private TWO CAN KEEP A SECRET IF ONE OF THEM IS DEAD \ sootstar

[GRANITEPELT]

The gray warrior has left the stinking cloister of the Thunderpath tunnel behind him. He’s left his mate, his sister, his Clan, all in search of a bloodstained and hostile warlord. Marsh becomes moorland under his paws, and the scents of an enemy Clan begin to infiltrate his nostrils. They flare as he becomes used to his trespassing. Every hair on his pelt is stiff with anticipation; his ears are pricked, tail sweeping low over the ground, eyes watchful and wide. Even under the cover of night, a ShadowClan warrior has no hope of survival once crossing a furious foe’s boundaries.

But he cannot forget Sootstar’s intervention at the Gathering. “I don’t know what your kittypet mother told you,” she’d threatened, smoked pelt fluffing up, “but my kits will hear none of it.” And what could his kittypet mother have possibly told him?

Granitepelt senses movement, and he immediately flattens, knowing his only chance to make it out alive is to grovel—to beg. “I come in peace. I’m no threat to you,” he says, forcing himself to keep calm and to eliminate any fear scent that may waver off of him. “I’m here… because of what you said at the Gathering.” His eyes are silvered with moonlight as he meets a tiny but imposing figure’s. “My kittypet mother told me nothing… but I was hoping you would.”

@SOOTSTAR
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[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

Scabs litter her body, closing the wounds that had once gapped open just several days ago. StarClan had healed her well, and the herbs that Vulturemask had applied did the rest of the work swiftly. She still ached, but she couldn’t afford to stay hunkered down in camp, allowing her clan to think her weak. Sootstar’s fur prickles with unease when she approaches the ShadowClan border, nothing good has happened around here lately… Yet a gut-feeling told her she needed to survey the land for trespassers. She was no fool, ShadowClan would rebel eventually or Smogmaw would pay her another visit, her claws dig into the earth. Then she sees it. A gray pelt through the stalks of grass, Sootstar lets out a hiss as the feline flattens himself to the ground. She prepares to dart forward and attack, but the submissive stance the feline takes is enough to make her hesitate. Not to mention, this was Flint’s son. ”ShadowClan scum!” She hisses, the fur along her hackles bristling, ”You cats never know when to quit.” Her lips curl to display her fangs. I come in peace, I’m no threat to you. Sootstar scoffs, but lets him proceed. My kitty pet mother told me nothing… but I was hoping you would. Her eyes narrow, ”She didn’t? Oh… of course she wouldn’t. I’m sure she’s got you believing your father made flowers bloom with every step he took! That he was the perfect mate, the perfect soldier, far from it. You’re nothing but the son of a scoundrel.” The blue furred molly sneers, her burning hatred for Flint evident in the way her claws flexed into the soil, the way her tail lashed when referring to him. Sootstar snorts, now seeming amused, ”You know- he didn’t even love your mother. Not enough anyways. He was off gallivanting with me half the time.” The words roll off her tongue sharp and bitter, tip toeing around the truth Flint’s son sought.

 

[GRANITEPELT]

His presence on Sootstar’s territory is met with immediate hostility. He’s been this close to the WindClan leader only once before, and now as well as then, her unimpressive size startles him almost as much as the acid in her green glare. “ShadowClan scum!” She’s quick to accuse him, light on her paws. She looms over him, her teeth flashing in the limited moonlight.

After hearing he’s come to speak with her peacefully, she seems to relax somewhat—but it’s clear Sootstar does not want him here. Her tone seems to change, almost lilting with her angry amusement. “You’re nothing but the son of a scoundrel.” His ears perk up, and he rises to his paws. He’s sure to keep his muscles slack, shoulders loose, but his interest has been captured. She holds it hostage between tiny, tufted blue paws. “She did tell us that,” he says. “She was proud to have his kits. We were his legacy,” he says, and perhaps she’ll detect a touch of scorn in his tone now.

