Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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A breeze ruffled the leaves overhead, so thick it blocked out the sun and covered the ground in a chilly, persistent shadow, only allowing hints of gold through breaks in the branches. Cypresspaw would admire it more had he not been terrified out of his mind. Last time he checked, he'd been just on the edge of Summerclan — he hardly ever went far at all, fear keeping him tied closer to camp than most, and it wasn't often he breached further than the start of the wildflower meadow — but something had spooked him, sent him running. The rustle of the bushes, the sound of footsteps that, admittedly, were probably his own, and perhaps it was only his nerves — he never liked going out alone, let alone so far. Aside from the Moon Creek, he hadn't left Summerclan since arriving, it was no surprise he was lost. Summerclan was a wide expense of meadows and thin forests, but outside, the trees grew denser, thicker, as did the undergrowth, and it all melded together into surroundings that looked like they never changed.
He wasn't far, he knew from the tinge of Summerclan scent he could still pick out, but no matter how many times he turned, he never seemed to get closer. He'd been calmer at first, too confident he knew his way around to regard himself as lost, but the longer everything stayed unfamiliar, the more he began to panic. By fate, it was decided. He was going to die out here. He thought he'd gotten out of death's clutches once, but perhaps he had just been stalling the whole time, perhaps he was always going to die young. At least if his parents had gotten their paws on him he wouldn't have been alone like he was now, subjected to the cruelty of nature, of hungry, wild animals and the elements. He was used to community, he couldn't survive on his own.
Another rustle startled him, made him stop in his tracks and cast a look around, but everything still looked the same. Still and quiet. That thing that had startled him the first time obviously followed him. If it was a bear, perhaps his death would be quick, painless, because a bear could eat him in one bite and he'd hardly feel it at all, right?
"Whatever's there —" his voice shook but carried clear, "just make my death painless, please." Sitting now, he was tense and small, "oh, goodness, this is it, isn't it?" The question was quiet, more to himself — though, if the beast in the woods (who was undoubtedly going to eat him) had an answer, Cypresspaw supposed he could appreciate it.
Before the patrol to SummerClan, Speedyraptor had never been outside of NightClan. Just before he’d become an apprentice, in the old days of Aspenstar’s leadership, he’d been taken out on a rare treat: a tour of the territory. Everything had felt so magical and endless and full of possibility then — the world had stretched on beyond NightClan, and standing there beside the smiling warrior who was going to put in a special request to Aspenstar to let him mentor him, he had dreamed of the life he would have. Then Kier and Snowblister had staged their coup. Then that warrior had been one of the first to be executed in the mass slaughter intended to purge the old ranks of Aspenstar loyalists and leave a young, blank slate in their wake. Then there had been no more tours of the territory, and no more mentors, and no more dreams. Then had come classes where he sat at the back in wide-eyed, quick-breathing, silent fear; then had come trials, and violence, and the only playmates the beetles that sometimes scuttled across the apprentice den floor if he was quick enough to slap his paws down on them. The world had narrowed impossibly to the territory and the cave, and all the others seemed fine with it — one moon difference was enough for their memories of the NightClan before to be weak and irrelevant, and they thrived on the tiny world of indoctrination: the world beyond was insignificant, lesser-than, a vague, shadowy place; what mattered was the violence here, the fights here, the cat hunts here. They cheered for their tiny world and went to bed without a single thought or care for the one beyond. And now he was a warrior. Too young, too inexperienced, but a warrior. He’d partaken in one cat hunt, but it hadn’t been to the heights of the infamous one, the one that had put Leveretpaw on trial — hadn’t even taken them beyond the border. He’d almost willed the cat to cross it, to keep going, keep running — but they’d caught it. It. That was all it was.
And so he’d gobbled up the trip to SummerClan greedily. It had been a little disappointing, because it really was just another landscape, and he wasn’t the artistic sort. But he’d still got a kick out of it. And so, that day, when everyone else was sleeping after the drama with Moonblight, he’d snuck out — hared across the territory and disappeared across the border. If he was caught, he’d be put up for treason, for desertion, for daring to have eyes beyond NightClan; didn’t matter if he was Royal Guard, he was just a Reporter. But he didn’t care: it wasn’t disloyalty, he was a fervent loyalist — it was just a bit of adventure. No reason to feel guilty. The baseline anger that always simmered just under his skin was still there, but it was exhilarated. And when he found the pale thing, the thing that looked so much like prey to a hungry wolf like him, he instinctively did the thing he’d been trained to do best: he cat-hunted. Ducking his head forward, Speedyraptor swerved to the side and slipped into a bank of undergrowth, following him into the dark trees. Every so often, he’d cut across the path, deliberately disorienting him whenever he looked back. NightClan apprentices weren’t taught to hunt, to track, to fight the same as other Clans’ — but that allowed for the two most ominous things: instinct and nurtured, vicious sadism. Other apprentices were students; they were predators. As he went, he caught a hint of familiar scent — Sneakysnap. Seemed he wasn’t the only one who had gotten a taste for sneaking out after SummerClan; they and NightClan were irrevocably linked. He grinned to himself; if that wasn’t something to report, he didn’t know what was — he’d get promoted for sure. As he followed the other cat, it became clear that they were near the same age. But the difference was, where the young medicine cat was all round softness, Speedyraptor was lanky and bony and tall, more legs than body and all anger.
