If Sky Clan was a tree, Circe was a leaf, shaking in the wind.
She'd never seen a fight. never really been in one. She'd joined before the clan left these woods. She was desperate to prove her place now. These cats had helped her and fed her. Showed her their ways. She owed them. She thought of her brothers. If they were in the sky, just as Blazestar said.
I want them to look down and be proud.
The partially fur-less molly gritted her teeth, sinking her claws into the tree branches. This was the only thing she'd learned. Learned was kind, even. She'd seen a few cats climb up a tree and assumed she could too. Thank goodness she was right. She prayed - maybe for the first time - to Star Clan, to her brothers, that she could make her plan work. She had thought for a long time if she would fight. The answer was yes, but her claws had never been sharpened for this purpose. A few were missing. Another thing Twolegs stole from her. But she was determined. She'd had the idea a while ago. She'd watch from the treetops and save the smaller cats - apprentices they were called, and sometimes daylight warriors. If they looked injured she'd run in, scare off the attacker, and bring the immobilized cat to safety. Somewhere where the medicine cat could see them.
The ground beneath her pulsed with warmth. Bodies. Blood. Spilt and yet-to-be-spilt. Up ahead, someone called out a name she was not familiar with.
Brightflame. A face flashed by, but she couldn't tell who.
Scents wafted in the air. Moor. Mud. Earth. Blood. Blood. More Blood. Is this what sorrow smells like?
They would've taken you in, had you asked. None of this would be needed.
Someone was climbing up the tree.
Circe whirled around, paw outstretched, claws ready. Purchase. Warmth. Wet. She hissed, tail lashing. She didn't know this face those eyes or those teeth. Rogue? She couldn't tell.
"Who are you?"
Her question was only met with a wet snarl and a flash of pain. Rogue.
Her attacker launched forward and time slowed. Coward or hero? It was a game Circe and her siblings used to play. One cat would attempt to bite the other and the other would either attack or run away. Circe always lost. She was a coward and a coward never won. She knew that, but her body did not. Time resumed.
Her attacker snarled claws outstretched. Circe yelped, muscles bunching and yanking downward into the tree branch. The rogue twisted mid-air, but it was too late. Gravity flung the cat's body away and down, slamming it into the ground. Circe stared below her. Eyes wide.
'I don't mean to' she whispered.
'I'm sorry'.
War raged on around her.
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// ooc: