266 comments

  • Do your characters ask for names in the story? Because apparently mine do not.
    Here, Ima just post a couple of stuff.

    “Sure. We always have room for more contestants. Considering the fact that I heard a loner and two freelanders had joined the battle willingly as well, which makes the number of tributes thirteen, which Katainia’s five-oriented mind decided that there would be fifteen tributes. So you can fill up the fourteenth slot,” replied the samoyed. Katainia? Were they the one to start this battle? 

    “But mister dragon, if you entered in the battle yourself, would you mind if you bring Larkspur out of this?” asked Blink, blinking. “No, I do not enjoy constantly bickering with that dog-seal about which side of the border that fish had been caught on. But it’s normal, and it would be very weird if that dog-seal’s land had been taken over by a camp instead.”

    Just saying, “Mister Dragon” refers to Lake.

    Here’s another example:

    “Did ‘ya even ask for aer name?” barked her half-sister, Caelus, folding her light blue eagle wings.

    “Umm…no,” replied Okeamos. “And I won’t bother. I don’t think I even asked for any of the tributes that aren’t ‘Larkspur’ or ‘Firian’.”

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  • I rewrote this today! Its the prologue to my prequel, which I’m not actually writing yet, but I was stuck with my current writing so I decided to write something difference. Critique is always welcome!

