follow me down [open]

Action had never been officially taken against him for his behavior during that fateful afternoon. Littlestar had, as was her duty, called him out at the following Gathering. But to admit Alderthorn’s accidental cruelty would have been to admit imperfection and possible weakness in Windclan as a whole. So he had been defended. They’d tried to say he’d had some right, misinterpreted her actions. They’d give a hundred justifications for why he had done it. And yet no one, not a single soul, had ever asked him. He didn’t think they dared. Most were too afraid to hear him voice what they all thought – he’d done it on purpose. Intent was a double-edge sword, unpredictable, unreadable in a sense. How could one truly read intent? Had he intended to hurt Ashcloud? Yes, he’d been defending his clan, his territory. And she, that poor wretched little she-cat, had been the enemy. But it had all gone wrong, so horridly viciously wrong.

What had truly happened? The truth didn’t really matter, not after the fact. And Alderthorn hadn’t mentored an apprentice since. He didn’t question it, didn’t complain. Secretly, he feared being assigned an apprentice – feared such close repeated proximity to any of his clanmates. They weren’t the only ones who feared him. It was a strange sensation, to fear one’s self, to fear one’s own two paws. He was drawn from these languid thoughts by the approach of pawsteps, and Ivynose’s quiet voice in his ear. He knew, without looking, that she had settled near him. Yet he didn’t feel the familiar prickle of eyes upon his body. She was careful to look away, to keep her distance. She wasn’t the only one cautious not to get too close. He kept his face a guarded mask at her words, though his thoughts were more mutinous.

He cleared his throat slightly, turning to dip his head in greeting. He afforded her the respect entitled to her position, to her authority. And in truth, he did respect her – as a fellow warrior and as his deputy. Although others had voiced doubts and qualms at her election, Alderthorn had not a word to say against her. Then again, most of his words were kept silently kenneled safely in the back of his mind. “Ivynose, I fare well thank you.” His voice was quiet, detached and impersonal. He used his words sparingly, exactly as many as were necessary. It was strange, this lilted awkward conversation – between strangers who had been raised together. It was unnatural, clogged around them. Alderthorn wanted to shake it off. But the blanket of smog, of tar, had settled over him long ago. It had settled almost without him noticing, seeping into his nose, his ears, drowning him with painful pleasure. And now he was stuck, forever molded to an uncertain future. Alderthorn realized his silence had endured for an inappropriate amount of time. He turned his head to her, his eyes blank. “I hope you are well.” These pleasantries made him sick. The social demands of clan life were like a war all their own. There were moves and countermoves, so many unwritten unspoken words. In a sense, it was almost worse than the screeching din of true battle. The blows came unnoticed, too quickly to be avoided – no matter how strong one’s reflexes. He longed to unsheathe his claws, to knead the soft dirt and grass beneath his paws. Perhaps, when Ivynose inevitably wandered away – an endeavor to escape his company – he would sprint across the moors. Perhaps he would run until it was all behind him, all just a fading memory.

At times, he felt like a lion among gazelle. He was a predator, a true power. He was made for greater things. And those creatures, those that dared to call themselves “warriors”. They were nothing. They were sheep, flocking together. Their numbers didn’t increase their strength, only accented their stupidity. They said they valued “peace”. But with near constant battle, not a kit within the clans could truly know peace. He supposed they prided themselves on it, the whole forest stank of their self-righteousness. He wanted to show them their reflections, the blackened purity they thought they held. He wanted to see their eyes, as he stood above them, as Starclan revealed him – their tool of revolution.

He could understand, in truth, why so many feared him. There was nothing in the clans like him, no creature existed similar to him. He’d probably inherited her more…violent skills…outlook from somewhere, perhaps his father. He’d been strong, truly strong. He took what he desired, when he desired it. He sank his claws into it, pulled it to him, and shredded it when he was finished. Alderthorn had done just that with Ashcloud, albeit unintentionally. He hated how easy it had been, and what a bitter taste that still lingered on his tongue. And for a while – he had hated himself for it. But in the end, a lesson had been learned. There was no such thing as true loyalty – only destiny. His mother, his brothers, even herself had no choice in what they would become. It was pre-planned, pre-arranged, no matter what they might have dreamed of.

And these clans pretended to have democracy. They pretended they knew something of equality. But they were a monarchy, established moons before any of them could remember. They were ruled by Starclan, playing puppets with their fates and lives. They were open to corruption, but blind to their own essential faults. Then, when they found themselves exploited, they reacted with foolish amounts of fury. Yet time and time again, they would make the same mistakes. These were mistakes Alderthorn would never bring to light, fatal flaws he would never try to fix. To strengthen the clans, their core structure, was to weaken his own possibilities, his own frail chances of escaping what he had been created as.

He was still lost in his thoughts, his meditations and self-loathing. He was jolted from these thoughts by a stammer from his companion. He didn’t look to her, didn’t let surprise or judgment cloud his features. In truth, her faltering speech was utterly unsurprising to him. Alderthorn was, by nature, unusually observant. Given that he wasn’t one for idle chatter, he spent a majority of his time listening – or watching – as suited his mood. He’d seen the way she trembled, both physical and psychological. For some time it had made him ponder the wisdom in raising her to the succession of leadership of Windclan. But who was he to question the will of Starclan, the wisdom of Tallstar?

And so he had remained silent, going about his way. Yet for all his observations, he never claimed to read others, to understand them as intimately as they knew themselves. What he observed was superficial, suggestive, situational even. His ears flicked as she finished, his own name leaving her quiet lips. He knew, instinctually, that one of them was now obligated to make some comment on the weather, some question, perhaps complain of the lack of prey that wandered their shared moors. And yet for a moment, Alderthorn said nothing. He’d never been as socially gifted as his brothers. When he did speak, there was a suddenness to it. “What brought you out here, wandering alone?”