The Journal of Whiskers

[Whiskers]

So hi. Good to see you here at my journal.
Except this isn't really going to be a journal.

This is where I plan to keep a collection of interactions between my characters, Rowanheart, Finchpaw, and Firepaw. As all of you should know, we're not allowed to inter-rp much, so I can't exactly roleplay them together very often. But, nonetheless, they definitely do interact in my head and I write out those little scenes for myself.

But now I've decided to share them with all of you. So, uhm, I hope you enjoy them. ^^

The point of view will be indicated in the title, along with when the event is happening. I'll be trying to post them in order.

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw: 2-3 moons

The first time he saw her, he was three moons old. She was about to become an apprentice.

Alright, that was a lie. It was the first time that he had actually noticed her, and wondered who exactly she was. Being three moons now, he was beginning to talk to other kits, despite Firekit’s insistence that they were all kind of lame. And he realized that there was one kit he had never actually talked to before.

Frostkit.

He knew nothing about her. They were in the same nursery, slept in that same old den every night. And he knew nothing, besides the fact that she was nearly ready for her apprenticeship, and she could be distinguished by her bright silver-white coat. Very pretty. That was it. Nothing else. He couldn’t remember hearing anything about her.

He nearly went over to talk to her one day. He stood up and walked near her, but at the last moment he felt a strange, uneasy feeling enter his gut and he turned abruptly and padded back to his brother. There was no real reason for it, just a sudden bout of shyness he had never experienced before.

But he was still curious as to why they ignored her. Finchkit knew there had to be some reason.

“Why don’t we talk to Frostkit?” he asked one day, to his brother, as his brother stuffed his mouth with mouse.

His brother gagged on his food and for a second, Finchkit actually feared that he was choking. He stood with a start, ready to run for Brightnose.

But Firekit recovered.

And he laughed.

“WOW. Are you dense? Have you decided to just tune out everything Dad tells us now?”

Yes, thought Finchkit. “No,” said Finchkit.

“Uh, well listen closely. We don’t associate with her because she’s one of them.”

“One of …who?”

“The non-believers. She’s not very obvious about it, but Dad says he’s seen the “signs.””

Finchkit shifted and glanced, as inconspicuously as he could manage, over at the white she-cat. “Signs?”

“Yeah. Signs that the Dark Forest has her soul. He’s put in a request to mentor her. So he can help her. But he said we shouldn’t go near her, because her sin could corrupt us too.”

Now that was rather… that… made no sense. Finchkit shook his head. “I don’t understand. It’s not like she had some kind of disease, Firekit.”

“She’s not nice anyway. Ask anyone. She’s sort of blunt. Harsh. She’d probably send you back into my paws, crying your tail off. Stay away from her, okay? Not worth your time.” And he resumed eating again.

Finchkit ducked his head, and this time, he decided he would be better off if he just listened to his brother and father for once. And so he left Frostkit alone.

----

From the nursery, it was hard to see the stars.

That could be the problem, Finchkit thought to himself. The nursery was the best made den out of all of Fogclan. The bush was reinforced with more brambles and ferns, so that the cold could be kept out and the kits could be kept in.

But it kept the stars out too. Finchkit had to go outside of the nursery to see them. If he wanted to. And tonight, he sort of did want to look up, search the sky, and find the love that his father claimed each glowing light held. But he wasn’t allowed out of the nursery after dark. He was still too small, too young for that.

And so maybe that could be the problem. The reason why he was the way he was. If he couldn’t find Starclan, how could he believe in them?

“Finchkit!” whispered the rough voice of his brother. He felt a pull at his tail and Finchkit whipped around with a quiet hiss. Firekit was sprawled out, Finchkit’s tail in his mouth. With Finchkit’s eyes on him, he let go of his brother’s tail and spat out some fur.

“You bit me!” exclaimed Finchkit.

“Yeah I know, you don’t have to tell me,” grinned Firekit. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be sleeping. Wouldn’t want some grumpy ol’ queen to wake up and see you up and about, now would you?”

Finchkit winced at the thought. The last thing he needed was that to happen—the queen would automatically complain to Rowanheart in the morning. And Rowanheart was getting very tired of hearing the “Control those boys” speech. Frankly, Finchkit was tired of it too. But he couldn’t fall asleep right now. It was one of those nights he found himself especially restless, a night where he wanted to walk around, run around. If he went to sleep, he’d only have dreams of running through the forest, away from something, but toward nothing.

“I’m not being noisy, Firekit. I’m just—“

“Thinking. I know. You need to stop doing that,” Firekit stopped to yawn and he rolled onto his back, his paws batting at the air. “or you’ll get all boring. And if that happens, there will be NO ONE to play with. No one! I’m serious, Finchkit, I’ll be left with absolutely no kit to play with, and as you know, playing is very good stimulation for a growing kit.”

Finchkit snorted. “I can’t believe you even know the word stimulation.”

“I heard Dad say it when he told me I needed to “stimulate” my soul as well as my body and mind”

“How can you stimulate a soul?” wondered Finchkit. Did that even make sense?

“I forget. Does it matter?” Firekit rolled back over and then lifted himself onto his feet. “All I know is that you were thinking so loudly that it woke me up. What were you thinking about?”

“Starclan, of course,” murmured Finchkit. It always was Starclan that was keeping him up, as it was the only thing his father actually talked about with him. And so his mind was filled to the brim with Starclan.

“Oh no. Not again. Really, Finchkit? Really?” Firekit plopped down into a sitting position and he swung his hard, scorching gaze on his brother. Finchkit felt the urge to look away, to lower his head in shame. But he did not. He only twitched his whiskers in response.