    [spoiler title=”A bit gruesome in some spots I guess, involves a frightened, injured child. “] The clear night sky was stained with smoke and tinged with the light of the blood red embers and flames. The scorched lawn is littered with the remnants of what had at one point probably been a lovely home, but the man observing through the van window had arrived far too late to see any of the excitement. 
    He flattened down the front of his uniform as he stepped gingerly out of the door, nodding to the soldier who had opened it for him. Frowning, he rubbed out an ember in the grass with the toe of his boot, surveying the scene. 
    The house was still blazing, the fire casting dancing shadows over the dark shapes lain out like gruesome Halloween decorations. “What a disaster,” he muttered, kicking at a smoldering lawn chair. 
    Briskly, he walked through the destruction, ignoring the heat that licked at his skin as he approached a figure hunched over two crumpled forms. “Any luck?” he asked, peering over the medic’s shoulder. 
    “Both are dead, General,” the medic replied, rising to their feet. 
    “And very much so, it seems,” the General observed lightly, looking down at the two corpses. They had been husband and wife, if he recalled correctly, although the later was just a guess, given that the second body was burned beyond the point of recognition. The husband’s dark brown skin was slick with blood, his hand outstretched towards his wife as if to take her hand one last time. 
    “They had children, did they not?” he asked, stepping delicately over the broken bodies and observing the crackling flames with mild interest. 
    “They did,” one of his soldiers confirmed, raising their voice to be audible over the roar of the fire. 
    “And?” the General prompted, his eyes still on the blaze. 
    “We’ve found the older one,” the soldier said, kicking at a blackened garden gnome, “Or, what’s left of her, at least.” He nodded towards a small shape being carried away by several medics.
     The General frowned at the sight of blood already beginning to spread across the white sheet covering the body, and shook his head. “A terrible waste. The boy?” 
    “We’re still looking,” the soldier replied, and the General returned his attention to the house. It was ringed with his officers, all trying to extinguish the blaze, but the fire was burning on unheedingly. 
    He let out a long sigh, glancing over his shoulder at the soldier. “We’re likely too late, at this point. But alert me if you find anything,” he added, turning away from the house once again. “I’m going back to the base.”
    “Yes, sir,” the soldier replied, giving their commanding officer a sharp salute. 
    The General picked his way amongst the ashes, the fire casting long shadows on his face as the flames continued to consume the house that had once been a home. He rubbed at his eyes with a soot stained hand, trying to protect them from the smoke filling the air. It smelled of burning wood and smoldering flesh. 
    “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered to himself, glancing down as his foot bumped against something. A toy truck, the kind a small child could ride on, smiled up at him with a painted cartoon face, and he scowled back. The General nudged it aside, wondering why he had decided to see the wreckage at all. 
    Shoulder hunched, he trudged down the driveway, back towards the vehicles waiting for him. Then, he paused, his boots crunching against the gravel as he strained to catch the sound he desperately wanted to have heard. 
    “Momma,” a weak voice wailed, just barely audible over the flames. “Mommaaaa!” The man’s eyes widened, and he spun towards the small garage that sat adjacent to the house. The roof was ablaze, with flames grasping for its walls, but it seemed to be otherwise intact. 
    “Douse the garage!” the General shouted, waving an arm up in the air, “The boy’s inside!” He jogged back up the driveway, until the air turned hot with the fire’s kiss. Rolling up the sleeves of his jacket, he held out his hands towards the garage, ignoring the sting of sparks against his palms. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, just stood. Focusing. 
    Slowly, a slight shimmer of falling water droplets began to form, as the General wrestled the meager condensation from the air. Boots smacked against the gravel as soldiers gathered beside him, the fire hissing angrily as the fall of water grew thicker. 
    After a few moments, the fire quailed, quieting down to a soft crackle. The General snatched an ax from the nearest person, attacking the garage door alongside his soldiers. As soon as there was a sizable hole, he ducked down, squeezing himself inside.
    The garage was dimly lit, brightened only by the specks of flame visible through the crevices in the walls and the wounds in the ceiling. The roof moaned ominously, making the General jump. Glancing uneasily at the singed support beams, he cleared his throat, wincing as the hot, smoky air reached his lungs.
    “Hey, kid, where are you?” he called, peeking behind a large bookshelf leaning precariously against the wall. “We’re here to help you.”
    A soft whimper escaped from behind a stack of dusty boxes, followed by a soft sniffle. 
    The General crouched down beside the boxes, his pants gathering soot as he knelt. He stared at the small boy cowering in the corner.  
    It almost hurt just to look at him. 
    The kid was at most five, and his face was streaked with tears, and his curly black hair was caked with ashes. His shirt, adorned with cartoon trains, was burnt away at one shoulder, and the General could see angry burns snaking up across the child’s neck. He glanced up at the General, eyes widening with fear. The boy shrank away, letting out a soft cry of alarm. 
    “Hi, little guy,” the General murmured, trying to summon up a friendly smile. He bent down further so that he could extend a hand towards the cowering child. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 
    “I want my mom,” the kid whimpered. The General swallowed hard, the smile faltering. His chest hurt, and not just from the flames. 
    “Your mom’s waiting outside, okay?” he said. It wasn’t strictly a lie. The ceiling creaked again, and the General stretched his hand out farther. “We need to go see her.” 
    “Sir, get out of there, it’s not safe!” one of the soldiers hollered from outside, making the little boy flinch. 
    “It’s going to be just fine,” the man whispered soothingly, edging his way closer to the child. The little boy looked up at the General, dark eyes searching his face, then reached out his arms to be picked up. With a small smile, the General scooped up the child, patting him gently on his back.
    “It’s going to be just fine,” he repeated, carefully covering the boy’s eyes with one hand so that he wouldn’t see his burning house or the broken bodies of his parents as he ducked back through the hole in the battered garage. “I’m going to take good care of you.” 
    The General glanced sideways at the whimpering child, the smile on his face broadening. 
    The boy was like a phoenix, he thought, reborn from the ashes. Whether any of them liked it or not, they were all pawns in a bigger battle. But the boy’s parents had been powerful mages, and, with the right training, he could eclipse them both. 
    “The next time you see fire, you’ll be the one setting it,” he murmured to the child. “We’ll make them burn for all they’ve done.” 

    [/spoiler]
    Also no one in this is named in the text because I felt like it added to the sort of lack of clarity of the narrative, but the General’s name is Paris Fuertan, and as you may have guessed by that last line, he’s not as nice as he seems. The kid’s name is Alexander, and he’s baby Xander Crayton, a very important figure in my book.

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    • FLAME THIS WRITING IS JUST 💚💚❤️😎🙂💜🧡😃👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽
      I’ll turn my back to you, both stars and blood alike.

      Reply

  • I guess the middle of the night is the best time to come up with stories. 😛 I came up with all the dialogue in this while I was lying in bed last night.

    Anyways, I’m super satisfied with this little scene I wrote. I feel that I managed to make it super sweet and that’s always been my goal when writing about these two.

