Posts by WOLFBITE!

During the most recent meeting, three former loners had received warrior names. Tansy had become Hollyshade, Rose had become Rosevenom, and Rowan had become Rowanfang. And Wolfsbane...well, he'd been a WindClanner for five moons and still hadn't changed his name. He was a mentor but he still had a rogue name. Morningstar, he was certain, would be willing to change his name if he asked but Wolfsbane couldn't bring himself to request a new name. His name was part of him, something that he'd always had. It might not define him as much as a warrior name would, but although he'd carved out a spot for himself in WindClan's hierarchy, Wolfsbane didn't always feel like a warrior. He felt like himself. He wanted a new name, he craved one, but changing his name would be denying who he was. If all a name change would accomplish would be to signal that he was a WindClanner, the chocolate tom had an idea that would have more meaning.

His broad face was marred by distinctive scarring. Two long gashes cut across the bridge of his nose, a mark that was mirrored on the faces of every tom who'd ever lived in Liverpool's group. Their women had notches in their ears, a more subtle sign of who they served. Wolfsbane wasn't going to be so quick to change his name but he wanted to change those scars. He wanted to cover them, take away the meaning they held, but he couldn't do it alone. He couldn't bring himself to leave a gash on his face. Who to ask? Ideally, Morningstar would do it, just as Morningstar would be the one who would change his name, but Wolfsbane didn't feel comfortable asking him. Flint? The newly returned tom had seen Wolfsbane at his worst. It was fitting that he would help Wolfsbane show his best.

Heading toward the grey warrior, he called, "Flint? I need a favor."

Cyaniphier

Flint, of course, was running through drills, honing himself to a sharp edge. It seemed to Wolfsbane that wasn't something enough warriors did. They practiced in pairs or in small groups but how many of them, comfortable with their lifestyle, worked so hard alone? More than he might imagine, certainly, but less than he wanted. Flint's perspective, like it or not, was still a rogue perspective—and like it or not, that was a strength. He was more cautious of strangers, quicker to think of security. Living in WindClan wasn't living as a civilian but the warriors here weren't fighting the same battles that rogues faced daily.

A small stab of satisfaction shot through him as Flint's head shot up and the other tom faltered. Wolfsbane's gaze was drawn to his trembling muscles and sweat stained pelt. Flint had been working hard and the evidence was plain as the sand beneath his paws or the sky above his head.

Part of him, at that moment, wanted to turn back. Flint was the most fitting cat to ask this favor from but Flint had betrayed him. Wolfsbane had viewed him as a rogue-turning-to-WindClanner, someone whose methods he could copy and advice he could trust, but Flint had run off. Flint had run off, and he was a different cat than Wolfsbane had thought, just as Wolfsbane himself wasn't the same feline that Flint had known. He'd become a WindClanner, and although Morningstar didn't trust him, the Clan (mostly) did. That wasn't something Wolfsbane had seen coming for a long time.

What else had changed? Too much. He was a mentor. He was supposed to pass down his knowledge to Olivepaw. It might be a test from Morningstar, a question of how well he really fit in, but some degree of trust had to have been given before Morningstar made such a decision. He was a father. Had Flint met the two apprentice who, although not biologically his own, Wolfsbane was trying to raise? Amberpaw and Adderpaw were developing into amazing cats, and although Wolfsbane knew that wasn't because of him alone, he was immeasurably proud of them. He hadn't complained when Eaglestar had ordered Amberpaw down a warrior's path although Wolfsbane had never imagined that he'd have a daughter who could hunt and fight. He wasn't a cat who needed a shadow to keep him out of trouble but a cat who identified as, and could be identified as, a WindClan warrior. His childhood still haunted him but the cut that Flint would make wouldn't just erase the physical scars. It would symbolically destroy the part of him that was still tied to Liverpool and that lived in fear of his father.

"A favor," he affirmed. "You've heard of them, right?" He was almost certain that it was the wrong approach but old habits died hard and Wolfsbane felt himself falling into the familiar pattern of trying to gain the upper hand over Flint. His gaze turned downward for a moment, searching the golden sands as he tried to reorient himself.