Her next comment shocks him—and this time, it will show on his face. His jaw almost drops at her confession—meant to wound him, surely, but he shakes his head. “Did she know? That—that he was being unfaithful to her?” His tail lashes, but his anger is directed at the ghost of a cinnamon tabby beside him. “Foolish, useless kittypet,” he spits under his breath, claws sinking into the earth at the memory of her.
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[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

Proud to have his kits? That’s what Sandylight had told her too, truth be told the kittypet just was too soft to come to terms with reality. She had bore the kits of a foul Tom, one who did not love her and one who did not care for her. In the end he sure got what he wanted… a son who was his spitting image and proud that his blood runs through his veins. Then Granitepelt’s jaw drops, Sootstar is pleased with herself. ”Oh yes, she did! She knew and StarClan knows why but she claimed to me she still loved him! Last time I spoke with her she vowed to me that she was going to raise your litter to be proud of their father.” She sing-songs with the intention of being nauseating, ”Guess she succeeded in painting him to be this… peerless being. Yet couldn’t even earn the respect of her own kits, sad, really.” Sootstar can’t help but wonder what secret twoleg nest she had scampered off to, what a mother and father this tom had. ”To top it off… you’re not even Flint’s only brood. Two more kits share his blood, and I’ve raised them to never even know his name.” Sootstar purrs now, a pleased expression plastered all over her face. ”If there is any offspring Flint is proud of, it’s to be them. Son and daughter of a ‘loyal’ marsh soldier who gave his life in the Great Battle, and a leader blessed and approved by StarClan. In comparison… your pedigree lacks.“ She prays that Flint is rolling in his grave, powerless as she tries to spoil his son’s pride and honor. ”Have you found the answers you were looking for?”

 

[GRANITEPELT]

Sootstar is clearly relishing this. Her eyes are gleaming, mouth curved into an infuriatingly smug smile as she paces before him. So Sandra had known Flint had been disloyal to her, and still she’d chosen to hide this from her kits and continue to tell them what a brave soldier their father had been. Granitepelt’s brow furrows at Sootstar’s comment regarding Sandra—“Yet couldn’t even earn the respect of her own kits; sad, really.”

“What’s to respect about a mother who abandons her kits?” His eyes grow cold. “She means nothing to me. If she showed her sorry face in ShadowClan territory, I would kill her myself.” There is nothing but truth in the grimace creasing his expression.

His anger at Sandra is momentarily forgotten, however, as Sootstar reveals something even more shocking. Siblings. Two kits sharing his heritage in WindClan—two warriors. Granitepelt does not have the wherewithal to be angry at Sootstar’s mocking of his pedigree. He’s remembering flashing golden eyes, a plush gray and white coat, and the teeth Sootstar had bared in his direction after he’d talked to her.

“Your kits are my brother and sister,” he says slowly. Sootstar’s kits—they’re blood to Siltcloud and him! The revelation has him reeling. He’d never considered the possibility that Flint could have had kits with another queen, and why would he? The foolish way his mother had revered him led him to believe the marsh cat had been loyal to his mate and excited to watch his kits grow up around him.

Granitepelt meets Sootstar’s eyes solemnly. “I have… except for one thing.” He wonders if she’ll anger at the question he dares present to her—Sootstar is an enemy he does not know as he wishes he did. Her fury is legendary, and her grudges run deep. Still, Granitepelt has come so far. “You clearly knew my father better than she did. What… was he really like?”

Flint has been a faceless ghost to him since his kithood, plumped up in his mind to be a faithful and loving warrior. His spitting image, his doppelganger, but the story Sootstar is telling him paints a different picture entirely.

What kind of cat did we come from?
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[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

The truth is carved into his expression as he declares he’d kill Sandylights herself if she showed her face in ShadowClan again. This intrigues Sootstar, maybe this cat had some spine after all, some real potential… Even if he descended from a brute. Your kits are my brother and sister she does not reply to this aside from a twitch of an ear. Sootstar will dance around the truth even when confessing it, she will tell it in all ways before outright admitting it. ’What was he like?’ Sootstar’s expression does not waver, but she looks Granitepelt dead in his eyes, ember on ember. ”I think I’ve been generous enough in the information I’ve given you. We’re done talking.” Maybe this warrior’s desperation to learn about his father could be used to better herself… Sootstar takes a step back from the border and she looks as if she’s about to dive back into the tunnels she initially came from. However, with her back turned she cranes her neck to give him a cool glance. ”Unless… you have anything you can offer me in return.”

 

[GRANITEPELT]

Sootstar’s expression is cool and unreadable as an undisturbed pond. Try as he might to peer into the murky depths, all he can see are pale and ambiguous shapes. She can see how badly he wants the information, and part of him begrudgingly respects the way she steps away, the half-look she throws him over her shoulder. “Unless… you have anything you can offer me in return.”