      It was night. Darkness filled the room, and although the moon was full its light could not penetrate through the closed blinds.
      Under her blanket, Dusty shivered.
      “Sandy,” she whispered to her sister, who was above her on the top bunk, “I’m afraid of the dark.”
      “The dark can’t hurt you,” Sandy reassured her in a soft mutter. Dusty heard her roll over in her bed.
      Clutching her blanket, Dusty tried to fall asleep, but shadows seemed to move across the room and she couldn’t help but imagine something hiding in every corner.
      “Sandy,” she whispered again, “I’m a scaredy-cat.”
      “I know you are, featherduster!” Sandy scoffed, her cluck filled with affection despite her teasing tone.
      Then her wing hung down from her bunk, beckoning to Dusty. “Come on up,” she invited, “You’ll feel safer here.”
      Hastily, Dusty crawled up the ladder, feeling instant relief as she snuggled up next to her sister.
      “It’s okay now, Dusty,” Sandy murmured as Dusty closed her eyes. She wrapped her wing around Dusty with a yawn, “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

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  • I often get writer’s block, and during those times writing complete books has been hard for me- whether it’s a novel or a short story. I sometimes end up procrastinating or giving up.

    A while ago I really wanted to write something, but I still had writer’s block and was by then fed up with it. So I decided to give up on the idea of making a book for now, and just write some random scenes with my characters without worrying if they’ll seem complete or not.

    I found it really easy and enjoyable to do. And even though I wasn’t trying to make it that way- many of those scenes ended up to be complete short stories that I’m now really happy with.
    Most of the stories on this page: https://blogclan.katecary.co.uk/fireblaze/ are stories I wrote this way.

    I think not pressuring myself to complete the stories has actually given me the energy to complete them without knowing it.

    If you’re struggling with writer’s block, I suggest writing small scenes as a way to cope with it. It’s really helped me, and most likely a lot of the scenes you write will either be perfect short stories or parts that you can later add to your novel.

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  • I wrote these two scenes about Sandy and Dusty. I’m hoping I’ll finish some more soon. 😀

      “Bet I’ll get to the end of the yard first!” Sandy clucked as she opened the back door and stepped out.
      Giggling, Dusty slipped under her sister’s wing and raced across the lawn before Sandy had a chance to close the door.
      “We’ll see about that!” she called as she neared the wall, glancing back to see Sandy several feet behind her.
      Having forgotten to look where she was going, Dusty skidded to an abrupt halt next to the wall. She landed with a tumble into a soft patch of dirt which Mom had prepared for gardening, her fall sending up a cloud of dust into the air.
      Catching up, Sandy knelt beside Dusty, her yellow eyes brightening when she realized her sister was okay.
      Shifting into a sitting position with the help of Sandy’s outstretched wing, Dusty shook her feathers in an attempt to clean them.
      “I see why your name is Dusty!” Sandy teased as she helped her sister brush off.
      Reaching over to the sandbox, Dusty picked up a wingful of sand.
      “There,” she said, sprinkling it over her sister’s head (carefully not to get any into her eyes), “Now your name fits you, too.”

      Sandy and Dusty walked along the sidewalk through the park, hearing a slight breeze make the grass and leaves rustle all around.
      “Race you!” Sandy challenged Dusty cheerfully, motioning to a tall tree ahead of her, then dashing off, her tail blowing in the wind as she ran swiftly into the distance.
      “Sandy, wait!” Dusty called after her and Sandy slid to a halt, turning around to face her.
      Dusty shuffled her feet, “You know I’m not fast enough…”
      “Nonsense!” Sandy flicked her tail. “You’re just as fast as me, Dusty! You can do this!” she encouraged her sister, her yellow eyes shining.
      “Well…” Dusty thought for a minute, then smiled, “Okay!”
      “You got this!” Sandy trotted back to stand next to her, “I’ll give you a head start.”

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  • I had this idea for a cute interaction between Fire and Jilly and I decided to write it down in a short scene. I made it way more emotional than I initially planned to.