And so Firekit continued.

“Finchkit, there is nothing to think about, remember?” pressed Firekit. “The reason you’re so weird and confused is BECAUSE you think about it too much! So cut it out!”

“But—“

“Uh-uh. Listen. Starclan is real. Starclan watches over us. Starclan loves us. Starclan will DOOM YOU FOR ALL ETERNITY IF YOU DON’T STOP QUESTIONING THEM.” Firekit hissed loudly. “Do you want to be doomed?”

“Of course not,” Finchkit said very weakly. “But, if you think about it—“

“Oh no no no, none of that. Just go to bed, Finchkit,” Firekit growled. “Urgh, I can’t believe I’m related to you. Maybe you’re defective or something.”

His brother turned around and slumped down, into a heap of healthy red fur. His breathing quickly became slow and deep. Firekit always had the amazing ability to shut himself off in only a few seconds. Finchkit envied him for that.

He felt the burn of shame on the back of his ears again, as he lowered himself to the nursery floor and wrapped his tail around himself. What was he missing? There must be some key that Firekit possessed, that his father knew of, a secret that would unlock the doors and explain everything to him. Or was he just hopeless?

Maybe you’re defective or something.

Finchkit shut his eyes tight and forced his mind to ignore the words. They weren’t true. They weren’t true.

When he finally drifted off to sleep, he was running in the forest again, and the sky above him was black and cold.

[/size]

[Whiskers]

Rowanheart: Firekit and Finchkit are five moons old.

"Dad, look, look!"

Rowanheart turned his head and smiled as Firekit dropped into a clumsy crouch, wiggling his haunches rather dramatically before jumping and catching the butterfly. "Dad, did you see? Did you see?!"

He grinned. "Yes I did. You're going to give the deputy a run for her position with a pounce like that."

"You really think so? Wow, being deputy would be so cool! Hey, FINCHKIT. Finchkit, look at what I caught!"

Rowanheart watched as Finchkit, who had been lying down batting at a leaf, rolled his eyes and hoisted himself up. The little kit was skinnier than his brother and looked much like Zoe.

Finchkit came forward rather lazily, and begrudgingly. He glanced down at the butterfly at Firekit's toes and his eyes lit up a little. "A butterfly! You caught a butterfly?"

"Nah, really? Here I thought it was a bird," Firepaw sneered and giggled.

"How did you do it?"

"Like this. Copy me. No, no, you're doing it all wrong. Stupid."

"Hey, no name calling," Rowanheart chastised Firekit. "Finchkit, you're doing fine."

Finchkit, like always, concentrated, paying attention to all four feet so his crouch could be perfectly balanced. By the time he was satisfied with his crouch, Firekit had already dragged back a dead roach and a couple of leaves.

"Okay, now you've gotta pounce, or the prey will run away," Firekit instructed his brother. "Pounce... Now! Or...now! Now. Now?...gosh, just do it Finchkit, or the prey will just walk away from you, for Starclan's sake."

Finchkit's eyes narrowed and he leaped forward, landing on the dead leaf. His face brightened. "I did it," he purred.

"Only took you a million moons."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"You're exaggerating."

"Oh whatever, let's play-fight," Firekit grinned and then batted at his brother's ear. Rowanheart was amazed at how Firekit could switch gears so fast "I'll win."

"Maybe," Finchkit fell onto his haunches. "Maybe I will. I won last time."

"You cheated last time!"

"I never cheat. You're just a sore--" Finchkit struck like a snake, and the kits went tumbling, "--loser!"

Firekit kicked Finchkit off with his strong back-legs and hopped up. Bits of dirt stuck in his fluffy, red fur, but he just gave himself a shake before flexing his paws. "You've got it coming now!" He barreled forward. Finchkit dodged the attack and then tried to hop on his brother's rear, but he missed and fell flat on his face.

Firekit pounced. It was easy to pin such a skinny tom like Finchkit down. "Told you I'd win!" He boasted. "I'm the leader of this nursery! No one can challenge me!"

Finchkit snorted. "All right, all right. Please get off now, the soil doesn't taste good."

"Oh sorry."

The brothers shook themselves off. Rowanheart took this as his chance.

"Firekit, Finchkit, now that you've calmed down, it's time for a lesson." '

If Finchkit had been behind Firekit, then maybe Rowanheart wouldn't have seen the small wince on his face. But he wasn't behind Firekit and it was quite obvious, the reluctance on his son's features. Rowanheart sighed. Finchkit could be so close-minded sometimes. Though he was a smart tom, he seemed to think he was always right.

Rowanheart taught them about the history of their clans-- it wasn't long, but as soon as he got to the important part, Finchkit had questions.

"I don't understand," He piped up. "Why would Starclan just give up on Pineclan?"

"Because Pineclan abandoned Starclan."

"It seems like Starclan abandoned Pineclan though... I thought...well, you said that Starclan always gave everyone a second chance and loved everyone. If they loved everyone, why wouldn't they just try to reach Pineclan so Pineclan wouldn't be doomed? That's what I would do..."

Rowanheart flicked his ears and stared down at him worriedly.

"Pineclan doesn't care though," Firekit said, exasperated. "Can we get on with it now? I wanna play again."

"Firekit, you can't just say that they don't care. We haven't met any Pineclan cats."

"Who wants to? They're rude and selfish."

"But you don't know--"

Firekit rolled his eyes. "They don't believe in Starclan. How can they be noble warriors if they don't have Starclan?"

