"When All the Gods Are Gone"

[brittlebreeze ♠]

As Smallclaw slid out of his den in a steely huff, Brittlebreeze flicked an ear to acknowledge that he'd heard his tart comments, but nothing more. He did not respond in any verbal way. Ravenpelt sat up to face him, her sharp emerald gaze meeting his; he would have shivered, but he felt, sincerely, that he'd gone through too much to care about her dislike of him. He'd called her sister a rogue when he was an apprentice, still training beneath her teachings; it was an honest mistake, but could she still hold it against him even after all these moons? Probably. If her pride was enough to stop her from weaving old friendships back together, then how much help would she be with this malicious prophecy breathing down his back? Soon enough, it would be a problem to all of the Clans. He hoped the fiery she-cat could trace back her steps enough to forgive him for being so childish, someday. Doesn't mean I'm going to ask for forgiveness.

The Medicine cat wanted to swat her ears for being reckless enough to defy her injuries... and speaking of her injuries, he noticed abruptly that the cobweb around her throat was soaked through, so very swiftly he glided into his cleft and wound a fresh wad around his forepaw, after he'd plucked a stalk of goldenrod from the small pile. Quite, She murmured calmly, Now, what do we need to talk about? It was obvious she wasn't wasting time either. Like Brittlebreeze, perhaps she didn't doubt the authenticity in which Smallclaw spoke. He sat down beside her, and began to carefully unwind the old ragged clumps from around her gullet. Chewing the goldenrod into fragile shards, he tilted her head so he could drip the juice into her neck wound. After that, he set a gob of it beneath the fresh cobweb that he would apply.

"You mean who," he started casually, his chilling depths suddenly very clouded and secret. He wasn't very sure how he should go about with this... "I want to know about Tobias." He could already see her suspicion rising. Something told him to be wary. "What is a 'clock'? It's a twoleg word, so I figured you might know..." Brittlebreeze paused, Having spoken to Tobias about plenty of things, as Hawkstar said, there was a possibility." Delicately, he creased his rays and paced back a step or two. If she demanded an explanation, all hell would break loose, because StarClan knew he wouldn't give her one. That didn't mean the mottled tom trusted her to answer his question fairly; she could refuse or beat around it, waste time knowing he would stand his ground...

His lips flattened into a hard line. He could practically hear a tickling noise in the back of his head, counting off the seconds and minutes until the shady tom returned to his mates side.

563

[| ravenpelt |]

Brittlebreeze said nothing for a moment, only continuing to look at her with what was now a thoughtful gaze rather than a suspicious one. Ravenpelt thingyed one side of her brow when he suddenly turned away from her and disappeared into the darker corner of his den, vanishing like a small flame left to the wind. From there she heard a momentary pause, a swift scraping sound, and then the calico tom was back, one white foot swathed in fresh cobwebs and a bundle of stems from sort of plant secured in his jaws. The black warrior blinked, feeling oddly surprised by his graciousness. It’s his job, after all, she reminded herself almost harshly. He’s our Clan’s medicine cat.

With that in mind she sat perfectly still as he settled in beside her and, at the same time, began to grind up the stems with his teeth and remove the old cobwebs from the wound in her throat. Ravenpelt winced in pain, but complied when he titled her head and allowed the juice to drip from between his jaws and into her injury. Holding back a hiss, Ravenpelt forced herself not to think of what Smallclaw had told her.

Midnighthowl, her mind hissed anyway, anger swelling up from inside her once more. Ravenpelt had always had a weird feeling about the dark she-cat, but she never would have suspected her of something as serious as treachery. Of pre-meditated murder. All of the Clans? Surely not enough rogues would be able to band together for such a thing… If they’re rogues at all? Were there more cats out there willing to betray not just their Clan, but their families? Their home? Disgust gathered in the corners of her mind like dust, knowing that she would be willing to fight all of them if she had to, if it meant protecting ShadowClan.