      Fireblaze was in her living room, just about to turn on the television, when she heard the doorbell ring.
      I wonder who it could be- this early on a weekend? Fireblaze thought as she got up from the couch and went to see who it was.
      The door swung open as she approached it and there- on the front step- stood none other than Jilly.
      Her wings behind her back, she looked up at Fireblaze with a huge smile and shining olive eyes that betrayed joyful excitement.
      Fireblaze wondered what the little hen wanted from her.
      “Fire, I got you a jeep!” Jilly said, pulling her wings out from behind her back and handing a roller skate to Fireblaze, “You love jeeps, don’t you?”
      Fireblaze took the gift from her, speechless because of the sudden mixture of surprise, confusion, and gratitude she felt. “Um… thank you,” she stammered, putting on a smile, “That’s very… considerate.”
      Watching her take the roller skate, Jilly beamed, obviously triumphant that she had done something Fireblaze liked.
      Going back into the house, Fireblaze studied the roller skate as she walked through the hallway, wondering how one could think it was a jeep. It didn’t resemble one whatsoever! Maybe because it has wheels? she thought, remembering the time Jilly thought a lawn mower was a car.
      Then she remembered the look of excitement in Jilly’s eyes as she waited to present the gift… Her happiness as Fireblaze thanked her…
      Smiling, Fireblaze put her jeep on the souvenir shelf, where she could always see it.

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    • 😀
      You sit and weave your lies, like a fox trots through the night.

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  • I wrote this story about Spotty. I put it in a spoiler tag, because there’s mentions of physical/emotional abuse.
    Here’s the story. It basically tells how xe got away from xyr parents.

    [spoiler title=spoiler]Spotty tossed and turned. Xe couldn’t sleep.
    Xe winced as xe carefully felt the scar across xyr face with xyr tail.

    It’s not as bad as it was earlier. Mom wasn’t as fierce as she usually is when she scratches me, Spotty thought.

    Spotty sighed as xe thought of xyr abusive parents.

    Xe thought, I can’t live like this anymore. All I wanted was to be accepted, but all my parents have given me since I came out is… cruelty.

    Spotty’s heart started beating quicker.

    Xe thought, I need to escape. I’ve been abused for too long.

    Spotty waited for a whole five minutes, to make sure xyr parents weren’t awake.
    Finally, xe crept out of xyr room. Xe started heading for the door.

    I never thought escape would be this easy. Spotty thought.

    But Spotty heard footsteps behind xem. Panicking, Spotty started to run.

    “Spotty! Come back here, son!” snarled Scarred.

    “Never!” Spotty said, running out the door, ignoring the fact that xyr father had called xem ‘son.’

    Xe ran, literally terrified for xyr life.

    Kink hissed, “You’ll regret this, Spotty!”
    “The only thing I regret is not leaving sooner!” Spotty whispered under xyr breath.
    Xe kept going.
    Xe heard Scarred say to Kink, “Let him run. He’ll come back, and we’ll convince him he’s just confused, and that he’s really a tom.”

    I am NOT just confused! I am NOT a tom! thought Spotty.
    Spotty growled with anger.

    But then xe just kept running.

    Xe was on xyr own.

    And now? Now xe had to survive.
    THE END[/spoiler]

    You sit and weave your lies, like a fox trots through the night.

    Reply

  • I’m writing a story about how my OC Willowbranch/star got her nine lives 😀 I’ll share it once it’s done!
    PoppyfrostXBriarlight forever!

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  • I’ve finished my story about how Willowbranch/star got her nine lives!

    It’s called Rising Willow.

    Number of words: 2,123
    Number of characters: 12, 727
    Number of paragraphs: 164
    Approximate reading time: 7 minutes, 43 seconds.

    Rising Willow

    (It’s kinda long, so I’m putting it in a spoiler box.)

    [spoiler title=spoiler]Starlight illuminated the Moonpool as the gray-and-black splotchy she-cat approached it, closely followed by a silver and white tabby.

    “What do I do now, Ivyclaw?” meowed the gray-and-black cat, her dark blue eyes shining with anticipation.

    Ivyclaw mewed, “Lap up some of the water, Willowbranch.”

    Willowbranch’s heart pounded as she drank some of the crystal clear water, but she obeyed the tabby medicine cat.

    Then, closing her eyes, she waited for StarClan to speak to her.

    Then she heard a voice say, “Willowbranch.”
    Opening her eyes, she saw Ivyclaw, her green eyes gleaming.

    Starry cats surrounded Willowbranch and Ivyclaw, gazing upon them with thoughtful eyes.

    “Go up to them.” urged Ivyclaw. “They will give you your nine lives.”

    Willowbranch nodded, and approached the StarClan cats.

    “Willowbranch. Welcome.” the starry cats chorused in a way that made Willowbranch shiver.

    “I’m here to get my nine lives.” she said.
    Nobody spoke for a moment. But then a ginger she-cat approached Willowbranch.

    “Cherrystar!” meowed Willowbranch happily.