"I dunno... I could find out if I could ask one--"

"Absolutely not," Rowanheart said firmly. "They're a bad influence. I've told you that."

"I'm sorry," Finchkit mumbled. "I just wanna know."

"Pray to Starclan about it, Finchkit. They'll answer you,"
Rowanheart reassured the kitten. "Any more questions?"

"Why did uhm... Pineclan abandon Starclan in the first place?"

"They lost their way."

"Can you be more specific? Like... Did they do something wrong or bad and so they were... kicked out of the group or something?"

Firekit flopped down onto his belly. "This is gonna take a while."

"Finchkit..." Rowanheart slowly gathered his thoughts. "Sometimes, cats get confused. They don't know what they want and when they're searching for their answer, bad influences can lead them to make bad choices. Bad spirits--"

"Bad spirits?"

"Cats who do not believe in Starclan become bad spirits, forever trapped in the Forest of No Stars. They can possess cats and then--"

"What does "possess" mean?"

Firekit groaned.

"Possess means to take hold of. They influence the cats."

"... Then it's not the cat's fault, it's the spirit's fault. The spirit is controlling the cat and so, the cat can't do anything about it..."

Rowanheart stared at the kit. Was he determined to be difficult? Finchkit looked serious. He never joked or played around when it came to issues like this. Still, Rowanheart couldn't believe his son couldn't comprehend something this simple.

"Finchkit, the point is, the cats have chosen the wrong path. They're doomed."

"For choosing wrong?"

"Yes."

"So they'll go to the Forest of No Stars for choosing wrong?"

"Yes."

"What's the Forest of No Stars like?"

"It's dark and terrible and very lonely."

"They'll stay there forever?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that unfair?"

"How is it unfair?" Firekit groaned again. "Daaad, I wanna play. Can I play? I get everything. I don't think I should be punished for Finchkit's stupidness."

"I don't think stupidness is a word," Finchkit said.

Rowanheart could feel a headache coming on. "Yes Firekit, you can go play. Finchkit and I will talk in private."

"WHOO. YES. Finchkit, finish up soon or I'm going to be SOO bored. The other kits aren't nearly as fun as you. Bye!" He scampered off into the nursery and the small sound of a kit squeal could be heard. No doubt he had just woken some poor sleeping she-kit up.

"Okay Finchkit, I'm going to take you on a special walk around camp, just you and me. And we can talk."

Finchkit nodded slowly. "Okay Dad." He began to trot to keep up with his father's bigger steps.

"Okay, Finchkit. Tell me why you're so confused about Starclan."

Finchkit hesitated and looked down at his feet, almost tripping over them when he did. "I...I dunno. It just doesn't fit right in my head. I think about it a lot. About Starclan and how they're really powerful but... Then I think...well, if they're so powerful, why can't they just stop the shortage of prey or something?"

"Starclan wants us to earn our way into Starclan. That's why we hunt, protect our land, and become warriors."

"I thought we did that to survive."

"Well... We do it for that too."

"But... What if...what if Pineclan isn't wrong? I'm no medicine cat so how am I supposed to know if Starclan's really there?"

Yes, he wasn't a medicine cat... Rowanheart's ears perked as an idea budded.

"And those dreams could just be dreams..."

How could he not have seen it before?

"There are so many maybes and I can't figure it out. I mean, I don't want to pick wrong. The safest answer seems to be Starclan. But that doesn't make it right... And if Starclan is the way you say it is...well then I don't see why it should be right. They seem cruel to me, so why would I want to believe in something cruel and judgmental?"

It would be perfect! It was a great way to get a connection with Starclan and to give Finchkit faith. Rowanheart turned to his son, focusing back on what he was saying to catch that last bit. "Finchkit, don't worry anymore."

He looked skeptical. "Okay..."

"Son, go back to Firekit. Play with your brother. I have an errand to run."

"But I thought we were going to talk..."

"We will. But first I have to do something."

"Okay..."

Rowanheart watched as his poor confused son scampered off. Yes, he wasn't a medicine cat...yet. But he could speak to Brightnose about taking Finchkit on as her apprentice. No doubt the medicine cat would see the potential in his son. Finchkit was a thinker and he was gentle, good with his paws. Being close to Starclan would give him that strong connection.

Rowanheart trotted into Brightnose's den, and as he did, he couldn't help but think what a good father he was, for thinking of his kit like this.

[/size]

[Whiskers]

Firepaw: Five moons old

Medicine cat.

A few things went through the young tom’s mind as he tried—desperately tried—to understand this…this title…this path that his brother had decided to take. First, bewilderment and shock, then some confusion over the idea of “medicine cat apprentice.” There was some desperation floating around inside him too, but it was much weaker than his outright astonishment over the turn of events. And then, above everything else, Firekit felt betrayed. His first thought was how Finchkit could do this to him. Why would he do this to him? He didn’t have the RIGHT to do this to him! His brother couldn’t just…just… turn his back on him, after all they had been through in their almost six long moons of kittenhood!

“Firekit… you did hear me, right?”

Finchkit’s stupid, innocent, I-don’t-know-what-I-did wrong voice rang in his ears and Firekit snapped. He wailed as loud as he could, “OF COURSE I HEARD YOU. MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE? WHAT?”

Finchkit looked scared for his life. He took a tentative step away from Firekit. “Well—“

“I MEAN. MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE? REALLY? REALLY?!”

“Firekit, please stop yowling, I’m pretty sure you will wake up the whole camp if you—“

“WHO WANTS TO SIT IN A DEN ALL DAY, PLAYING WITH FLOWERS? WHAT ARE YOU—A SHE-CAT?!”

