Rogue

Once, she was a Clan cat. One who was almost happy. The fate of where her heart truly lies up up to one thing: the death of Oakthorn.

r o g u e

Prologue
 Screeches echoed across the clearing, so many that the tom could hardly make out individual voices. His eyes flashed around him as familiar faces, family, turned on him with drawn snarls.

“How dare you!” Someone hissed in his ear. He flinched back as he recognized his childhood friend, his companion. Nothing but bitter hatred sparked in his disapproving gaze.

“What’s the proper punishment?” A burly she-cat asked eagerly, leering towards his face. He shrunk back, ears flat as cats shrieked out suggestions.

“Blind him!”

“Drive him out!”

“Kill him!”

His heart skipped a beat at that suggestion. His wild eyes looked for someone, one friendly face, when a gray she-cat emerged slowly into the center of the clearing. She stared at him steadily, and he could not read her sharp glare.

“Silence!” She bellowed, raising her chin. The crowd died down to an anxious and respectful mutter. The tom could still see prickled pelts and lowered gazes. The gray she-cat swept her gaze over the throng before landing it on the tom. He cowered.

“Mother,” he whispered. His voice was trembling horribly. “Please.”

Her mouth twitched, and in horror he realized that she was gravely disappointed and saddened. “What you’ve done is inexcusable,” she growled, maintaining a painful eye contact with her son. She flicked her long tail at the corner, where a sliver of light revealed a tom convulsing and shaking. Two cats tended to him, murmuring and not sure what to do.

The tom’s jaw fell open. “You don’t actually believe-”

His mother sighed deeply, closing her glassy eyes. “If I were you, I would have already run far away. From this moment on, you are no longer welcome to show your face on our territory.”

His heart and hopes fell. Panic began to flutter in his belly as growls rumbled around him from his own family.

“I didn’t-”

“You deliberately tried to kill our leader,” his mother went on sharply, leering above him threateningly. “There is no excuse. We are family here, blood, and tonight you have broken that bond. Get out of here, or we make you.”

He tried to force a hiss, but it came off weak and shaky. He gave the gray she-cat a cold, hollow glare before spinning around with the flick of his tail. He felt gazes tear at his back as he left camp without so much as a look back. Then he began to run, and he didn’t stop until his family was long in the distance.

Allegiances:
WindClan:

Leader: Finchstar: pale ginger tom with a white chest and a long tail

Deputy: Oakthorn: large reddish brown tabby tom with yellow eyes

Medicine cat: Paleberry: cloudy cream she-cat with white feet and blue eyes

Apprentice: Swallowpaw

Warriors:

Lionwhisker: golden mackerel tabby tom with a white chest

Stormstripe: gray tabby tom with yellow eyes

Briartuft: dilute calico she-cat with patchy fur

Ashpoppy: blue-gray she-cat with white toes and glassy blue eyes

Heatherdawn: solid gray she-cat with blue tints yellow eyes

Apprentice: Cinderpaw

Larchfall: small, dappled dusky gray tom with forest green eyes

Goosewing: cloudy gray she-cat with brilliant golden eyes and long fur

Apprentice: Rainpaw

Rosegaze: skinny white she-cat with pinkish eyes (albino)

Sandhawk: light ginger tom with darker markings

Nettlestorm: brown tabby tom with long fur and yellow eyes

Cherrydapple: pretty ginger tabby she-cat

Buzzardstrike: ragged chocolate tom with yellow eyes

Breezefeather: white and gray tabby she-cat with blue eyes

Runninghare: light brown tabby tom with white chest, legs, and belly. Blue eyes.