    Cherrystar had been the leader of ThunderClan when Willowbranch first joined, and she had warmly welcomed the young kitty pet.

    “Willowbranch, it’s good to see you again.” Cherrystar purred.

    She said, “I give you a life for acceptance. Don’t discriminate against cats for their differences, welcome them BECAUSE of their differences.”

    Cherrystar touched Willowbranch’s nose with her nose, and then stepped back so some cat could give Willowbranch her second life.

    A gray she-cat padded over to Willowbranch, her eyes shining.

    It was Turtlestar, the leader Willowbranch had been deputy under.

    “Turtlestar! It’s nice to see you. Are you well? Is StarClan alright?” stammered Willowbranch.

    “I’m fine, Willowbranch. But I miss my Clan.” mewed Turtlestar.

    Willowbranch felt a pang of grief. Turtlestar had only been dead for a day and a half.

    “ThunderClan misses you greatly.” she meowed. “I miss you.”

    Turtlestar touched noses with Willowbranch.
    She said, “With this life, I give you courage. Use it to do what is right, and to follow your heart.”

    Willowbranch watched as Turtlestar once again joined the crowd of StarClan cats.

    A dark gray tom came out of the shadows, and his dark blue eyes looked so much like Willowbranch’s own…

    “Cindersight!” she yowled.

    When she had joined ThunderClan, Cindersight had been the medicine cat.
    He’d quickly formed a close bond with her, and the two developed a father-daughter relationship.

    But Cindersight was old, and eventually a day came- not long before Willowbranch’s warrior ceremony- where he got very sick and weak.
    As the old tom laid dying, he confessed something to Willowbranch: he was her father.

    He’d became mates with a kitty pet, Muffin, long ago, and they’d had a single kit together.
    That kit was Willowbranch.

    Sadly, telling his daughter this used up the rest of his strength, and moments after saying these words, Cindersight passed away.

    “Willowbranch, my kit.” purred Cindersight, licking his daughter’s ear.

    “I’m so happy to see you! So much has happened since you passed away.” meowed Willowbranch.

    “Indeed. I’d love to talk with you more, my kit, but I have to give you your third life.” mewed Cindersight softly.

    He touched noses with his daughter.

    “With this life, I give you love. Love your Clan, for they depend on you. Show them care.”

    Cindersight turned, and started walking away.
    “Wait.” Willowbranch meowed.

    “Yes, dear?” asked Cindersight.

    Her voice choked up with emotion, Willowbranch whispered, “I love you, Father.”

    “I love you too. I’ll always be with you, Willowbranch. Never forget that.” Cindersight mewed.

    Now it was time for Willowbranch to receive her fourth life.

    A dark gray she-cat approached her.

    “Violetvision.” meowed Willowbranch, dipping her head.

    Violetvision had been Ivyclaw’s mentor.

    “It’s good to see you again, Willowbranch.” mewed Violetvision.

    “Ivyclaw really misses you. She talks about you a lot.” said Willowbranch.

    “I miss her, too. I was fortunate to have such an amazing apprentice when I was alive.” meowed Violetvision.

    She touched noses with Willowbranch.

    “With this life, I give you honesty. Don’t hide important truths from your Clan.” she said.

    Violetvision turned, and started walking back into the crowd of starry cats.

    An orange tom with yellow eyes ran up to Willowbranch.

    “Remember me?” he purred.

    “Sunsetpaw…” whispered Willowbranch, her eyes gleaming.

    Sunsetpaw had been Willowbranch’s apprentice- her first (and only) apprentice, in fact.

    He’d been a very eager apprentice, and had been so excited to become a warrior!

    Sadly, about two moons before Sunsetpaw was going to become a warrior, there was a badger attack.

    Sunsetpaw died defending his Clan, and his death was mourned by all of ThunderClan, especially Willowbranch.

    For the longest time, Willowbranch had blamed herself for his death.

    She felt like it was her fault for not keeping a closer eye on him during the battle.

    At one point shortly after his death, Willowbranch even wished that the badgers had killed her, not Sunsetpaw.

    But Willowbranch’s guilt slowly faded away in the moons following her apprentice’s death.

    Wishspring, a fellow ThunderClan cat, had helped her during her grief.

    She’d comforted Willowbranch when the gray-and-black she-cat had nightmares about the horrible badger attack where Sunsetpaw died, and was always there for her.