“Oh, I haven’t heard that one before,” Finchkit sighed and he looked off to the side, like he was trying to find a way out of his current predicament. For some reason this just made Firekit angrier and he let out a very long, strangled hiss. Finchkit was such a … a… a traitor!

Firekit stalked around his brother, no longer able to stay in one place. It was bothering him, sitting down…he needed to get up and pounce on something. If only he was a blasted apprentice, he could butcher some squirrels or tackle his mentor or rip some evil Pineclan cat to shreds. But no, he was stuck here, with his traitor of a brother, and no one to slice at.

Except for Finchkit himself, but Finchkit would probably bleed to death if Firekit had a go at him. He was like that—as breakable as a twig. And he’d go whining to Dad of course.

“This isn’t fair!” he declared, as he continued to circle around his brother. “Why are you doing this, Finchkit? What is so exciting about the boring life of plants that you feel the need to abandon me?! You’re going against the plan, Finchkit! THE PLAN!!” Firekit moaned. “Remember the plan or has your brain been sucked away by the Dark Forest?!”

Finchkit replied lazily, “Yes of course I do. Firekit, you’re overreacting!”

“And you’re UNDER REACTING!” shrieked Firekit. “THIS MEANS THAT I CAN’T BE LEADER AND YOU CAN’T BE DEPUTY AND WE CAN’T WIPE OUT PINECLAN OFF THE FACE OF THIS EARTH AND WE CAN’T BE HAILED AS HEROES AND REMEMBERED IN KIT-TALES. GOOD GOING, FINCHKIT. YOU RUINED THE STARCLAN-FORSAKEN PLAN. GREAT. JOB.”

“No, no!” exclaimed Finchkit desperately. “I didn’t ruin it, I just… I… look we can have a new plan! I’ll be medicine cat and you’ll still be leader and uh, well, we’ll see about that Pineclan thing! Besides I don’t have any choice in the matter, so please please don’t hate me, Firekit—“
“Whoa, whoa, Finchkit slow down. You’re starting to go a lil’ overboard, don’t you think? Plus, of course you have a choice! You could be an apprentice if you wanted to!”

“But I can’t! Firekit,” Finchkit’s voice became miserable. “Starclan chose me.”

Firekit blinked. “What?”

“Starclan chose me. Dad and Brightnose said… urgh, so I have to, okay? Dad says that I’ll be helping cats out with their pain anyway, and that’s good! It’s not like…like I’ll hate it. I’ll be doing something honorable. And I like helping cats.”

Firekit’s head felt a little fuzzy. He had been coming to terms with the idea of Finchkit as a medicine cat apprentice through his whole ordeal, but he didn’t think he could wrap his mind around this Starclan thing. It felt too…too… unfair.

So unfair.

“Why you?” he spat bitterly. “You don’t even like Starclan.”

“What?! I do!”

“No you don’t! You’re always going on about how Starclan is mean and how none of it makes sense!”

Finchkit frowned. “Well… it’s not that I do not like them…it’s that I do not understand them. And as the new medicine cat apprentice, I will learn about Starclan and eventually, I’ll be able to understand…it’s another reason Dad says I should do it.”

Firekit felt an unshakable hand grip his belly, squeezing and squeezing, making him near sick. His pulsing blood brought forth unwelcomed heat. This was a new anger…a new uncomfortable kind that he could not get rid of by yelling, or butchering squirrels, or slicing up his brother. Those things would not get rid of the tightening in his stomach and the fierce pounding of his heart.

He could only manage one word, “Whatever,” he scoffed. Yes, throw it away, like it means nothing, he told himself. It didn’t matter if Finchkit was chosen or not, because it was still a boring job and it would fit Finchkit perfectly—he was a boring tom after all. It wasn’t a job that Firekit would want…it was the last job that he would ever willingly do. So Finchkit could take it and live with it and Firekit wouldn’t give a rat’s tail.

“Firekit…” Finchkit’s voice was feeble, like he was four moons younger. “Firekit, I really do wish I could train with you. I’ll miss you a lot.”

The crushing feeling was swept away in an instant, as Firekit looked at his brother. Aw, dang it—Finchkit always managed to get him emotional! With a sniff, Firekit lowered his head and tried to hide his own sadness. No use.
“Hey…it’s not like this is the end of our brotherhood, you know,” Finchkit told Firekit softly.

“But… we won’t see each other. We won’t be best friends anymore, will we?” Firekit mewed and his tail curled around his body. If he didn’t have Finchkit, he would have no one to do anything with! He’d be all alone, and all the other apprentices would be so much older than him…they’d think they were better than him!

Finchkit chuckled and cuffed his brother on the ear. “Of course we will Firekit. You’re my brother. Nothing will change.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And Firekit believed him.

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw: 6 moons old-- first medicine cat meeting.

So uh…. So here I am.

Finchpaw stared at the Moonglade and he waited for his reaction. It was bound to come, Finchpaw figured, though he felt lost for any type of emotion at all. He must be in shock and that was why he was having a hard time feeling anything. He could be in awe perhaps. This was the Moonglade after all. The place where Starclan supposedly—uh, wait, he meant definitely—communicated with the clans.

