Everything Was Blue

 everything was blue

 you're ripped at every edge but you're a m a s t e r p i e c e



act 1. would you rather
“Quailpaw, come back!”

The colours of leaf-fall surrounded the aforementioned Quailpaw. Beautiful hues of brown and orange danced around him in the form of swaying trees, and the ground beneath him was filled with brittle, orange and red leaves that crunched satisfyingly as his paws trod upon them. Weak sunlight filtered into the forest, touching his brown and white dappled pelt. A soft breeze ruffled his fur.

“What?” Quailpaw called, flicking his tail. Without a care in the world, he continued forewards, the greyish sky above him filled with fluffy, pale clouds.

“Get back here, Quailpaw!”

The tom sighed exaggeratedly. He paused, twitching his whiskers. He turned around to see the pensive face of his mentor, Littlebird, as well as his fellow apprentice, Bluepaw, and his mentor, Powdernose. Quailpaw rolled his eyes.

“Fi-ine,” he meowed. Littlebird bristled.

“It’d do you well to listen to your mentor,” Littlebird said. Her ginger tail whipped behind her.

“What-ev-er,” Quailpaw snorted. Littlebird’s gaze hardened, and she said nothing more. Bluepaw glared at him through clear, aqua-coloured eyes. Quailpaw never really talked to Bluepaw- he was too uptight, and a killjoy. He always told on Quailpaw when he, Sparrowpaw, and Finchpaw went exploring at night.

Powdernose looked at Quailpaw. “Arrogant apprentices make disloyal warriors,” she meowed simply. Quailpaw shrugged.

“Okay,” he meowed, and fell into step beside the rest of the patrol.

“You’re still young,” Bluepaw meowed to him as they continued walking. “You could have accidentally crossed the border when you were running ahead,” he said condescendingly.

Quailpaw felt his tail bush up. “You’re younger than me!”

Bluepaw gazed at him evenly. “Your point? Besides, I may be younger, but at least I respect my mentor and follow orders.” He lifted his head slightly. “You should try it some time.”

“You’re in-suff-er-able,” Quailpaw huffed, pacing ahead of the tom. Even as he settled walking a few steps in front of everyone, he could still feel Bluepaw’s eyes boring holes into the back of his head. He ducked.

“Wait, Quailpaw, we’re at the border,” Littlebird informed him. As if I couldn’t tell, he thought to himself in irritation. The scent of ShadowClan that permeated the air was so palpable, he almost choked on it.

“The scent is very strong,” Quailpaw reported without nary a sniff.

“So they must’ve marked the border recently,” Bluepaw added. Quailpaw flicked his tail in annoyance. Steal my thunder any more, why don’t cha? Powdernose nodded.

“Very true, good job, Quailpaw and Bluepaw.” The praise from the stern pale grey she-cat warmed Quailpaw to the tips of his ears.

“And it seems like there’s no scent over the border, although it’s very close,” Bluepaw murmured. “Hostile, they aren’t being.”

Littlebird stepped forward cautiously and sniffed. “Yes, that seems to be true. Very good.”

Bluepaw simply blinked. Quailpaw fumed under his thin pelt.

“Well then, let’s mark the border,” Powdernose meowed. Quailpaw twitched his tail and trotted over to a nearby tree, leaving his scent marker. He watched through narrowed eyes as Bluepaw casually marked a bush.

The grey tom suddenly stiffened. “I smell ShadowClan.”

Of course you do, Quailpaw thought bitterly to himself. It’s everywhere around us.

Littlebird frowned. “I do as well. A patrol is approaching.” She twitched her tail, and lowered her head. “Let’s keep on marking the border. We’re not doing anything we’re not supposed to,” she said with a shrug.

The impending scent of ShadowClan grew closer until Quailpaw raised his head from an unruly tuft of grass and saw four tall, sleek-furred cats staring at the ThunderClan cats. Three of them looked like warriors, and the fourth was an apprentice, slightly smaller than the rest, with kit-fluff around his features.

Powdernose twitched her whiskers. “Can we… Help you?” She fixed her pale blue gaze on a dark ginger tomcat with a scar on his muzzle.

“Your apprentices are awfully close to the border,” the ginger tom growled. Bluepaw looked at him, his eyes showing no fear although the warrior was much larger than him. Quailpaw flexed his claws.

“They haven’t crossed it. We’re just doing a border patrol,” Littlebird said. She stepped closer to Quailpaw, almost protectively. “We haven’t done anything wrong,” she added.

One of the warriors, a brown tabby she-cat, drew her lips back in a snarl. “Toadstar told us that there’s been ThunderClan scent over the border. We’re only being cautious.” Her yellowish eyes turned to slits. Quailpaw tensed.

Littlebird’s hackles raised. “We’ve smelled nor done nothing of the sort.”

The younger one- a grey and white apprentice -snorted. “Of course ThunderClan would try and cover their own tracks. Typical,” he sneered. Quailpaw felt rage bubble up inside of him. How dare he mock ThunderClan!

Bluepaw levelled his gaze with the apprentice. “Making baseless accusations will get you nowhere in life. There’s no need to act so rude,” he meowed. His expression didn’t shift even as the apprentice’s grew angry, baring his fangs. Bluepaw kept speaking as his mentor, Powdernose, frowned, but didn’t stop him. “Perhaps… Your leader lied to you?”

The grey and white apprentice’s gaze darkened and he crept towards Bluepaw, then reared back on his hind legs and let out a loud, heavy hiss, and crashed into grey apprentice. Bluepaw leapt away, but not before the apprentice managed to land a blow on his ear. Bluepaw grunted quietly as blood spurted from the cut. Quailpaw watched in awe, holding back his sudden urge to rip off the ShadowClan apprentice’s pelt.