Ravenpelt watched in silence as Brittlebreeze applied a generous amount of the poultice to the cobwebs that were still laced around his one paw.
“You mean who,” Brittlebreeze said suddenly, causing her emerald eyes to flick from his paw to his sharp blue eyes. He kept his own attention attached to his work. “I want to know about Tobias.” Ravenpelt’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch, suspicious. What did he want with the silver tom who had walked in and out of her life so quickly? He had been with ShadowClan so long that he was barely a memory. Their conversations, however, not so much.

“What is a ‘clock’?” Brittlebreeze mewed suddenly, tugging the warrior back to the present. She blinked at the word as it sparked a memory, faded and worn. The very first voice to have uttered it in her ears was a nervous one. Tobias. She nearly laughed. He had seemed so uncomfortable talking to her, but had answered her questions anyway. She remembered his dull green eyes and his oddly large ears, his thin frame and long legs. He had always reminded her of a WindClan warrior; except he wasn’t. Tobias was a rogue. Ravenpelt remembered Icestar offering him a place within their Clan, an offer he had turned down almost instantly. She remembered his words.

I… I don’t do well with others. I’m sorry.

Soon after helping them with the rogues that had attacked their camp, when he had defended the nursery so bravely, a nearly uncharacteristic act, Tobias had vanished.

He hadn’t even said goodbye.

Ravenpelt closed her eyes, doing her best to preserve what was left of the wayward tom in the back of her mind.

“It’s a Twoleg word,” Brittlebreeze was saying. “So I figured you might know… Having spoken to Tobias about plenty of things, as Hawkstar said, there was a possibility.” Ravenpelt nodded vaguely, her eyes still closed. Yes. The word was not of their own language, and probably never would be. The black warrior only opened her eyes when she felt Brittlebreeze step away from her, eying her expectantly, one foot still covered in fresh cobwebs and a glob of whatever it was he had chewed up for her. It was almost comical.

Ravenpelt took a deep breath before looking at him. “I won’t question your reasons for asking me this, Brittlebreeze,” she mewed almost tiredly, sensing the seriousness in his eyes. “But yes, Hawkstar is right, Tobias told me about ‘clocks’.” She sighed, struggling to remember the details, and after a failed attempt, decided that a broader explanation would have to do. Very broad. “Twolegs,” she began, Or humans, as he put it, she thought in silent amusement, “use clocks to tell what time of day it is. Not in the sense that we do though. We have very few. Dawn, sunhigh, evening, and so on.” Ravenpelt paused for a moment, remembering that the topic had sprung from a comment.

Ravenpelt’s eye widen. “Ah, rats!” she curses. “It’s almost sunhigh! I was supposed to go out hunting!” The black she-cat rakes her claws into the ground, causing her company to flinch.

Her eyes turn apologetic. “Sorry,” she mutters, eyeing the tom next to her as she stands, tail flicking.

He gives her a strange look, green eyes suddenly thoughtful. Seeing the expression for the first time on his silver face, Ravenpelt looks at him, curious. The tom speaks hesitantly.

“Do you always hunt before noon?”

His voice is unearthly quiet as he stares at her, but she only blinks, confused. “Noon?”

“Sorry,” he mews quickly. “It’s a hu-Twoleg clock thing.”

Huh?

Retreating from the memory, Ravenpelt continued. “They’re what Tobias called ‘machines’, sort of like monsters, but smaller. But the same general idea. With all of the metal.” She looked at Brittlebreeze. “That’s basically it,” she mewed. “Clocks designate a specific time of day. Tobias didn’t say much else.”