No, no, awe wasn’t it. It was complete and total fear and it was paralyzing him, keeping him upright, but unresponsive. That was it. Figuring that out helped Finchpaw move his paws, flick his tail tip, and look at the water and the other medicine cats. He gulped nervously as he watched his mentor sink down and place her nose at the edge of the Moonglade. She took a few laps of its water and her eyes became heavy. The others were doing it also—excluding the Pineclan cats. They had left after they had discussed how each of their clans was doing. If only Finchpaw could leave as well…but he was expected to share a dream with Starclan. This was supposed to be his first ever experience with Them… and he was going to blow it. Finchpaw just knew it. He stared at the pool anxiously, his paws trembling, and he felt the dread seeded deep in the pit of his stomach.

Because what if Starclan did not come to him? What if all he saw was blackness? Then he would have failed his clan and his mentor and most of all, his father. What would his father say? Why would Starclan choose him when he was clearly the worst choice of the bunch?

Easy. Because Starclan isn’t real and they didn’t choose you. It’s all made-up, said his mind. Finchpaw hissed at himself immediately and he shoved those thoughts away. How insane! If Starclan wasn’t real then why did his father believe in it so strongly? Why did the whole clan believe in it?

Not the whole clan. There’s Frostpaw. And just because everyone believes in it doesn’t make it real.

Finchpaw wanted to shut his brain off. Firepaw always told him to stop thinking. If he stopped obsessing, then he would believe. He would find his faith… right? Finchpaw's anxiety grew threefold. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t keep questioning Them or They would never come, especially if he was challenging Their existence on holy ground. But it was like some terrible disease, like he couldn’t stop questioning and scoffing and mocking Them secretly in his head, even when he felt that choking guilt afterward. Even when his dad looked at him sadly, pitifully, or when Firepaw told him he was damned. Finchpaw just bounced back and forth, from believer to skeptic. He wanted to just settle on one of them. It would be easier if he just said he believed and then he wouldn't have those two on his back. Well...there was an idea.

He took a shaky step closer to the moonglade and lowered himself down with aching slowness. This was it. He should just plunge forward and find out, finally, if they were real or not. All questions answered, nothing more to be said. With that final thought, Finchpaw quickly took a mouthful of the water before he could jump back as if it was poisoned.

His first thought? It’s warm. Tastes like water. And Finchpaw chuckled at himself, because he was surprised by that fact. What did he think it was going to taste like—like stardust, or maybe warm milk?

And then he realized he was still thinking. He was still awake. This "magic Starclan water had failed to induce a long deep, Starclan-filled sleep. He stared at Brightnose. She was sleeping like a log, as was Badgernose. Did he…did he do something wrong? Finchpaw took another drink of the water and he closed his eyes and he waited a while, until he got thirsty again, and then he drank a sizable amount of water and found it quite refreshing. He tried to fall asleep again, but he was much too restless. Finchpaw finally gave up completely and he got to his feet. And for some reason, Finchpaw wasn’t distraught with grief. He wasn't bemoaning the fact he couldn't fall asleep. He wasn’t crying over his inability to connect with Starclan, he wasn’t thinking about how he had completely failed his father. He was, if anything, frustrated.

“This is annoying,” he mumbled to himself as he stared at his mentor. “And anti-climatic. And boring.”

And those three words would pretty much describe the rest of his medicine cat career.

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw: 8-9 moons old. This takes place right after "Fallen Trees" and "Not really hunting..."

Finchpaw was back in the forest, after spending only a few minutes in camp. It hadn’t taken long for Rowanheart to barge in, ask to “borrow” his son, and then direct Finchpaw to the woods. This was new. Never had Rowanheart wanted to speak to him outside of camp. They always had conversations in the medicine cat den or in the warrior den. Not this time. This time, his father was behind him, hissing at him to go further into the forest and Finchpaw was tremendously nervous.

Now Finchpaw would like to brag that he was no longer scared of his father… but that would most certainly be a lie. He was beyond petrified of what was going to happen now that Rowanheart had caught him talking to Frostpaw. In doing so, he had broken one of his father’s most important rules… really how could he have been so stupid? He should have run in the opposite direction when he saw Frostpaw. The last thing he should have done was say hello! He had even conducted a full conversation with the silver she-cat. A full conversation!

Which was… fun. The most fun that he had had in moons and as much as Finchpaw loathed himself for it, he knew that he was going to speak to her again. There was no way he was going to leave their conversation like that. Finchpaw was already hungry for more. He wanted to ask her countless questions. He wanted to learn about her. If Rowanheart wasn’t behind him right now, Finchpaw would have taken this opportunity to track down her scent and strike up another discussion.

“That’s good enough,” Rowanheart growled. “Now sit down, Finchpaw.”
Finchpaw obeyed without any hesitation.

“Finchpaw, look me in the eyes. I want to make sure that my words are getting into that thick head of yours!” Rowanheart said gruffly and with a glare. “Tell me Finchpaw. How do I feel about Frostpaw?”

Finchpaw swallowed his growl. Rowanheart was treating him like a kit again! He set his jaw, determined not to play along.

“Answer me!”

...Okay so maybe it was best if he cooperated and got this over with. Finchpaw let out a breath of air and he rolled his eyes, “You clearly hate her. Is that all? Can I go?”

Rowanheart went on, ignoring his son, much to Finchpaw’s irritation. “Yes, exactly. She is the most corrupt cat I have ever encountered and that includes those dirty Pineclanners. Even when you were kits, I told you to stay away from her. Finchpaw, she is a terrible cat, soulless, pitiless—dangerous!”

“So you want me to be afraid of my own clanmate?” Finchpaw challenged. “Rowanheart I’m sorry, but I was just talking with her! I…I…” his resolve was weakening as Rowanheart continued to stare at him relentlessly. “I… wasn’t doing … anything wrong, you didn’t even hear our conversation.”