The apprentice leapt at Bluepaw again, but was quickly dragged back by the ShadowClan cat who hadn’t yet spoken- a dappled black and white she-cat. The she-cat growled. “Shadepaw!” she hissed.

“He was asking for it!” Shadepaw protested. Bluepaw rolled his eyes.

“Pity,” he scoffed.

Powdernose shoved Bluepaw behind her and glared at the ShadowClan patrol. “Do all your apprentices act so inappropriately?” she spat. Her blue eyes blazed, and she dug her claws into the grassy undergrowth. “Disgusting,” she growled, then whirled around without another word to the ShadowClan cats.

“We’re going back to camp. Bluepaw needs to see the medicine cat,” the grey she-cat hissed. Quailpaw was stunned, nearly unable to move. He padded stiffly after Powdernose, leaving the ShadowClan patrol behind.

“Powdernose, I’m fine,” Bluepaw insisted. Quailpaw noticed the grey apprentice flick his injured ear, only at a slight angle, to the side. ''Of… Of course he’s fine. It’s just a little nick.'' As Bluepaw and Powdernose bickered, Quailpaw found himself unable to rid his thoughts of the grey apprentice.

“Show-off,” he huffed under his breath as the four stole back to camp, making great haste.

⋆⋆⋆

“Quailpaaaaaw, it’s your turn.”

Finchpaw’s green eyes glowed in the darkness of the apprentice’s den. “Hmmm,” Quailpaw said as he looked at his sister’s shining face. He swept his gaze around, looking at all of his fellow apprentices. There were his sisters, Finchpaw and Sparrowpaw. Then there was Blazepaw and his brother, Webpaw. Smallpaw and Rowanpaw sat together at the edge of the den.

Wow, there were a lot of apprentices in ThunderClan, wasn’t there?

“Hmmm…” Quailpaw repeated. “Alright everyone, would you rather… be trapped cleaning the elder’s den for a whole moon every day or…” he paused, thinking of an equally horrible alternative. He grinned. “Always have to train, hunting and fighting, with Bluepaw.”

A chorus of groans sounded in the den. Quailpaw noticed that the mocked Bluepaw wasn’t in the den, grumbling in his nest like he usually was. Huh. “Bluepaw isn’t that bad,” Smallpaw decided. “I’d rather stick with him than listening to Petalheart ramble on and on about the good ol’ days.”

“Me too,” Rowanpaw meowed.

“Same,” said Webpaw. Sparrowpaw nodded.

“Ughhh,” Quailpaw groaned. “Bluepaw is the worst. I’d let Petalheart, Whiskerface, and Leafshadow talk my ears off before I’d suffer through training with him all the time.”

Finchpaw tipped her head to the side, indecisive. “I dunno. They’re both pretty bad.”

Quailpaw stood from his nest and shook out raggedy bits of moss from his brown and white pelt. “While you decide, I’m gonna hit the dirtplace.” He flicked his tail and flashed a smile at his friends. “Be back in a flash.”

He stepped into the cool night air. The wind rustled the colourful leaves above him, branches swaying in the breeze. Moonlight fell over his fur. At night, under the dark indigo sky, the camp was eerily silent. It was both calming and unnerving.

The tom pricked his ears. He heard voices, sounding quiet and angry, at the edge of camp. Interest piqued, Quailpaw skirted around the clearing and paused at the entrance tp the dirtplace. The voices grew louder- it sounded like they were squabbling.

Quailpaw peeked around a cluster of bushes. There he saw… Bluepaw? He was arguing with a thick-furred grey she-cat with dark, leafy-green eyes. Quailpaw recognized Fernheart, Bluepaw’s mother. Why would they be fighting?

He felt oddly uneasy watching them argue.

“What’s this I hear about you getting attacked by ShadowClan?” Fernheart asked in a harsh, hushed tone. Bluepaw shrunk down from her. ''Bluepaw… Looking scared? No way!'' Quailpaw caught his breath.

“An unruly apprentice initiated it,” Bluepaw told her. Fernheart drew back from him.

“And you didn’t fight back?” she asked. Bluepaw shrugged.

“A ShadowClan warrior intercepted after he landed the blow,” he replied. Fernheart’s eyes glittered with distaste, and Quailpaw’s own widened. He couldn’t believe what he saw next.

Fernheart struck her son’s ear, where he had suffered the wound. It reopened and bright red blood welled from the nick. Bluepaw winced and let out a quiet, thin wail. He staggered back from his mother. Quailpaw’s stomach lurched.

“True warriors fight their own battles,” Fernheart growled. Bluepaw said nothing, but didn’t look shocked. Is he used to this? The thought made Quailpaw feel sick. Fernheart flattened her ears to her head. “You should have torn his pelt off! You have a legacy to uphold, as the son of the leader… You don’t back down from a fight,” she hissed.

“I know, mother…” Bluepaw murmured. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Fernheart bristled. “Good.” Then she turned and stalked through camp, back to the warrior’s den. Bluepaw’s shoulders slumped, ears folded down. Quailpaw felt a sudden burst of sympathy for the tom. His heart told him to call out to Bluepaw and comfort him, but he remained silent. Bluepaw would never forgive Quailpaw if he knew he had been spying on him.

Bluepaw shifted, and Quailpaw heard the apprentice… sobbing? It was so quiet, he could barely hear it. Quailpaw stretched his neck out further and saw the distraught Bluepaw shaking, claws buried in the sandy ground. Quailpaw’s eyes widened and he froze.

Then he slowly backed away from the bush, and, as quietly as he could, made his way back to the apprentice’s den. And that’s when Quailpaw realized that the cracks in perfect, stone-cold Bluepaw’s facade were starting to show.