Redfire: brilliant ginger tom with white face markings and golden eyes

Apprentices:

Swallowpaw/fur: cream tabby tom

Rainpaw/willow: silver tabby she-cat with white feet and blue eyes

Cinderpaw/frost: solid gray she-cat

Queens

Icefern: white she-cat with large blue eyes

(Mother of Sandhawk’s kits: Patchkit (black and white tom)  and Sorrelkit (pale tortoiseshell she-kit) 

Flashfoot (Swiftsong): Ginger and white she-cat with red feet

(Mother of Lionwhisker’s kits: Goldenkit (pale ginger tabby she-kit), Yellowkit (white she-kit with golden tabby patches), Poppypaw (tortoiseshell she-cat), and Emberkit (ginger tabby tom) 

Elder:

Quickstorm: nearly deaf, very pale gray tom with short legs and blue eyes ''' '''

RiverClan: 

Leader: Ivystar: silver tabby she-cat with fierce green eyes

Deputy: Rainface: handsome silver tabby tom ''' '''

ShadowClan:

Leader: Volestar: pale ginger tom with one white paw

Deputy: Flamefoot: old ginger tabby tom

Warriors:

Amberflower: pale yellow she-cat with orange eyes

Twistedfoot: scraggly gray she-cat with a twisted back paw

ThunderClan: 

Leader: Greenstar: brown tabby she-cat with large emerald eyes

Other Cats:

Java: burly brown tom with yellow eyes who lives on the farm

Fern: soft gray she-cat with green eyes who lives on the farm

Rowan: dark ginger tom with yellow eyes

Chapter One
 Her name used to be Breezefeather.

No, no. The story starts before then. It used to be Breezekit.

She could recall moments when she was young, very hazily. She remembered looking up at her mother Ashpoppy with wide eyes, thinking she was the most beautiful cat on the moor as she told the kits stories of StarClan and how their father looked down at them every night. Breezekit would try and stay up late and see the stars with her brothers, but her eyelids always dragged down before the sun did.

Breezekit would huddle against Ashpoppy as a large gray tom would enter the nursery bringing little feathers and shiny pebbles to his kits, her demates. Buzzardkit and Mousekit and Swallowkit would all shriek with joy and leap on their father and deputy, Graymouse, while their mother Briartuft would purr and welcome her mate back from a successful hunt. Ashpoppy would watch with careful jealously in her clear blue eyes, but she hid it well when she took her own kits out to play.

There was one tom that would come in and talk to Ashpoppy. Breezekit learned that his name was Oakthorn, and he was Ashpoppy’s mate. But he didn’t have same shine in Graymouse’s eye when he looked at her or her kits. He would bring moss sometimes and ask how Ashpoppy was faring before awkwardly stepping away without word to the kits.

It was around the time that Breezekit was three moons old that she began to question her mother. Curiosity had tinged her and her brothers, Runningkit and Redkit, who were equally confused as of why Oakthorn claimed to be Ashpoppy’s mate yet refused to be a father. Ashpoppy had taken in a long, tired breath.

“Oakthorn is not your real father,” she had explained the best she could. Breezekit had wriggled to the front. The sadness that glazed her beautiful mother’s eyes made her heart droop. “Sundusk is up in the stars. Remember that?”

Breezekit and her brothers nodded earnestly.

“Well, after Sundusk left for the stars I asked Oakthorn to be my mate,” Ashpoppy went on. “And part of that is being a father. I don’t think he really understands kits, yet. But give him time, and I promise he will be just like a real father.”

“Like Graymouse?” Breezekit wondered. Ashpoppy nodded quickly.

“Yes, dear. Just like Graymouse. Now get some rest.”''' '''

And so Breezekit did give him time. She gave him up until she was seven moons old. Up until she became Breezepaw.

By the time she had ranked up, she was so blinded by her new responsibilities as a WindClan apprentice that she hardly even thought about her family. With this newfound place in the Clan, it also gave Breezepaw time to develop her own personality. Her attitude and spite-fueled actions were sometimes looked down upon, but she focused on having fun and being an apprentice.

She could even remember her last day of simply having fun and being a child. Oakthorn didn’t bother her much, Ashpoppy was proud of her, her brothers sharing her joy. She had caught a rabbit all by herself. Her mentor, Stormstripe, had pride shining in his yellow eyes. He had been a rough mentor, especially trying to see past Breezepaw’s teenage hot air, but he had become more of a father than Breezepaw ever had. She brought it back to camp to share with Redpaw and went to bed under the stars will a full belly. She’d glanced up, and it was the first time in a long time she didn’t even look for Sundusk.