Roughly, he gestured with a paw upward, as close as he could to the two long marks on the bridge of his nose. "These scars are from my father. They mean that I'm his. I'm part of his family and way of life." They meant so much more. They meant moons of laughter and tussling. They meant he had someone to impress. They meant family, but Wolfsbane was quickly recognizing the difference between his old family and the new one he'd begun when he adopted Amberpaw and Adderpaw. The former was toxic, the latter something he was intent on keeping healthy.

Raising yellow eyes to Flint, he said, "I want you to get rid of them. Make them into something else." He couldn't do it alone, couldn't purposefully draw his own blood; Flint seemed to have no trouble doing that but Wolfsbane wasn't Flint. He could imagine some of the questions Flint might have and if the other chose to ask them, Wolfsbane only hoped that he'd content himself with the how and why. The why of his who ought to be clear enough, but if it wasn't, he wasn't sure how he'd even begin to explain it.

Like Tallpaw, Wolfsbane wasn't the most social cat. He wasn't shy but despite his moons in WindClan, he still felt a step out of tune when it came to the banalities that his Clanmates chit-chatted about. He could stand short conversations about the weather or an interesting thing someone had seen, but he was an outsider looking in, trying his best to pretend that he understood the throb behind what made WindClan, WindClan.

The chocolate warrior recalled a similar meet and greet just a moon or so earlier. It had been hosted by one of the apprentices, and although he didn't recall which, he remembered what he'd said. This time, in an effort to be more pleasant, he fixed his steady yellow gaze on Tallpaw and asked, "Why did you decide to host this?"

Rolling his shoulders, he added, "I'm Wolfsbane." Most of them probably knew that, or so he assumed, and rather than add anything trivial, he added, "If you have any questions about me, you can ask." (And he was closemouthed enough that he'd probably give the briefest of answers but he was trying, and the thought was what counted, wasn't it?)

Useless wasn't a word that Wolfsbane would choose to describe his sister, and the few times he'd heard others calling her that, a pale glare had been enough to make them stop—until he was out of earshot, anyway. His and Grace's upbringing hadn't prepared them for life in WindClan in the slightest, and although the adjustment had been hard, he was grateful that Jasperstar had given them the chance. Although Wolfsbane had often mulled over his own struggles in settling in, how often had he thought about Grace's?

Light eyes turning to the familiar molly at her stumbled request, he had to admit that he hadn't devoted nearly as much of his energy to Grace's wellbeing as he had to his own. The realization was uncomfortable, not least because he'd been raised to be her protector. He'd been happy to shoo her to the nursery but not once had it occurred to him that he'd be doing her a better service if he encouraged her to learn to hunt.

He couldn't change the moons that had passed (and really, it was selfish to blame them all on himself) but he could do his part to show her that he supported her in this. Wolfsbane's opinion might not change Grace's mind, but if he seemed upset with her learning to hunt, it might give her pause. Aiming to keep his tone even and light, he called toward the group, "You won't want too many cats along...but good luck."

In an ideal world, Wolfaben thought that weekly tasks wouldn't be necessary. Cats would see what needed to be done and do it, although he had to admit that a fair number of these tasks were more about morale than duty. Besides, few enough cats had their heads screwed on right to realize what needed to be done (and like it or not, he was probably one of them). Drawing up beside Grace, his stride powerful in contrast to her more awkward one, he offered, "I'll take one."

Another meeting. Glancing up from the hare he'd been about to begin munching, Wolfsbane reluctantly pushed the prey back toward the freshkill pile. Unlike Duckpaw, he couldn't finished eating in a few heartbeats, especially considering that he hadn't begun. Wandering over to the group, he trained his pale eyes on Morningstar.