The slate-pelted warrior’s eyes narrow, but he does not say anything—not at first. What could a newly-promoted ShadowClan warrior offer the WindClan leader? He thinks about Chilledstar, the dismissive glint in pale blue eyes as Granitepelt had attempted to engage them; he thinks about Smogmaw, the heavy set of his jaw and the double tones he speaks in. About Starlingheart, belly heavy with his kits, paws sore from helping her Clanmates until she falls exhausted into their nest.

Chilledstar had foolishly thrown Sootstar’s friendship away like so much crowfood, and ShadowClan has had claws drawn over their fur for it. Could her respect be earned, even if his leaders had been tadpole-brained at best and sinister at worst?

After several heartbeats, Granitepelt says, “Perhaps I can.” He searches the icy glaze of her green eyes, continuing, “ShadowClan was a friend to you once. And admittedly… my leader and I have never seen eye to eye.” A smile, tight and controlled, corrupts his muzzle. “Would you be interested in an alliance, Sootstar? Not with Chilledstar, Smogmaw, or ShadowClan.”

Treason. His body, his heart, his mind, are no strangers to it. His leader’s blood is on his paws. Ghostpaw’s, too. Poppypaw’s. “I may have plenty of information I could offer you in return for yours.”

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — granitekit . granitepaw . granitepelt
  — he/him ; warrior of shadowclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Starlingheart
  — short-haired gray tom with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Meg

​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

//tw; blood pact proposal Sootstar spins around to reel in closely. Granitepelt does have something to offer, her eyes flash as ideas swarm her head. Perhaps with the tunnels and Granitepelt she could have ShadowClan in her web, dispose WindClan of a nuisance. ”…I’m pleased with this offer.” She meows, but its clear she has more to say, she withholds it for several silent moments. ”But… I do not take my alliances lightly…” Her own blue paw is lifted to her mouth, she bites down into her pink, calloused pads. ”I usually ask those who ally themselves closely with me to bear a mark as proof of their promise.” Sootstar is known infamously across the clans for going above and beyond a promise of words, it was no secret thanks to the scars placed on all her council members chest’s. Her most sacred and controversial of vows tend to be made by spilling blood. Blood drips from the wound as she moves her paw forward and smears it into the earth, the dirt in the wound was nothing that couldn’t be fixed in a quick grooming session. ”But a chest scar is a WindClanner’s tradition. It’d draw too much attention. Show your loyalty to the alliance you propose, spill your blood, mix it with mine so that you, the earth, and I will never forget the promise we made to each other.” Then she looks him coldly in the eyes, ”Do not make this vow lightly, Granitepelt. To make this pact and break it will cost you your life.”

 

[GRANITEPELT]

The slate warrior’s eyes gleam as Sootstar turns, but the look on his face has him feeling displaced. There’s a smile twitching across her muzzle, but her eyes are cold and strange. She approaches him on slow paws, telling him she’s pleased with his offer of servitude. Granitepelt keeps still, observant. He half-expects her to go back on her word, to attack him where he stands—but when she lifts her paw to her mouth, it’s to pierce the plump pad with the point of her fang. Scarlet dribbles from the wound—and she holds it aloft, an offering he can only stare at with vague horror.

“Show your loyalty to the alliance you propose, spill your blood, mix it with mine,” she half-chants, and the moon shows strange stirrings in her vibrant eyes. Granitepelt is reminded for one dreadful heartbeat of Pitchstar and the madness he’d harbored within him. She’s more clever than that fool, he argues internally, watching blood drip down the angles of her forepaw. She’s mad but not pathetic.

Perhaps it’s an insanity he can at least pretend to respect. Even as she threatens him with an injured foot, Granitepelt can see more potential between them than he’d ever had with Chilledstar or Smogmaw—and certainly Pitchstar.

He meets her gaze, and though there’s still unease ruffling through his fur like the wind, he follows her lead. Granitepelt sinks his teeth deep into the plumpest pad on his paw and tears. He does not wince at the pain. The blood begins to flow in rivulets down a gray foreleg. “I am not your average ShadowClanner. I do not lie—and I do not break vows.” He lifts his paw to hers, and he can feel her heartbeat through the messy contact. “Let us be allies here… in the face of StarClan.”

He smiles—and he could not know, truly, that StarClan rebukes them both where they stand.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — granitekit . granitepaw . granitepelt
  — he/him ; warrior of shadowclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Starlingheart
  — short-haired gray tom with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Meg

​