Poisonberry's Vengence

Murderer

Hopewilt in the moment before disaster.

This chapter contains graphic violence and death. Reader discretion is advised. 

Dawn reared its rose-tinted head, staining the few clouds that covered the horizon an eerie bloodred. The ground was covered in a delicate sheen of white; the first snow had fallen while BleakClan slept, and although it was thin, it stung Hopewilt's paw pads as she walked, and tingled in her nose. 

The air was thick with tension. Every warrior had come prepared, bearing shining fur and clean teeth and claws. The only cats left at the camp were Frostedmoss and the three elders, all preparing herbs for the wounded. One she-cat, Flurryflank, had been tasked with staying in the bushes lining the clearing, and pulling away any wounded cats to treat them- she'd received minimal medicine training as an apprentice and knew how to treat most wounds. 

 Hopewilt felt jumpy, and a little bit queasy in the pit of her stomach. She'd never been in a real Clan-against-Clan battle before. But she looked fearsome and tough, with the freshly scabbing wound over one eye, her stump of a tail, clearly from an accident, and the scars on her shoulders giving her the appearance of being much older than she really was. She forced herself to look and feel confident and kept walking in the direction of Birch Grove.

"Hopewilt," A voice in her ear caused her to jump, ears pinned back. But it was only Gentlebreeze, looking concerned, her honey-gold eyes burning into her daughters. "Hopewilt, are you sure you're ready to fight? That wound of yours hasn't even fully scarred. You're a new warrior! And this is a big battle."

"Yes, I'm fine, Mother," She sighed. "I can handle it." She didn't let any annoyance creep into her voice, knowing that her mother was just paranoid. She'd lost one kit; she'd never want to lose another. 

"Be careful, please. I don't think another injury would fare well for you..." She pleaded, voice trailing off as they approached the Birch Grove. The leaves had been stripped from the spindly white-blotched branches, the bonelike trees towering over the Clan, their branches closely knit together in a dense canopy. Hopewilt remembered when she and Tumblesoar had found a little russet apprentice trespassing near the area-  just another spy EmberClan had sent into their land. Anger burned in her chest. It was about time someone put a stop to it.

Adderstar turned at the front of the crowd, his gaze scanning the twenty-odd warriors in his command. He looked nervous, the bags under his eyes showing through his fur. It was clear stress was weighing on the aging leader. Lynxfury stood at her partner's side, pressed against him for comfort. They were a powerful couple; leader and deputy, yet in that moment, they looked less than strong. 

Hopewilt peered through the trees, watching for movement. Nothing showed. She felt cats jump around her as some sort of corvid let out a loud call in the trees above them. She watched as the great dark bird soared out of its perch and away toward the mountain. From where she was, it looked to be a crow. But it could have been a jackdaw or a magpie. Why am I focusing on a bird? Get your head out of the clouds, Hopewilt. She thought, shaking her head and picking her paws up one at a time, ridding them of snow. 

"Hah... Maybe they aren't coming," Adderstar chuckled to himself, having been stood in the clearing for almost ten minutes. "I knew they were all talk, no bite." 

Oh, you idiot. Hopewilt smirked to herself. Everybody knows what happens when you say stuff like that. They come right after, and make you look stupid. It's like a rule of the world. But as she waited another few seconds, nobody showed. No distant war cries, no rustling in the underbrush, no snow crunching under heavy paw steps. The sun had risen higher above the horizon, and now the red tint in the clouds had spread to the rest of the sky, casting a strange glow over the whole forest.