And, just like that, they were back in the same place they'd been a few moons earlier, sparring with verbal claws since they'd learned better than to use their physical claws. Wolfsbane could almost predict how the next few minutes would play out. They'd trade words and misunderstand each other, speaking until they strayed too close to the uncomfortable. Wolfsbane would hate Flint and feel superior to him in turns, and Flint would probably feel the same way. At some point, Flint would start chewing his cheek again, the hare-brained fool, and Wolfs would use the sluggish blood as an excuse to make his escape. Their script always played out along similar lines as though they were actors with no minds of their own, directed by a writer they couldn't see.

Not this time. Wolfsbane wasn't going to be bound by anyone else's chains. His shackles were shackles that he'd chosen, the shackles of honor and family and duty. He might not know his fate but he knew enough to be sure that it wasn't the same one it had been when he'd left Liverpool's group, nor the same one if had been the first time he'd fought Flint. It wasn't the same one it had been when Flint had disappeared. Wolfsbane had thought that he needed Flint to teach him morality, to help him become a warrior, but he'd been wrong. He'd worked on himself until he was near breaking point. He'd made himself into who he was, and he wasn't going to let himself roll back into the same patterns that he'd fought to change.

Instead of meeting the sarcasm with more sarcasm, he paused and murmured, "We're both warriors, Flint. Maybe that's what we should be on." An odd pair of warrior they made, to be sure, but they were warriors nonetheless. Someday, perhaps, they'd manage to act like comrades to each other, but even if they couldn't do that now, putting it on the table was a start.

Flint would be wondering exactly when he'd gotten so soft in the head, Wolfsbane realized. He let out a low snort, pale eyes rising to search for any sign of confusion or disgust on the other's face. Flint was an open book, too blunt to hide behind a pretty mask and charming words. He was pure physicality, using his body not just as a tool but as a weapon. Reading him shouldn't be hard, not to someone like Wolfsbane, who masked his intentions behind a polished veneer, who had spent too much time on a leash that was tied to Flint's wrist.

He kept his head bent just enough to let Flint examine the marks easily. Of all the scars on his body, did anyone even notice these two? They weren't exactly subtle, and anyone looking him in the eye had to know them, but for all he knew they were dwarfed by the deep grooves that Flint had left on his shoulders or the silvery lines that cut across his pelt in half a dozen places. They might have meaning only to him, and in a way that made having someone else examine them so thoroughly uncomfortable. It was as though he was baring himself to Flint, and the part of him that had always felt at odds with the other tom wanted to growl and smack the other male away, turning those swampy eyes in a different direction altogether. Of course, as was becoming second nature, he restrained himself, waiting until Flint was finished before lifting his head back up, meeting the other's gaze.

He could read the question written in the lines of Flint's face and body almost as though it had been asked and he found himself pathetically grateful that the query wasn't made verbal. He wasn't sure what he'd say or how he'd begin to answer it and, as always, the uncertainty made him uncomfortable. He was offering Flint a degree of trust by asking him specifically to do this, and that might be more than Flint wanted or was willing to accept. To put that it words, though...well, he'd gotten soft but he wasn't that soft yet.

Perhaps it was because he had his own thoughts to concern himself with or perhaps, for once, he just wasn't trying to gain the upper hand, but Wolfsbane didn't seem to notice the panic swirling just past Flint's confident façade. His maw twitched upward as he received an answer, a faint microexpression that disappeared almost at once. Shrugging with nonchalant ease that he didn't totally feel, he tried, "Anyway you want."

Trust. There it was again, that vulnerable little thing that was so easily torn to shreds. Flint might sense that, but if he knew Flint as well as he thought he did, the other wouldn't comment (except, perhaps, sarcastically) and would act.

He just hoped he wouldn't regret offering it.

Blossompaw and Chillypaw had matured from the pair of kits who'd been separated from each other, and their willingness to repair the walls proved that. Wolfsbane, of course, approved. The conversation interested him too, if only because it meant that they were using their brains, something he tended to assume that too many cats forgot to do. Running an amused eye over Milkkit, he explained to Blossompaw, "More things can blow into the territory, rain and hazards, but we're able to see them better as well. A badger could hide behind ThunderClan's trees but on the moor there's no room to hide." Pausing, he locked eyes with her and concluded, "There's going to be downsides to any territory but complaining about them won't change them." He wasn't an optimist but surely it was better not to waste the time on things that wouldn't change.

