Recent content by WEASELCLAW

A lesser apprentice, Weaselclaw thinks, would have squirmed under his scrutiny; Comfreypaw meets his gaze steadily. He says little—he is stoic, inherited from some unknown father and fostered by the she-cat who'd raised him—but when he tastes the word "Conquer," it is with relish. The bristling...

Rimepaw blunders into that shadowy place of her kittenhood, and Weaselclaw's frost-pale gaze narrows as he takes in the changes to her countenance. Like her brother, she has grown into her moor runner's frame; her legs are long, tapered, her baby fluff replaced by the wispy, silken fur texture...

Comfreypaw, likely paw-sore from a day full of training, a day full of wandering the moorland, wakes to find himself in a familiar misty forest. He had slipped into sleep under a starry sky; when he tilts his whiskered face forward now, he will meet only a canopy of dense darkness. The cat who...

"StarClan or not, I can still smell the rivery stench on his fur,” comes a hiss from the dense shadows beyond the foliage. A tabby with a gaunt, withered frame steps closer to Sootstar, blue eyes dead and flat as still water as he sizes the newcomer up. He’d no doubt exchanged blows with this...

Of all the children Cottonsprig and Bluefrost have surreptitiously squandered into WindClan, it is this granddaughter who captivates his interest most. She was crowned under Silverpelt, christened by a traitor's breath: "Sootkit." The little she-kit has just passed her second moon, and she, like...

Weaselclaw had already infiltrated the dreams of Cottonsprig's kits, save for Foalkit; now he moves deftly through the dark forest toward a bundle of gray-and-gold fur who blinks the shadows from her confused green eyes. The tabby watches her for a moment, his mouth a thin line. He had never...

Rimekit, like her brother, awakens into darkness, but also like him, she does cry, does not flee. She has a good disposition, he thinks; there is potential here, after all. When she speaks to him, it's in short, halting phrases; he finds this both amusing and off-putting. Bluefrost had spoken...

The boy is quiet, though no doubt Weaselclaw's appearance and the state of this forest must be startling. He is pleased with the child's initial reaction, his obedience. Bluefrost, for all her foolish ways, had ensured her children knew their place. Comfreykit tilts his face toward his...

Despite the surge of leafbare frost, Rimekit falls victim to the warmth of her nest, her littermates, her mother's belly, and when her little eyelids flutter open, she will find herself displaced entirely. Darkness whispers around her, eerie and thick with mystery; the scent of carrion is ripe...

When Comfreykit allows his eyelids to slip over kitten-blues, when he lets his body slip into warm fatigue, he will awaken to a new place, dense and strange. The scents will perplex him, a child who has only recently left his adoptive mother's flank — for the first time in his life, the...

"You see them, then?" His daughter looks at him pitifully, as pitifully as she regards the children she'd abandoned. Weaselclaw's smile does not waver as she tells him what he already knows: "I had two little boys and a little girl." Yes — two toms, one dark as woodsmoke, the other gray like his...

Weaselclaw has not laid eyes on his daughter since she'd abandoned her duties to frolic beyond WindClan's borders with rogues. When she awakens tonight, stifled by darkness thick as fur, she will find him pacing, impatient. The tabby's lean body is all sharp angles and tattered stripes; his eyes...

Sparkspirit's response trembles and dies on his tongue. "My family," he chokes, and Weaselclaw's eyes snap toward him like a frozen branch splintering. "Your family? Your family full of traitors?" He wields his mangled teeth like a blade, a blade Sparkspirit is quick to back away from. "You...

"What nonsense falls from your tongue like waste?" Sunstar's hiss is like steam, threatening to singe the whiskers on Weaselclaw's gaunt face. The tabby grins, though there is no humor in the expression that hangs off of his face with too-much skin, too-little fur. "You are a mockery of the cat...

Seeing Sparkspirit maneuver through the gloom causes something to stir like wind in Weaselclaw's belly. He remembers taking the young warrior to the moorland, cresting hills gilded with sun-dried grass and coiled heather; he remembers watching those limbs flail through the fields, teeth on the...