Chapter Eighteen

He had been asleep in an old abandoned horseplace when he was found by a group of rogues that acted like wandering cats. They never stayed in one place for too long. But with leaf-bare approaching, the horseplace was the only place manageable for them to escape the cold for the time being. Dusk, formerly known as Bloodpaw, had awoken to such an awkward first meeting. He’d been prepared for a fight, but their leader, a large darkish brown tom named Sparrowflint, told him they weren’t really the kind of rogues that sought out to make other cats’ lives miserable.

“We’re rogues by choice.” Sparrowflint had told him, and something in Bloodpaw’s soul told him it was the truth; even if his heart was screaming at him to not trust them. Albeit, Bloodpaw stayed with them for the first part of one moon to see if anything would change under the circumstances. Eventually, he found out that the clan life hadn’t been right for them. And it was upon further discovery that they were descendants of Skyclan who had mingled with various clans for so long, it was difficult to remember where they had come from.

Thinking back to what a cat named Hazelbrush had told him, there was at least truth in those words. When he had given his name out to them, some of them kind of scoffed at the idea of being named after blood being spilled. Though he tried to correct them by saying it was because of his fur. One cat, a brownish gray tabby with a tattered left ear, jokingly said it would have been better just to call him Duskpaw or something.

It felt like a joke, an insult if you will, at first; but overtime it gradually stuck. Albeit, Dusk had decided to just drop the suffix altogether. When asked why, he stated this: because I’m no longer tied to a clan. What use do I have for such a suffix?” So, what about Whistle? When did she enter the picture? Just a moon and a half afterwards. 

And she had been an energetic kit. Dusk had wondered where she had come from, because Whistle never spoke about her upbringing. She always clammed up when another cat, or even Dusk himself, asked about her past life. No one brought up the subject again from then on. She didn’t smell like a clan cat either, nor acted like one. Which was rather odd. Her mannerisms and personality alluded to the fact that she might have been a kittypet once, but there was no signs of that life as far as anyone could tell.

Smiling now, Dusk wondered how they even connected with each other since then. Always by his side, even when he was out in the pastures and fields during nights, but never saying anything. He was like an older brother more than a mentor, that’s how the others saw it. Casting his gaze down towards her, Dusk pondered about something. “Hey Whistle,” He mewled a little and noticed the slight tick of her right ear bending backwards, “I’ve been wondering about something? Exactly how old are you?”

Whistle just merely smiled, and didn’t bother answering. Getting an annoyed look on his face, Dusk hated when she did that. It was like a secret only she knew and didn’t want to tell anyone yet. “You’ve been asking me that question ever since I joined y’all.” She smirked with a low purr of amusement. “To think that my older brother wouldn’t know how old I am just by looking at me, tsk tsk. That’s quite the shame on you isn’t it?” Chuckling to herself, Whistle darted off into the wide hole in the left side of the twoleg nest before Dusk could even get a reply out. 

Grumbling to himself, talking about how he should know anything about her if she didn’t want to share her past life, Dusk soon followed suit. While outside was quite hot with a slight cool breeze blowing through the area, inside the nest it was much cooler in most sections. Long since abandoned by twolegs who had lived here, the wood had far since been deteriorated by the climate and termites combined. It was a miracle it was still standing, but for how long though? Well it didn’t matter. They weren’t going to stay long anyways. Sparrowflint had told them they were heading much further away than usual.

Peering through the gloom, which was splintered in separate beams of light filtering from above, Dusk could smell it filtering through his nose: the smell of home. Vines grew wildly and feral that old twoleg stuff, broken down by nature and turned to rot, were almost completely lost from view. Running and chasing each other, kits of various ages played roughly amongst the rot while their mothers, both biological and sheltered, watched them carefully while sharing tongues. Whistle had walked over to a slender and rather skinny looking sleet gray tortoiseshell tom whose lopsided ears kept flopping with each syllable that left his mouth.

Scanning the gloomy area, Dusk finally found the cat he’d been searching for: Sparrowflint. Larger than most cats and tanned pelt that was so shaggy, it was a wonder he could still see from those bangs of his, Sparrowflint was busying himself in grooming a small black kit. From what Dusk could tell, it was barely a moon old. 

“Found another one, Sparrowflint?” Dusk mewled as he strode over casually to the older tom. “What does it make this time? Four?”

“Around that number, yes.” Gravely mewled Sparrowflint as he finished cleaning up the kit before allowing it to snuggle up to his chest where it began purring as it fell asleep. “Found it struggling within some reeds just about ten tree-lengths away down the riverbed. Mother was nowhere to be found, but I saw the trail of blood leaking into the water. She’s most likely dead as far as I’m aware.” Turning those slated gray eyes towards Dusk, the latter could see the exhaustion and sadness in them.

“What’s on your mind, Sparrowflint?” Dusk asked with a slight cant of his head. He braced himself for the bad news while keeping himself composed.

“There are signs, Dusk. Signs of danger in these lands. More and more kits are being found with dead mothers. And this isn’t some random killings. This is intentional. Like whoever is doing this, wants us to know what they are capable of doing.”

That made Dusk press his lips into a thin line. It had been three moons, but he could still picture that black tom with those piercing yellow eyes. Not to mention, he hadn’t completely forgotten about his mother’s warning about him. “Any kind of scent found around this little one?” He whispered while looking directly at Sparrowflint.

“Hm,” Pursing his lips a little, Sparrowflint would shake his head a bit. “There was a trace of smells from another cat. Male from what I can remember. It kind of smelled like fresh ash from a fire. Ever smelled something like that before?” When Dusk shook his head a bit, Sparrowflint sighed heavily. “I was hoping to wait a little longer before abandoning this place. However, a killing this close to here? Sounds like whoever is killing and making sure that kits are being left to defend themselves, they’re moving downwards.”

‘This has to be the workings of that tom. To draw me out. Taunting me. Mocking me.’ Thought Dusk as he unconsciously started to unsheathe his claws. ‘But, I don’t think he’s willing to leave that place just to start orphaning off kits like that. So who’s doing this?’ It was another mystery among mysteries for sure, and Dusk definitely didn’t have the answers for this.

“Should I let the others know that we’re leaving already?” Dusk asked while looking towards everyone that had no idea of the conversation or the events taking place.

“Yes.”