    Wishspring and Willowbranch grew closer and closer as the moons went on, and eventually became mates.

    Willowbranch loved Wishspring very much, and would always be grateful to her for helping her through such a hard time.

    “I’m so sorry you died so young. I’d do anything to change your death.” meowed Willowbranch to Sunsetpaw, sadness creeping into her voice.

    “You can’t change the past, Willowbranch.” Sunsetpaw gently reminded his former mentor.

    “I know. But I’m not sure if there’ll ever be a part of me… that doesn’t think about you, and what could have been.” mewed Willowbranch.

    Sunsetpaw’s yellow eyes shone with wisdom.

    He said, “I am happy in StarClan. Don’t worry about me, Willowbranch. I will never again know the pain I knew in the badger attack.”

    “I’m glad you’re happy.” purred Willowbranch.

    Sunsetpaw touched his nose to Willowbranch’s nose.

    He meowed, “With this life, I give you curiosity. Remember to have a healthy sense of curiosity as your leadership goes on.”

    The young tom stepped back, taking his place among the StarClan cats.

    Willowbranch gazed at the starry cats.
    She’d received four lives. Who would give her the next five?

    A cat gasped forward, and Willowbranch gasped.

    This cat had gray fur with black patches. She had dark blue eyes.

    She bore a hauntingly similar appearance to Willowbranch herself, except one difference: a dark purple collar was around her neck.

    There was only one cat she could be. A cat Willowbranch only knew about from what Cindersight had told her as he lay dying.

    “Mother!” she meowed.

    Muffin’s blue eyes gleamed. “My daughter. The last time I saw you, you were only a kit.”

    “Do you walk with StarClan? I didn’t think kitty pets could do that.” mewed Willowbranch, cocking her head in confusion.

    Muffin explained, “You’re right. Kitty pets don’t walk with StarClan. We have our own afterlife. But we have the ability to visit StarClan if we wish- that’s how I’m able to see Cindersight. When I got the opportunity to give you one of your nine lives, I simply had to take the chance to see my daughter again.”

    Willowbranch nodded. “I understand.” she said.

    Muffin touched noses with her daughter.

    “With this life, I give you a sense of adventure. Great things can come out of it! For example, without my sense of adventure, I would have never met your father.” she meowed.

    “How did you meet Cindersight?” asked Willowbranch.

    Muffin said, “I was young. Probably just old enough to become a warrior, had I been a Clan cat.
    “My housefolk- Twolegs, as Clan cats call them- grew herbs in their backyard.
    “They could count on me to defend those herbs. I wasn’t about to let anyone take them!
    “One day, I really wanted to go outside, so I meowed until one of the housefolk opened the door for me.
    “I saw your father, taking as many of those herbs as he could carry!
    “I started to attack him, but he begged me not to. He explained that these herbs would cure a sickness in his Clan- greencough. He said that without their herbs, cats would die.
    “Feeling pity for him, I decided to let him take the herbs. He introduced himself then. I told him my name as well.
    “After a few days, I started to miss Cindersight. I went to go see if I could find his Clan for myself, and so I set out into the forest.
    “I did find his Clan- which I later learned was called ThunderClan. Cindersight was glad to see me, and we decided to try to see each other again.
    “We began meeting in secret. The leader of ThunderClan at the time, Grassstar, was very against kitty pets. If not, I probably would have joined ThunderClan.
    “Cindersight was my best friend. I told him about my adventures as a kitty pet, and he told me about his discoveries as a medicine cat.
    “Moons past, and we fell in love. We knew we were breaking the warrior code, and I think part of both of us felt guilty about that.
    “When I realized I was pregnant, I have to admit, Cindersight and I freaked out. Would the Clan accept my kits?
    “In the end, Cindersight and I decided that for the good of our kit- you, Willowbranch- I would stop visiting him, and our unborn kit would become a kitty pet.
    “It was hard to say goodbye. But I’m happy I got to see Cindersight again, in StarClan. And I’m happy that I got to see you now.” finished Muffin.

    “So am I, Mother.” purred Willowbranch.

    Muffin mewed, “I’m so proud of you, Willowbranch.”

    She went back into the group of starry cats, but her dark blue gaze never left her daughter.

    A brown tabby approached Willowbranch.

    “I am Grassstar.” sae told her.