[brittlebreeze ♠]

It felt like it'd been hours before she spoke; but he could see somehow beyond her clouded gaze the slightest hints of memories. Was she remembering Tobias? Curiosity almost knocked him off of his paws; he was indeed impatient, but... he waited politely for her to reply, regardless. If she knew anything, it would be helpful, since they were basically as stuck as they had been when StarClan first presented this both confusing and troubling prophecy to him. The mottled tom heard the scuffling from outside of the den, his orbs averting in its direction for a fraction of a second. Hotheaded tom... Couldn't Smallclaw just wait until they were finished? (He was paranoid and suspecting of the black tom; paranoid that he would eavesdrop, then question later, suspecting that...) He didn't want the ebony warrior to come barging back in while they attempted to speak privately. Little did they know, that his Q & A was much more dire than it seemed. When Ravenpelt started to speak, his sapphire depths flickered back to her much too eagerly. I won’t question your reasons for asking me this, Brittlebreeze, but yes, Hawkstar is right, Tobias told me about ‘clocks’. She mewed tiredly, and it was when she accepted his query that he approached her again, winding very gently the poultice drenched cobweb around her throat. He'd figured some air to it would do some good... at least, a little.

He didn't disrupt her, he only stared very calmly into the floor of his den. Picturing images in the back of his mind that tied in with her response, Twolegs use clocks to tell what time of day it is. Not in the sense that we do though. We have very few. Dawn, sunhigh, evening, and so on. Nodding slowly, he parted his lips to speak, but nothing came out. Brittlebreeze huffed a breath, unable to summon the will to give her the explanation that she deserved; they both sat there soundlessly throughout the duration of the pause. They’re what Tobias called ‘machines’, sort of like monsters, but smaller. But the same general idea. With all of the metal. That’s basically it, clocks designate a specific time of day. Tobias didn’t say much else. He could feel her emerald gems burning into his face, and he lifted his muzzle to turn both eyes back on her.

He didn't know what to say. The whole 'clock' process seemed confusing. Monsters were made out of metal? That hard substance was called metal then, and if clocks represented the time of day for Twolegs, then StarClan was trying to tell them a name, described all in one single natural word. So what time of day was it when the clock struck twelve? His blue rays lit up, and he was about to ask her, but the shadow that abruptly blocked out the light filtering in through the entrance made him hiss. They were out of time, and he didn't feel comfortable discussing such vital, delicate topics with the thingyy tom watching and listening. Likewise, he strongly doubted his will to remove himself for another minute. They'd just have to gather that one last piece of information from Tobias, wherever he was...

"Thank you, even though I wasn't done." Flicking his ears, he let his haunting stare pass over Smallclaw, before glancing back at Ravenpelt, "Make sure to get lots of rest. If you're hungry or need poppyseeds, Aspenpaw will be around."

With that said, he glided from the herb-scented crevice, and into the sunlight, heading for Hawkstars den beneath the Nightstone.

To: Hawkstars Den

Woot! FINALLY! I'll post with both Smallclaw and Brittlebreeze tomorrow. 662 6d6f95

[small • claw]

He couldn't remember feeling so torn open before. Even when his shoulder was still injured, he didn't remember feeling like he was deprived of his will and self control. The fact that StarClan told him themselves to make a choice irked him, as if he couldn't do it already.

Smallclaw's thoughts came to an inaudible eerie hush just then, as if he were questioning the very legitimacy of his contemplation... Would he have really made a choice? His hesitation and uncertainty clawed at him deeper than any enemy could. He was supposed to be ready to die for his Clan if need be, not keep secrets from them. If them knowing the truth about him would help them, in the long run, then knowing the truth about him would also turn their backs on him. Every stick had two ends. He suddenly was grateful for the benefit of a doubt, considering he didn't want to know their reaction.

He didn't want them to know either. Even if the Clan was in danger, he couldn't just push aside his fears and regrets like a pebble on the dirt pathway of life. Emerald moonstones gazed into the ground, the veil that covered them was as thick as one of the four great oak trees.