That all changed the next day.

A patrol had burst into camp early in the day with rounded eyes and spiked pelts. It was hardly a patrol - only a warrior named Lionwhisker and Ashpoppy had made it back. In Ashpoppy’s maw was a small, limp body. Finchstar had pushed through the astonished crowd as Lionwhisker, head of the patrol, met his gaze somberly.

“We met a RiverClan patrol at the border,” he explained in a low rumble. “They were looking for an attack. I’m so sorry, Finchstar.”

“This is all Ivystar’s fault!” a she-cat named Heatherdawn yowled, lashing her tail. “StarClan shouldn’t have let that war-driven mange-pelt earn nine lives.”

Breezepaw saw Finchstar’s yellow gaze narrow as he ignored her. “Who all was with you?” he asked in a failed attempt to hide his panic.

Lionwhisker’s large head fell. “Me, Ashpoppy, Cloudpetal, Mousepaw, and Graymouse was leading. Cloudpetal and Graymouse perished. We could only bring Mousepaw back. I don’t think he’s going to make it, either. They showed no mercy.”

Finchstar’s whiskers drooped, and it took Breezepaw a long moment to remember that Cloudpetal had been his mate, and Mousepaw his grandson. A wail split the air, sending chills down Breezepaw’s spine.

Briartuft.

She could envision her kithood now, clearer than ever but tainted with red. Briartuft was weeping the loss of one of her kits but with no mate to fall back on. Two graves that only reminded hollow for heartbeats before the bodies of father and son lay next to each other. For once, it made Breezepaw glad she didn’t have a father.

Because she didn’t have to deal with losing him.

“We need a new deputy,” croaked the sole recent retiree, Quickstorm. Breezepaw inwardly wished her would be quiet. ''Finchstar lost two family members. Let him grieve.''

But to her surprise, the yellow head raised.

“There will be no delay in Clan life until the vigils,” he decided. “Even though Graymouse isn’t here, let me say the words under his spirit so that he and StarClan may approve of my choice.” Finchstar’s gaze swept the Clan, skimming over Breezepaw and finally landing on a cat nearby.

“Oakthorn is the new deputy of WindClan.”

There were a few murmurs, but many of them were an echo of approval. However, one voice rung out clearly and angrily.

“Appointing the half-Clanner after we lose three cats to RiverClan?” Breezepaw prickled at the scornful words. Finchstar’s head jerked around suddenly.

“Oakthorn has proved his worth time and time again,” he defended with the flick of his tail. “His blood does not determine his place in this Clan. His ambition does.” Breezepaw felt a surge of pride as Oakthorn stepped forward to humbly accept Finchstar’s request. WindClan began an echoing chant of Oakthorn’s name that lifted up into the sky, beyond the stars, where Sundusk could hear. Breezepaw joined them. It was the first and only time Breezepaw had ever been proud of her stepfather.

Oh, what a fool she had been.

*

Breezefeather was rather bored the day after she became a warrior. She’d woken up early to train and half-panicked when she realized she wasn’t in the apprentices’ den. But when she had felt her brothers packed in beside her due to the rising cold of leaf-fall, she exhaled quickly.

She watched the sun rise quietly over WindClan without waking them. She wasn’t sure if you were allowed to sleep during vigil, but the three of them had been out as soon as the other warriors disappeared.

Runninghare was her newly named youngest brother, someone she didn’t much mind. He was the personality that Breezefeather was not; he was kind and friendly and a little bit shyer. Redfire was the more rambunctious of the trio, constantly shooting back with a joke or smart remark.

Breezefeather was the final piece of that puzzle. She was blessed with heavy sarcasm and more of a snappy attitude towards everything. She’d definitely seen some confused glances at Finchstar when he’d named her Breezefeather.

Her thoughts were broken with an obnoxious yawn.