    “Muffin mentioned you. She said you were… against kitty pets.” mewed Willowbranch, not looking into Grassstar’s eyes.

    Sear green eyes full of sorrow, Grassstar quietly explained, “And I’m sorry for that. I’m ashamed. My former actions were cruel, but I wanted to give you a life, so I could possibly make up for my mistakes.”

    Willowbranch nodded, realizing that sae was telling the truth.

    Grassstar touched sear nose to Willowbranch’s nose.

    “I give you a life for humility.” sae meowed, swishing sear tail.

    “Thank you, Grassstar.” said Willowbranch.

    Grassstar walked away, purring softly to saerself.

    A black tom strolled over to Willowbranch.

    “I am Shadetalon. I was Grassstar’s deputy. After I died, Cherrystar- Cherryheart back then- became deputy.” he explained.

    “It’s nice to meet you.” Willowbranch meowed respectfully.

    Shadetalon’s amber eyes met Willowbranch’s blue ones.

    “We’re kin. I am Cindersight’s father.” he said.

    “We do have a similar build,” noted Willowbranch.

    Shadetalon purred, then touched his nose to Willowbranch’s.

    “With this life, I give you kindness.” he said.

    Willowbranch’s blue eyes gleamed as she looked at Shadetalon. He was a very kindhearted tom, and she wished she could have known him in life.

    Now she only had one more life to receive.

    A white she-cat came up to her.

    “My name is Snowlight. I was Wishspring’s mother. I was hit by a monster shortly before you joined ThunderClan.”

    “Oh, Wishspring.” whispered Willowbranch, her heart aching with sympathy for her mate. She had never known how Wishspring’s mother had died, but death by a monster was a terrible death indeed.

    “I wanted to thank you,” said Snowlight, “for being so kind to my daughter. She’s lucky to have such a loving mate.”

    “Thank you, Snowlight.” said Willowbranch.

    Snowlight and Willowbranch touched noses.

    “With this life, I give you hope. Never lose hope, Willowbranch.” Snowlight meowed.

    “I won’t.” promised Willowbranch.

    All of the cats that had given Willowbranch her lives- Cherrystar, Turtlestar, Cindersight, Violetvision, Sunsetpaw, Muffin, Grassstar, Shadetalon, and Snowlight- surrounded her.

    “Willowstar!”
    “Willowstar!”
    “Willowstar!”
    “Willowstar!”
    “Willowstar!
    “Willowstar!
    “Willowstar!”
    “Willowstar!”
    “Willowstar!”

    One by one, all nine cats called out Willowstar’s new name.

    “Hey, Willowstar.” Willowstar turned and saw Ivyclaw.

    “I’m ready to wake up now.” Willowstar said.

    “Simply open your eyes, then.” Ivyclaw said.

    Willowstar did what Ivyclaw said, and awoke to find herself beside the Moonpool.

    “Let’s go home.” she said.

    Ivyclaw nodded.

    It wasn’t long before the black-and-gray she-cat and the silver-and-white she-cat reached ThunderClan.

    Wishspring was the first cat to greet them.

    “Welcome! Did StarClan give you your lives, love?” she excitedly asked Willowstar.

    “Yes,” purred Willowstar.

    “Willowstar! Willowstar!” all of ThunderClan began to chat.

    Willowstar closed her eyes, and purred.
    She was ready to lead this Clan. And she would be the best leader she could be!
    THE END[/spoiler]

    PoppyfrostXBriarlight forever!

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  • Xander Crayton’s my go to guy whenever I’m struggling with the actual chapters of my story 😛 he’s dead by the start of the first book, but he’s very important. I don’t know why I wrote it in a different tense than usual, but I think it works well with the detached feel. Critique is welcome and appreciated!