The warrior didn't even notice his Clanmates as they swarmed the clearing, their murmuring and movement overriding the small mumbles going on inside Brittlebreezes den. Were they finished yet? He didn't want to talk about what had happened; he didn't want to explain it and go through the details, and now that Ravenpelt knew, how could she still love him? How could he face her knowing she knew the wrongness of his actions? She should question his loyalty and devotion to ShadowClan.

But... it was Ravenpelt. It was his mate, his best friend, his most trusted ally, and he couldn't keep enigmas from her. She would read him like an open book, and she would uncover his most clandestine moments and beliefs. She was his souls other half. When the low voices subsided, Smallclaw huffed and poked his head through the entrance.

Brittlebreeze, noticing his nosy presence, backed away from Ravenpelt, muttering under his breath while he did so, Thank you, even though I wasn't done. Chilling blue rays passed over Smallclaw, making his pelt prickle uncomfortably.

He edged closer to the she-cat, unable to meet the Medicine cats haunting stare. Make sure to get lots of rest. If you're hungry or need poppyseeds, Aspenpaw will be around. With that, he glided silently across the den and disappeared into the open clearing.

"What was that about?" Smallclaw suddenly sounded, his tone hinting at a growl. Was it just him or was there something strange going on? Who else knew about what was going to happen?

Sighing, his stomach lurched. "What do I do?" Then his eyes were on her.

544

[| ravenpelt |]

Ravenpelt watched the medicine cat’s face carefully, able to tell that he was only partially content with her response. The black warrior could sense that though she had answered his question in full, there was still something gnawing away at that brain of his. There was something he was deliberately leaving out, not to mention the reason he had asked her the question in the first place. There was almost no way he had heard the term ‘clocks’ on his own; he had been too young during the time that Tobias had blown in, back when the rogue band had attacked their camp and her mother had been killed. Unconsciously pawing at the moss beneath her feet, Ravenpelt waited silently for a reply from Brittlebreeze.

Before the calico tom could do so however, Smallclaw abruptly returned, squeezing his broad shoulders through the entrance and drifting into the den. Brittlebreeze’s eyes narrowed noticeably, and Ravenpelt couldn’t help but emit the barest of growls. What was with him lately, beside his normal misery? “Thank you,” the younger tom said firmly, getting to his paws from where he had been sitting across from her. “Even though I wasn’t done.” He shot another visibly disdainful glare in her mate’s direction before the blue stare returned to her. “Make sure to get lots of rest,” he commanded, to which Ravenpelt replied in acknowledgment. “If you’re hungry or need poppy seeds, Aspenpaw will be around.” Without another word he turned away and exited the den, sliding past Smallclaw like a ghost. Ravenpelt watched him go, emerald eyes unblinking.

“What was that about?” Smallclaw suddenly ground out, his voice sounding gravelly and uneven. The sound of it pulled Ravenpelt from her thoughts, causing her to blink and give her head a short shake. Looking back at Smallclaw again, she found the black warrior’s green gaze fixed on her own. “What do I do?” he asked quietly, and with those words the she-cat was instantly reminded of their former conversation. Midnighthowl, a traitor. The very thought made her blood boil. ‘If it wasn’t for my injuries, I’d hunt that piece of fox dung down myself,’ she thought darkly, her claws unsheathing in and out on their own accord. The very thought of rending flesh with her claws brought up within her a surprising flare of satisfaction.

Ravenpelt opened her mouth to reply, her head swimming with plans of actions and explanations, but none of it came forth. Instead she eyed Smallclaw carefully, her emerald eyes glittering in the dim light of the den. She hated to a be a stickler but… “That’s for you to decide,” she mewed quietly, hating her own words. “Firefur said you’d have to make a choice. So make one.” As much as she loved and cared for Smallclaw, she would trust in StarClan when it came to this one. Smallclaw would have to take this step alone; but she’d be right behind him.

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[small • claw]

WIPPITY WIPPERS.

I'll get to this soon, pal. I need to get some biographies set up first though. (; My muse is chugging, so don't worry...

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