“Good morning, Breezefeather,” Redfire greeted with a grin. He leaned towards her eagerly, waiting for her to reply using his new name, too. Breezefeather rolled her eyes.

“Good morning, Obnoxious,” she replied, refusing to give him that satisfaction. Redfire frowned and shoved her with his shoulder.

“You guys are awake already?” Runninghare slurred, eyes still closed.

“We weren’t supposed to be asleep anyway,” Redfire pointed out, shrugging. “Oh well.”

“Oakthorn’s probably gonna put us on morning patrol,” Breezefeather added bitterly, inwardly cursing at the thought.

Redfire and Runninghare both groaned at the reminder.

“What if we get to lead a patrol?” Runninghare offered excitedly.

“Great, half the older warriors will wonder why the brand new warrior is acting more elderly than them,” Breezefeather added sarcastically.

“Maybe if you got off your butt for once they wouldn’t think that,” Redfire suggested, licking a paw. “Seriously, you only catch the rabbits that run right into your paws.” Breezefeather shoved him. “You’re just jealous that I hunt better than you.” “We’re not breaking the vigil silence, are we?” The siblings’ heads spun around at the new voice with wide eyes.

“You’re up early,” Breezefeather commented to Stormstripe anxiously. Her former mentor scoffed, but there was a twinkle in his yellow eyes.

“I wonder why that is,” he said with a glare at each one of them, individually. “Well, I was sent to wake you up. Breezefeather’s going to miss me doing that, isn’t she?” he joked.

Breezefeather rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Stormstripe was her mentor, and although he was rather gruff at times, he was more of a father figure than Oakthorn was.

Breezefeather followed Stormstripe into camp, where WindClan was waking up slowly. She got a few lethargic congratulations as she headed towards the center of camp.

“Good morning, Breezepaw,” greeted a ginger and white queen named Flashfoot. She had padded out of her den with her restless four kits following in a tiny rampage. Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake. “Oh! Breezefeather, now. Right. My apologies, darling.”

Breezefeather nodded politely as a yellow and white kit scrambled overtop of her paws and made a beeline for her father, Lionwhisker, who had emerged from the warriors’ den.

“Good morning!” the kit chirped.

''Is that one Yellowkit? Or Goldenkit? Emberkit’s the tom - Poppykit’s tortoiseshell, right?'' Breezefeather wracked her mind as she bid Flashfoot and the kits a polite goodbye. Why would you name two kits in the same litter Yellowkit and Goldenkit?

“‘Redfire! Redfire! Oh, good morning, Redfire’!” Breezefeather turned around at her brother padding towards her in a squeaky voice. Redfire looked beyond thrilled. “StarClan, I’ll never get over how good that sounds.” Runninghare padded up and rolled his eyes when Breezefeather could see.

“Sure… once you realize how stupid it is,” he added slyly. “Duh, fire is red. It’s like Finchstar isn’t even trying.”

If Redfire wasn’t already ginger, his face would have been reddened with anger.

“And… and hares run, too! Don't act so special.” he managed, trying to hold back his sudden realization and embarrassment. Breezefeather snickered. “Don’t laugh, miss billion-syllable name.”

Breezefeather hit him with her paw.

“Gather up, WindClan!” The siblings shared a collective sigh as Oakthorn’s voice rumbled through the clearing. Breezefeather could see him now, sitting under Tallrock with his chest puffed out. The morning crowd was beginning to form, and Breezefeather could see her stepfather clearly.

If Ashpoppy had tried to tell Breezefeather that Oakthorn was her real father instead of stepfather, she would not have believed her for a split second. Oakthorn did not look like a WindClan cat. He had thick, reddish brown fur and quite a few knicks. Oakthorn was a rather large cat, but he had his heritage to blame that on.

