, though Owlstrike's thoughts, of course, were occupied more by his lineage than any loyalty to StarClan "--that requires some concessions." Such as not marching into Lionstar's den and slaughtering him where he slept.

Owlstrike could not remember the last time he had participated in a discussion that danced not only around the merits of StarClan but also the relationship of individuals to their starry ancestors. Saints and sinners, believers and non-believers - it all seemed very black and white, and he knew there were many who would be satisfied to see it as such. Was Frostjaw among their number, or was he like Owlstrike, who preferred to linger in those gray areas, where the distinction between truth and lies remained perpetually blurred? The NightClan warrior had implied that some sinners were worse than others, but he seemed like the type who could just as easily hold a very narrow view of the transgressions that StarClan ought to forgive. A question, then, on the nature of forgiveness, spoken with the slightest hesitation as though he were afraid of the answer he might hear. He was a questioning believer, after all, searching for redemption, and the response would have a profound impact on the future of his soul. "Does it matter the extent to which the heathens sin if, in the end, they have all still lost their way? StarClan is forgiving--" so he'd been told "--but they can only forgive so much."

you're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan

designed and directed by his red right hand

red right hand | background image | Ginger

[Ginger]

Frostjaw

nightclan warrior 38 moons

This tom was smart. He saw through Frostjaw's words almost immediately, implying with cool words that the sins of NightClan had grown heinously. 

How smart was this tom? Clearly too smart to lay his life bare in front of Frostjaw. Owlstrike wanted something. Something that StarClan could give. Something that Frostjaw could give.

He had little to say about Owlstrike's troubles. This tom only saw solutions. "Giants do not bargain with ants."

His eyes followed Owlstrike's as the TreeClan tom looked over the two territories. Now he was asking religious questions? This was good. Any opportunity to bring more closer to the light of the stars was a golden one. Frostjaw would seize it and not let go. 

"Sometimes only darkness can purge darkness. Those of us who have seen the light know that we cannot exist without our shadows." Sins and darkness were a part of everyone. "But to stand in the light of StarClan is to accept those sins and be purified."

Owlstrike could take that how he wanted. Frostjaw did not care what others thought. He knew his love for StarClan was pure. He knew he occasionally had to muddy himself in the pits of sin to clear a path of grace. Frostjaw had been thinking. There were things he needed to do to bring the clans closer to StarClan.

He couldn't do it alone, and it wouldn't be clean. "If your heart is true and beholden to StarClan, then how can any of your necessary actions lead you to disgrace in the end?"

His icy eyes darkened. "What is not forgiven is weakness of the heart. An inability to do the right thing."

Turning his gaze again towards Owlstrike, Frostjaw narrowed his own. "Something tells me you know what the right thing is."

only in darkness can you see the stars

Phoenix & 297 words