“Alright then,” Rowanheart nodded and he sat down. His tail swished back and forth behind him. “Tell me what you talked about.”

Finchpaw’s breathing hitched. He couldn't tell his father any of that! His claws scratched feebly at the ground as he tried his best to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I… we talked about a lot of different things. Clan life. Training.”

“Lies,” Rowanheart snarled. “She’s a liar and she’s turning you into one! What did she say about Starclan? About me? What was she trying to do to you?!”

“Nothing!” Finchpaw lowered his head. “We just talked!”

“There will be no more of that then! No more, you hear me? Finchpaw, you are not allowed a fox-length near that cat. I will not permit it.”

“She’s not even that bad!” protested Finchpaw, and his strength was returning. He stood up. “She might disagree with you and yeah, she might mock you, but it’s not like you’re any nicer to her! In fact, ever stop to think that maybe she wouldn't be as "difficult" if you weren't so stubborn your--”

Rowanheart’s eyes glowered and he let out a low warning hiss. Finchpaw retreated a few steps and once again, his head lowered and his eyes fell on the dirt. Silence passed between father and son, as the tense air between them vibrated with unsaid words.

It was Rowanheart who broke this silence.

“Finchpaw,” Rowanheart’s tone was surprisingly affectionate and genuinely worried now, not a trace of anger gone. He had tucked it back inside himself. “There is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t do to keep you safe. Everything I do—every piece of prey that I catch, every enemy I battle, every prayer I send up to Starclan—is for you and your brother. Believe me when I say that Frostpaw will tear you apart. She will hurt you, son, and whatever silly infatuation you have for her must end.”

“It’s not some silly infatuation…it’s a sincere interest…” Finchpaw said weakly. He could not win. How did Frostpaw win against Rowanheart? What was her blasted secret?

“Call it what you must but she has no real heart. She toys with those who try to help her, to get to know her. She’s not actually trying to be your friend, Finchpaw, she's tricking you. She hates you.”

Not true, Finchpaw told himself feebly.

"She's laughing at you behind your back."

Finchpaw shook his head again. Rowanheart wouldn't get to him...

"She probably thinks you are weak."

So do you, Finchpaw nearly murmured but he had no more courage to say these words aloud.

"And," Rowanheart continued, "And she's just using you to get back at me."

There it was. Finchpaw’s head snapped up and he stared at his father, masking the enlightenment that had flooded him with Rowanheart’s last comment. All the other stuff... it was just words. The last comment was the truth, at least, to Rowanheart. Rowanheart wasn't thinking of HIM, not really! It was about Rowanheart. Rowanheart was protecting himself first from whatever “plan” Frostpaw had cooked up. But Finchpaw didn’t believe in Frostpaw’s devious “plan.” He had just spent a long while speaking to the she-cat, smiling and enjoying himself. She was not capable of deceit like that…and if she was, she would not use Finchpaw. Frostpaw would “get back” at Rowanheart directly. She was certainly capable of it.

Rowanheart’s words were laced with paranoia and Finchpaw would not fall for them, would not believe them. Frostpaw was not playing with his heart. The very thought made him want to laugh out loud. This wasn't a true lecture, but a plea.

“Finchpaw, do you now understand? Will you promise to stay away from that demon she-cat?”

Finchpaw desperately wanted to say no. He imagined himself doing it—saying no, telling the truth, watching the surprise on Rowanheart’s face unfold.

If he did that though, he would be stuck in this damn forest until he said yes. And he didn’t want that to happen. “Yes, I promise,” he lied. “I will not go near her.”

“Good. Now, do not feel frightened if she tries to speak to you, just ignore her and then come and find me—“

“Yes sir,” Finchpaw cut him off quickly. If he continued Finchpaw had a feeling he would lash out again. “May I go back to camp now?”

“Of course Finchpaw. I’m glad we had this talk.”

Finchpaw nodded pleasantly before he raced away in the opposite direction.

[/size]

[Whiskers]

Rowanheart

The first time he had caught Finchpaw with Frostpaw, Rowanheart had not panicked—at least, he didn’t panic as much as he could have. He acknowledged his son’s curiosity for the she-cat and found it…natural. Frostpaw was a confusing being. She made absolutely no sense, she was beyond reason and explanation, and because he vented enough about her to his sons, Rowanheart should have realized it would only invoke Finchpaw’s innate inquisitiveness. He would wish to “solve the puzzle” and “fix the problem.” He was that kind of cat.

But once he had talked with Finchpaw about his meeting with Frostpaw, and once he had crushed his son’s unusually loud and persistent protests, Rowanheart could breathe easy again. Finchpaw was smart enough to understand the implications of spending time with Frostpaw. There would not be another meeting.

Only there was.

Firepaw approached him with a miserable scowl right after the Gathering, just a handful of days later. He had, at first, danced around the subject, before he had finally blurted out his failure.

“I’m sorry, Dad!” Firepaw whined, “I did try to stop him and whatever, but he put on this face and said something about being a good brother and I just didn’t want to argue with him! He’s still out there with her though. I dunno, maybe he’s sick or something. Do you think he caught some kind of bug from being in the medicine cat den all this time? That could be way he’s acting crazy!”

“Calm down, Firepaw,” Rowanheart had soothed the young apprentice, “ Your brother… he may be soul-sick, but otherwise, his health is fine. Pray for him and hope that Starclan can lead him back into Their loving arms.” Rowanheart then sent Firepaw to the apprentice den and he went to bed, very, very upset.