His mother was a WindClan cat named Swiftcloud, Breezefeather had gathered, and his father a ShadowClan tom named Darkpool. Although, Oakthorn had never told her any of this. She’d only got it from whispers and from Ashpoppy, who even spoke of it in a hushed voice. Oakthorn was tough, but he was explosive. And the minute he was reminded of his parents’ choices, boom. Naming him Oakthorn probably wasn’t the best way to keep him forgetting he was half ShadowClan.

Once he had become deputy, he was entirely more vocal of his thoughts. And he did not like Breezefeather.

The yellow and exclusively half ShadowClan eyes landed on Breezefeather. She held his gaze for a steady moment before he moved on. The cats were all awake now; even Finchstar emerged from his den with a tremendous yawn.

The last two to emerge were Paleberry, the medicine cat, and her apprentice Swallowpaw. Swallowpaw was older than Breezefeather by a mere two moons - he’d earn his full name any day - and he was one of the few cats that tolerated her. This morning, he made eye contact before giving a quick sidelong glance at Oakthorn with raised eyebrows and mouthed, ‘yikes.’ Breezefeather nodded silently and in exasperation.

Paleberry appeared behind her apprentice. The usually quiet and friendly she-cat noticed Breezefeather almost immediately and stared at her quite rudely. Breezefeather blinked to give Paleberry a chance to look away, but she held her gaze.

Breezefeather glared back for a minute before rolling her eyes and focusing on Oakthorn’s announcements. Breezefeather’s fur began to rise when she realized Paleberry was still staring her down. Who ruffled your pelt?

Oakthorn began to drone out patrols and announcements much like he did every morning. He liked being deputy, and Breezefeather liked sleeping in. But only one would suffice for WindClan, and Breezefeather was the tragic loser.

“Congratulations on the three newest warriors,” he began, eyes half-closed as if he couldn’t care less. “Redfire, Runninghare, and” - heavy sigh - “Breezefeather. You are exempt from morning patrols and you are able to join afternoon patrols if you wish.”

“He says that like it’s a burden,” Breezefeather muttered in Redfire’s ear. Her brother snorted, and Oakthorn stopped specifically to glare at them before moving on.

“Heatherdawn will lead the first patrol. Going with her is Larchfall, Cherrydapple, and Stormstripe. Second patrol will be lead by Briartuft. You’ll take Sandhawk, Nettlestorm, Goosewing, and Rosegaze. Apprentices, once you are done patrolling you may train.”

“I can’t wait to be an apprentice!” Breezefeather heard one of Icefern’s kits pipe up.

“Sorrelkit!” Icefern said between clenched teeth and quite embarrassed. “Hush!”

She craned her neck to see the small tortoiseshell cower behind her mother. “Sorry,” she whispered (still rather loudly). She didn't look very sorry to Breezefeather.

Sandhawk, the kits’ father, slapped his face with his paw in embarrassment, but it came off as more hostile to Breezefeather. Icefern’s gaze sharpened at her mate, and Breezefeather looked away. Don’t want to be a part of whatever’s going on there, she decided.

As the patrols began to band together, Finchstar himself parted through the crowd and bid the cats good mornings individually. When he reached the siblings, he gave them a polite nod and gave them another congrats before nearly running straight into Ashpoppy.

“Excuse me,” the ginger tom said quickly, nearly having to look up to reach Ashpoppy’s eye level. Breezefeather’s mother merely stared at the leader unblinkingly before stepping out of the way slowly, watching Finchstar as he dipped his head and moved on.

When Ashpoppy turned to her kits, her expression changed completely. “There are my lovely warriors,” she purred, licking Runninghare’s head affectionately.

“Mooom,” Runninghare groaned, ducking his head away and batting his paws at his forehead. Ashpoppy leaned back and flicked an ear in a silent gesture of laughter.

“Do you think we’ll get to mentor Icefern’s kits?” Redfire asked eagerly, glancing at the nursery. Ashpoppy looked thoughtful.

“They’re nearly six moons old, but I don’t know. You’re practically still apprentices yourself,” she pointed out. Breezefeather gave her a sour look.

“I’m almost the same age as Buzzardstrike and Swallowpaw,” she muttered.