Wolfsbane was on guard duty, watching the camp for any sign of danger. Every warrior had to do it at one point or another, and if his name had been called on the rotation less often than usual lately, it reflected WindClan's growing numbers. Tonight, however, he had guard duty.

His eyes didn't seem to agree with the job. They felt heavy and ached, and it was a struggle to keep them open. As the sun began to rise, the chocolate warrior breathed out a sight of relief. He'd managed. The camp would be stirring soon, the early patrol gathering to leave, and he'd be able to rest.

Except, at some point before the camp actually stirred, he couldn't stop his eyes from gluing shut, and the next thing he knew, the camp was ringing with the sounds of grunts and howls. Dogs! Guilt rose in his chest at the realization that, had he been awake, he could have raised the alarm earlier, but stubborn practicality won. A few minutes of earlier notice might not have made a difference but hesitating now would.

So, with little further thought, he joined the battle, snapping at the dogs and trying to keep them from the nursery and elder's den. The dogs were larger than he'd imagined, strong brutes that seemed to move with a mindless ferocity. At more than one point he felt their hot breath against his pelt and jerked away, sometimes escaping danger and twice was rewarded with a burst of pain as claws or teeth cut his flesh.

Upon hearing Eaglespirit's call, he cut his eyes toward the senior warrior for a fraction of a second. Of course. He should have had the perception to realize that, but as he hadn't, all he could do was obey. Wolfsbane pulled back, assessing the scene and called, "Blossompaw, run." Kid was going to end up dazed or dead at the rate she was going, and she presented a good enough target that the dog she was fighting might follow her away. As for himself, Wolfsbane prepared to leap back into the fray and follow Eaglespirit's advice in herding the dogs away.

Ever since the dogs had been led away and the thrill of battle had left him, Wolfsbane had been in a daze. The attack had been sudden, too quick to even process. He'd gone from sleep to battle in a matter of seconds, and the energy that had driven him had quickly faded away. His head throbbed and blood matted the fur of his ear and leg, where he'd sustained wounds.

But there was no time to sit and recover. The Clan had to move on, so he sluggishly headed toward the meeting spot, falling into place behind his sister. The first news concerned Morningstar and had he not been so exhausted, Wolfsbane might have managed to feel grief. There had always been a barrier between him and the leader but since Morningstar's ascension to leadership, it had slowly begun to corrode. The first seeds of trust had been planted between them, but they would never be given a chance to blossom.

Lizardbounce would become leader now, and while he was gone, Mammon would be in charge. Mammon? But Eaglespirit was senior warrior! Of course, Eaglespirit was injured, and it made sense to leave a healthy cat in charge...but why not him? Because, Wolfsbane realized bitterly, he'd have to prove himself again. He'd had to prove himself to Jasperstar, to Eaglestar, to Morningstar. He'd thought that he had a decent rapport with Lizardbounce but leadership made cats view the world differently. He'd have to prove himself all over again.

(Except that Mammon was even newer than him. Was it his background, then, or did Lizardbounce just think that Mammon was better suited for the job?)

Next, two welcomes. Wolfsbane turned dull yellow eyes to the two newcomers, gaze snapping to Grace as his littermate raised her voice. A new name. She was taking a Clan name. He ought to do that too. Clawing over the scars Liverpool had marked him with wasn't the same change as requesting a Clan name, but as he raised his voice to ask for one too, his chest froze up. He couldn't. Grace might be ready to become Fawnfrost but he was still Wolfsbane, cowardly as that was. Weakly, he offered Fawnfrost a smile, trying to pretend at though he didn't begrudge her the strength it must have taken to make such a big change.