This second encounter worried Rowanheart considerably more than he wished to say. He was questioning his own son’s judgment. After their last talk, Finchpaw should have learned his lesson. What was hindering him from making the right decision then? It couldn’t be his parenting…could it?! Had he possibly failed his son? Rowanheart looked over his past interactions with Finchpaw and sighed in relief. He had done nothing but be a wonderful, caring father to his son. Rowanheart was sure of this. Unless he was completely blind to something he had missed, Rowanheart knew that he had given Finchpaw love, care, and protection!

Rowanheart allowed himself to blame Finchpaw’s foolishness on something the young tom could hardly help: hormones. Finchpaw was a normal, healthy young tom cat with…with those normal, healthy young tom cat desires and though he should only give his love to Starclan, could Rowanheart really blame him if his son fell prey to those type of urges?

It did not make too much sense though. Frostpaw wasn’t the most beautiful cat in all of Fogclan. She was not even full grown yet and she always wore a permanent scowl. True, beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and perhaps Finchpaw held a secret fancy for cats of smooth silver-white fur and angry, soulless, pitiless eyes. To each his own, Rowanheart thought.

There really was no other explanation why Finchpaw would continue to pursue a conversation with Frostpaw, if not for those desires. That was the only, logical explanation. It was either that or Rowanheart was doing something wrong, and uh, he wasn’t doing anything wrong!

That was why he had approached his son and took him aside. “Finchpaw, I know that you are a smart cat and that you have already figured…it out for yourself, but I feel the need to talk to you about…it.”

Finchpaw’s eyes were genuinely confused. “Excuse me?”

“She-cats are tantalizing creatures, Finchpaw. As a fellow tom, I understand what you are going through when you feel those…feelings burning deep inside—“

“Dad!” Finchpaw hissed loudly as he backed up. A look of horror was on his face. “Why are you trying to talk to me about this?!”

“Well, son,” Rowanheart cleared his throat, “because of your ridiculous obsession with Frostpaw, I assumed that you were having those explicit and highly inappropriate—yet completely natural—urges toward that she-cat. While I don’t quite understand the attraction—”

“Dad, please, please shut up.”

“—I must inform you of why those urges are wrong. Well, not wrong. But not right. You see, when a tom cat loves a she-cat—though you don’t love Frostpaw—what I meant to say was…when a tom cat feels that stirring—“

“I’m leaving.”

After their little “talk,” Rowanheart was relieved of his worry. He knew that he had scared his son so much that he would not dare to approach Frostpaw now, or else he’d be faced with another talk. Rowanheart found the whole situation a bit amusing and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he thought about it.

For a while, everything was okay. Finchpaw continued to serve Starclan, Firepaw was a vibrant young apprentice, and he was a respected warrior in his beloved clan.

When Firepaw came to him, spitting curses left and right at Finchpaw’s name, Rowanheart’s heart sunk further and further. Because now, with the third reported meeting of Finchpaw and Frostpaw, Rowanheart realized that maybe talks would not save his son’s soul after all.

Now, drastic measures would have to be taken.

[/blockquote]

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw: Right after Mistpelt's Takeover

The clan meeting was over. Owlstar was gone. As the cats began to disperse in a much too quiet manner, Finchpaw’s feet did not move. His eyes, on the other hand, would not stay on just one cat; his gaze bounced around, pinpointing cat after cat as he wondered how they could have let this happen. Owlstar chased away and with a few of their very own clanmates? He couldn’t wrap his head around this. He needed to...to…

Talk. He needed to talk to Frostpaw.

Where was she? Finchpaw finally kicked his body into gear as he yanked himself up from the ground and began to scour the camp for the she-cat. When he didn’t automatically see her, he assumed the only logical thing: she was in the apprentice den. He bounded toward the den, not thinking of what the others would say when he requested Frostpaw’s company.

“Frostpa—“

The ginger medicine cat apprentice stopped before the rest of the name could be uttered. She was not in the den. No, in fact, only a few apprentices were. Firepaw was one of them.

His brother’s eyes became a smoldering yellow and they narrowed considerably. “Frostpaw?” Firepaw repeated for Finchpaw.

Finchpaw lowered his own eyes, scuffled his paws against the ground. This was awkward.

“You’re here to see Frostpaw after what just happened? Not your own brother? You came for her and not for me? You piece of –”

There it was, the thundering of Firepaw’s anger, growing closer and closer. He was about to blow up. In the apprentice den. Over nothing but a name. Finchpaw didn’t want that to happen in front of all his fellow apprentices so he said in a calm murmur, “Firepaw, I suggest we talk elsewhere.”

“Oh so now you want to talk to me?! What about your precious Frostpaw? I can go get her for you-- no, really, I'm happy too!”

“Firepaw! Please!”

Firepaw glowered at Finchpaw, before he jerked up from where he sat and then stalked past Finchpaw. Finchpaw took this actoin as a yes, and he took after his brother, relieved that he had managed to move the upcoming fight out of the den.

Firepaw slipped out of camp, but only by a few pawsteps, before he stopped and spun around.

“What the hell, Finchpaw?” Firepaw hissed, in a surprisingly low, quiet voice. He sounded angry, yes, but there was something more there, something Finchpaw could not place.

Finchpaw ducked his head. “Firepaw, listen—“

“No. No way. You’ll just tell me some lie about how it was a slip of your tongue or something. And I’m not even upset about that—well damnit, yes I am. Because it is all about her these days. Frostpaw, Frostpaw, Frostpaw! How many times have you lied to me—lied to Dad, to Brightnose—to go see that piece of crowfood? Nine, ten, eleven? Have you lost count?” Firepaw spat.