“And neither of them have an apprentice yet,” Ashpoppy pointed out swiftly.

Breezefeather opened her mouth to speak when someone shoved up beside her, plopping down between her and Ashpoppy. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes into the back of her head as Oakthorn grunted a greeting.

“It shocks me how none of you even wanted to be on morning patrol,” he complained, licking a paw and drawing it over his small ears slowly.

“Well, we did stay awake all night,” Runninghare pointed out. Breezefeather proved his point with an obnoxiously fake yawn. Oakthorn rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear Redflame snoring all night,” he retorted. Redfire huffed.

“Redfire,” he muttered under his breath.

“Whatever,” Oakthorn replied breezily. “When I became a warrior, I was thrilled to lead my first patrol.”

“Back when you were a warrior Quickstorm could probably still hear,” Redfire whispered to Breezefeather. When she snickered at the mention of the ancient elder, Oakthorn gave her a sharp glare.

“I wouldn't be laughing,” he snapped, whirling to face her angrily. “At least I passed my assessment the first time.”

Breezefeather reeled back at the reminder of her first failed assessment. She remembered the disapproval in Oakthorn's dark gaze when he found out, but there was always that satisfied glimmer when he brought the subject up. Which was more than often.

“What, I can’t learn from my mistakes?” she growled, feeling her claws knead the grass.

Oakthorn’s lip curled. “Not if you make them every second of the day.”

“You act like all I do is fail!” Breezefeather spat accusingly. “Well guess who became a warrior last night?”

“If you weren’t such a brat all the time it’d be easier to be happy for you!” Oakthorn roared.

“It’d be easier to be happy for me if you acted like I was actually your daughter!” Breezefeather shot back. “And not a burden!”

“Well I’m sorry I get treated like an outsider and you don’t, but-”

“An outside- You’re just jealous that I’m full WindClan and you’re not!” Breezefeather exploded. Oakthorn’s shoulders straightened and his pupils slitted lividly. The rest of her family went silent with rounded eyes.

“Breezefeather.” Ashpoppy’s tail lashed. “That’s enough.”

Breezefeather’s head dropped at her mother’s scolding. “Sorry,” she muttered, not looking at Oakthorn.

“Heritage doesn’t matter,” Oakthorn said slowly. His jaw was twitching. “What matters is that I worked hard to get this far, Breezefeather. Your WindClan pride isn’t going to get you very far when you need it to.”

“Okay, Oakthorn,” Breezefeather meowed snarkily as he padded away, too exhausted to point out the emphasis on his very non-WindClan name.

When he was gone completely, Ashpoppy sighed deeply at Breezefeather.

“Can you get through one conversation without arguing with him?” She sounded exasperated.

“Can he stop acting like he’s the boss of me?” Breezefeather shot back. Ashpoppy took in a long, deep breath.

“He’s the deputy, and your father. He has every right to act that way,” she explained slowly. “When I asked him to be my mate around the time you all were born, I thought I was doing the right thing by giving you all a father. I wasn’t over Sundusk. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

Ashpoppy’s head fell, and Breezefeather’s whiskers drooped at the reminder of her real father - the one she had never met.

“So please respect him. He’s not Sundusk, but he did agree to be your father,” Ashpoppy urged.

“He’s not doing a very good job,” Redfire muttered. Breezefeather silently agreed. When she was young, she’d ask around camp what Sundusk was like. Most cats avoided the topic, but the ones who would speak (namely Stormstripe, his brother), told Breezefeather that he would have been a great dad. He had been kind, and compassionate, and friendly even in the worst of times. Everything Oakthorn sucked at doing.

“He’s doing his best,” Ashpoppy argued. “So give him a chance, okay? I couldn’t have prevented Sundusk’s death, and this is the next best thing.”

Breezefeather muttered a goodbye as her mother padded away. She snuck a glance at Oakthorn, who was now in a conversation with Lionwhisker and Buzzardstrike. He still looked rather bitter. Breezefeather sighed deeply.

Is Oakthorn really the next best thing?