The scent of blood was like a beacon, attracting WindClanners as though they were moths to a fire. Upon arrival, Wolfsbane's gaze fell almost immediately to the torn body the albino queen and her children. The blood seemed stark against their ivory pelts, a brilliant crimson that made him want to shudder.

Pale eyes rising to his two Clanmates, Wolfsbane let a mask slip over his face. Deal with the problem first, grieve for the orphaned child later - if indeed he could bring himself to grieve for cats he didn't know. As Snake suggested bringing the kit to the camp, Wolfsbane announced, "I'll check to make sure whatever did this is gone. Once the kit is settled in, could one of you come back to help me bury the bodies so that they don't attract predators?" Poor kid. He'd gain a new family now, and at least he was young enough that he shouldn't remember the trauma that had brought him to WindClan.

// welcome!

They always crowded strangers, didn't they? Wolfsbane's maw curled as he regarded the scene before him. If the cats were aggressive, a show of strength might be necessary, but the two kittypets looked as meek as mice. If they were accepted, they'd have an easier time adjusting than he'd had moons earlier.

Cutting his eyes to Lizardstar as the new leader deliberated, Wolfsbane moved to stand in line with his Clanmates. "This is Lizardstar - " he indicated the three legged leader, explaining the reason for the lull in conversation. "He's in charge and will give you an answer."

It was always strange to see Tort and Snake together. The little spitfire became soft and shy around her mate, a change that Wolfsbane always had trouble watching. It was unsettling. Ears perking as she made her announcement, he glanced toward Minkpaw and Rulindil, trying to take his cues from them. Congratulations? It struck him as an entirely neutral thing to say, but considering his less than stellar relationship with both parents, he stiffly offered it. "Congratulations."

Wolfsbane hadn't expected to be volunteered as a shadow and a small, petty part of him perked up at the thought of returning to the camp and showing Flint just how much the tables had turned. He offered Lizardstar a slow nod, attention returning to Ariel as the young molly explained that she didn't want to be separated from her brother. Although he'd been in a similar situation when he'd joined WindClan, and had fought to remain with his siblings, he couldn't find it within himself to sympathize with her. Separation was inevitable. He might have explained his thoughts if Snake and the newcomers hadn't started sniping. Beneath his breath (because he had learned to censor himself) Wolfsbane muttered, "Might be better if Snakeleap returned to the city." What exactly had the tom done since joining WindClan? Nothing of value, although Wolfsbane's opinion was colored by the accusation Snake had hurtled at him the first time they'd talked.

Bubbles and Ariel seemed perfectly capable of defending themselves against Snake's mockery. They seemed to be here out of desperation, and desperation made for one of the best teachers. The twins would sink or swim, and he and Duckpaw would be the lifeguards teaching them how to float. If not for the bragging rights against Flint, he wasn't sure how comfortable he'd actually be with the job.

As Lizardstar turned and indicated that the new apprentices should follow him, Wolfsbane shifted to the side, offering the two more room.

Ever since she'd returned, his niece had been different. Something had happened to her at the barn but Wolfsbane didn't have the faintest clue as to what it was or whether he should ask her about it. Considering the trauma he'd once caused Petal, he was leery of approaching her about anything that might ruin the tentative peace that had formed between them.

He'd just entered the camp when a sharp hiss caught his attention. Shoulders tensing, his pale gaze shot toward Petal and Rulindil, and although the former was probably at fault, his first instinct was to blame the latter. Shouldering his way over, he bluntly ordered Rulindil, "Leave her be."

He was alarmed to notice the blood dripping from Petal's mouth. Wolfsbane had been around Flint enough to know exactly where Petal had picked up the habit of chewing her cheek and it didn't make him happy. Stupid caring, insecure Flint. Of course he was a bad influence on the cat he loved. Wolfsbane could almost imagine the way Flint would react if he pointed that out, but he forced his paws to remain still. "Petal." He breathed out softly, looking toward the girl and debating what to do. He was getting in over his head. Comforting cats had never been his strong point, particularly when that cat happened to be this one. "Let's you and I sit down. Ignore him; you'll be fine."