    [spoiler title=””]
    It’s a sunny day in the graveyard. The wind tickles the gravestones, just firm enough to keep the steady flow of visitors from becoming uncomfortable, and just gentle enough to ruffle the petals of the flowers left behind without harming them. 
    The grand parade of mourners has finally come to a stop here. They pour through the grounds, some stopping to glance at the other freshly laid graves. The graveyard, despite being a home for the deceased, is itself newly born, to house the carnage of the recent battle. 
    When the final body is lowered into the ground, the tears are so heavy that, for a fleeting moment, the funeral celebrant wonders if  they might drown the flowers. 
    Nearby, over just one roll of the gentle hills, the gravediggers are still hard at work. The body being buried is the Final body, but today they had three more graves to dig. 
    The woman leaning against her shovel knows her mood doesn’t fit the scene. She’s not sad, or diligently hard at work. She’s annoyed, specifically with the funeral just over the hill. The Guild had made a huge deal over it, the significant last burriel. The star of the show is a war hero, a martyr whose death now has its own holiday.
     All she cares about right now is that because of the ‘Final bod’y, she’s now digging a hole with a shovel instead of the usual machinery. To keep the procedure quiet. 
    She’s not sure who the Guild thinks they’re fooling. Just because Xander Crayton’s going into the ground today doesn’t mean the dying’s going to stop. 
    A leaf flutters down from the nearby tree, and is snatched up by the wind. It dances by the gravedigger, then twists away, going higher and higher. 
    Rumors have already started about the young graveyard. The wind plays with the visitors, they say. The dead like to have their fun. 
    All the gravedigger knows is that the dead are getting some new neighbors, Xander Crayton included. While his funeral has attracted a crowd twice the size of the rest combined, his grave took just the same time to dig as all the rest. 
    The leaf continues on its merry way, cresting another hill. There, seated so that he can watch the funeral without being noticed, sits a young man with wings like an angel and a face as emotionless as a painting. He ignores the leaf. 
    He’s spent enough time around Xander Crayton to think fancifully of ghosts. If the wind belongs to a spirit, it’s a spirit that was too stubborn and dumb to die and not clever enough to figure out how to live. It’s a spirit doomed to sit forever in a graveyard, watching the world without being part of it. 
    That’s not the only thing the winged man shares with the gravedigger. He too is annoyed with the funeral. As Xander Crayton’s best friend, he was of course invited. Begged to come, in fact. 
    And maybe he should have gone. All of his friends are in the graveyard, either as new residents or as visitors. But Xander Crayton would have hated it, so he hates it too. 
    The Xander he knew was haunted and guilt ridden, heroic because he believed he owed it to the world to die for them. The Xander the Guild puts on their posters and builds statues of is gallant and flamboyant. 
    The Xander he knew was uncomfortable around crowds, stressed over speeches, and spent his nights rethinking everything he had done that day. The Guild’s Xander is being mourned by strangers, as if their favorite movie character died while they were watching from the theatre. 
    Xander had wanted to be buried near his childhood home. This Xander wanted to be buried near the new city, in the new cemetery, to mark the start of a new era. 
    As if they hadn’t just lost a key battle. As if the new era would produce something more than fresh graveyards. 
    So, no, Ferris Griffin would not be attending the funeral of Xander Crayton the war hero. He would be mourning the death of Xander Crayton, his best friend. 
    Ferris picks up the flower that was resting in his lap, a single dahlia bloom. He tugs a petal free, then another, and another until he has a stalk and a pile of petals instead of a flower. For a moment, he rubs one between his fingers, then tosses it into the air. The wind takes it up in its arms, carrying it away. 
    The man tilts his head up to watch it go, curious despite himself. He throws up the rest of the petals, and gazes after them as they are spirited away. 
    He shakes his head, rests his chin on his knees, and watches the graveyard fill up. Hopefully, the wind is merely an odd breeze, not a trapped ghost. 
    His phone buzzes, startling him. Likely, it is the Guild, or his friends, still trying to convince him to attend. Scowling, he pulls the infuriating device out, long enough to read the message and turn it off. 
    Ferris, please come. You knew him better than anyone. 
    “Which is why I’m not going,” he mutters, cursing himself for not hurling his phone into the ocean before hiding out on his hill. The others can mourn Xander how they liked, and he will do the same. 
    He isn’t going to sit and listen to how brave Xander was, how he wouldn’t want them to mourn, how he would live on in all of them. Or how the war was coming to the close, as if Xander’s killers would settle for anything but total victory. 
    They could all have their happy lies, but Ferris wasn’t going to buy any of them. Xander hadn’t wanted to die, and he wouldn’t want to be missed by strangers as someone he hadn’t been. 
    “Goodbye, Xander,” he whispers, as they begin to lower the casket. By the time its bottom hits the earth, he is gone. 

    [/spoiler]

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  • What’s your favorite time of day to write?
    When I write, it’s usually in the afternoon, because that’s when I have time.
    Swallowing Shadows

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