“Firepaw, I have no idea what you’re saying, I don't see—”

“Cut the crap,” his brother growled. “I know you’ve seen her and been with her. Sometimes, I even smell her disgusting scent on your fur when you trot back into camp after a long day of “herb collecting.””

Finchpaw felt his mood shift now. The bristle of his fur, the instinct to rake his claws against the ground. “Let’s not talk about Frostpaw,” he said smoothly. If they did, he’d get angry.

“It’s about her though. You ditched ME for HER. You sent me to Pineclan borders, nearly got me in trouble, while you pranced off to that piece of dirt and laughed about it behind my back! I’m sure you did. You sided with her at the clan meeting—damnit, you supported Owlstar and you know how much I suffered, how much I had to deal with when I was her apprentice! What, do you not even…do you hate me now? Is that it?” The anger faltered on his brother’s face and Firepaw’s eyes grew so much wider and they were so, so sad.

That look thrust Finchpaw back into his kithood. There he was—he could see himself now—barely bigger than a mouse, facing his brother, watching the hurt dance across his face once again.

“But… we won’t see each other. We won’t be best friends anymore, will we?”

“Of course we will Firekit. You’re my brother. Nothing will change.”

Everything had changed.

Finchpaw blinked and looked at Firepaw, in the present this time, and he couldn’t see him anymore. Where was his brother? Did he know? In a situation like this, Finchpaw knew it was best to just lie. Lie through his teeth and convince Firepaw it was the absolute truth.

“You’re my best friend Firepaw,” said Finchpaw as earnestly as he could manage, “of course I don’t hate you. I love you. You’re my brother, we’re…we’re brothers. So just because I’m friends with Frostpaw doesn’t mean that—“

“It does mean that! Finchpaw, you’re such a liar!” hissed Firepaw. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you? I’m not though. I can see that you like Frostpaw and I know that you like her more than you like me!” A tear in his brother’s voice. “ And I know that you’re not who you say you are. Falconpaw told me about what you said in the medicine cat den, about Starclan. You don’t believe in them, do you? You’re just like you were as a kit, damaged and stupid!”

Lie, lie through your teeth. Lie so that even you believe it.

“You’re wrong!” Finchpaw exclaimed and the horror he felt was portrayed as surprise and hurt instead. “I’m a medicine cat apprentice, Firepaw, I have to believe! I go to the moonglade and I…I see them, Firepaw. I see them all the time, I get dreams from them!” Were his words too rushed? “You’re just angry that I tricked you, that I choose Frostpaw over you sometimes—I shouldn’t do that. We were brothers before I knew her so you should always come first. I’m sorry. I’m deeply sorry that I hurt you. But… I need you to try to understand how I feel about Frostpaw—no, no not like that!” He backpedaled, his fur standing on end. He felt unusually hot.

“Like I believe any of that.”

“Firepaw, you’re not being fair—“

“You’re the one keeping secrets from me and I’m not being fair?!” growled Firepaw. “Keeping secrets-- that’s not what a brother does!”

Finchpaw growled in frustration and he shut his eyes, dug his claws into the soil. “I’m not keeping secrets from you.”

“Oh really? Okay then. What do you think of Mistpelt?”

This was dangerous territory. Finchpaw tread carefully. “I think she’s an excellent deputy and she’ll make a gr—”

“Why didn’t you support her then, during the clan meeting? Why did you speak against her and her dream?”

“Because that was the truth, Firepaw. I haven’t gotten a dream from Starclan—”

Firepaw’s eyes sparked. “You just said you got dreams from Starclan all the time.”

“I—”

“You’re lying to me again,” Firepaw seethed. “Right now. You’re lying. I see it!”

“No, I’m not!”

“You’re doing it right now!”

“Firepaw—“

"Do you believe in Starclan, Finchpaw?”

“Yes!”

“You’re lying! Do you believe in Starclan?”

“Yes!”

“Stop lying to me!” And with a yowl, Firepaw barreled into him and knocked the wind out of the medicine cat apprentice. Finchpaw’s body was captured under Firepaw’s larger one and there was a flurry of claws as both the brothers fought—for different reasons. Firepaw, out of anger, Finchpaw, to break free.

How different it was from a playfight! Finchpaw had never been in an actual fight before and he was at a terrible advantage. Here was Firepaw, nearly a warrior, a cat who had trained for moons how to defend and kill, if necessary. Then there was him, the skinny, weak medicine cat apprentice who could only flail around like a kit. Who would win? It was obvious to Finchpaw before he felt the sting of Firepaw’s claws rake across his face and neck as Firepaw managed to pin him down for good. No amount of struggling would help.

He felt warm liquid drip down his face and Finchpaw knew he was bleeding. And the first thing he thought was how good it was he had cobwebs stocked up in the den.

The brothers’ locked eyes for a second before Firepaw spat in Finchpaw’s face in disgust and hauled himself off his smaller brother. “You don’t trust me? Fine. I don’t trust you. You don’t want me in your life? Fine. Consider me gone.”

And he left. Just like that.

It was the shock of the event that just occurred that probably kept Finchpaw from crying like a kit, or from chasing after Firepaw. Instead, he just got himself up and stared after his brother. Then, the stinging on his cheek and neck returned and he decided he should go to the den. Might as well fix his face.

It was only when he walked in the den and Brightnose gave him a very curious gaze, her mouth slightly open, ready to ask a question, when he realized what had just happened.

Firepaw wasn’t going to forgive him.

He…didn’t have a brother anymore.

[/blockquote]