Whatever’s there — just make my death painless, please. Speedyraptor continued to circle around him, padding round the outskirts of the little clearing.“Okay,” he replied, “but counter-offer: what if I stripped all your skin from your body, wrapped it around a rabbit carcass, put it back in your nest, and let your friends work out over, like, two days that it wasn’t you and that it was actually just your rotting fur around a rotting corpse? Would that be messed up? Or maybe you’re, like, the more selfless type, you’d rather be begging like ‘no, take me, just leave them alone!’, and then I should go after your friends — psychological horror, y’know, that’s totally meaty.” He was a teenage boy — he liked saying the grossest stuff to make other people gag, and then he’d suddenly get angry and snap at them if he thought they were gagging for too long. His temper was a ticking time bomb, with the fuse set for every three minutes.
Okay. Cypresspaw jumped, lifted his head to, once again, peer into the surrounding forest, more urgently than before because he hadn't actually expected a voice to respond, eyes squinting as if it would help. He shuddered, "I — changed my mind. Please don't do any of that, I really don't want to die." How far had he gone? He hoped he wasn't on another clan's territory, he'd been told not to do that, and that even though some of their neighbours weren't as aggressive as others, nobody appreciated trespassing (why, he could never understand, it was all just land), but there were others, out there. Other, more violent clans, who fought and invaded and conquered. He preferred not to ask about them, to live in ignorant bliss and the idea that he'd never, ever come face to face with any of them. He was an easy target, he knew, he was small and skittish and soft, gentle and curious without a fighting bone in his body. But, where he didn't fight, he ran.
Clumsily, Cypresspaw got to his paws, gaze snapping to every hint of movement he heard. He didn't respond to Speedyraptor's words a second time, only let the silence settle, let his nervousness weigh on it. Then, in a flash of movement, he turned and darted off, back the way he came (or, at least, the way he hoped he had come from, it was difficult to tell), praying that he hadn't chosen a path that would lead him right into the claws of whoever it was that was after him. Hunting him, as if he were a piece of prey and not a cat, just like them. He would have preferred a wild animal, it wouldn't have felt as personal.
He barged through ferns, skittering over upturned roots and rocks, tearing through the bushes, the grass, the leaves. He was fast, quick and agile, but his stamina always seemed to fail him — something, admittedly, having to do with the fact that, before he left the barn, he hardly got out at all, let alone had the freedom to build up his endurance. He slowed, only slightly, enough to attempt to catch his breath, if only partially, while still keeping up a brisk run. The ground sloped beneath him, sending Cypresspaw forward in a half-fall, his legs not exactly failing to hold him, but his paws struggling to grasp hold onto anything. At the bottom, he stumbled but didn't fall. It was quiet. Slowly, tentatively, he let his guard down — only slightly. Even though he had slowed to a swift walk instead of a run, just so he could suck in some air, his alertness remained, his fur still prickled and his heart still hammered with adrenaline.
I really don't want to die. "Does the mouse wanna die?" Speedyraptor laughed back. "Cat's gotta eat!" As he watched the apprentice, he could see that he was about to run — as he tried to gather his bearings, as he looked around, as he started to bunch together his soft muscles, Speedyraptor leaned forward eagerly, eyes widening like he was drinking in everything about the scene, an excited grin spreading across his face. When he was sure of the direction Cypresspaw was going to run in, he slunk around the clearing, quiet as a mouse — so that when finally the apprentice darted forward, he ran straight into his hunter. "Boo!" Speedyraptor laughed, leaping out in front of him so suddenly that the apprentice slammed into his chest. When he kept running, he didn't give chase immediately, just stayed back to give him a head start and let himself laugh; his delight echoed after the fleeing medicine cat. But, finally, he set off after him, keeping at a leisurely place that matched his long legs with Cypresspaw's small ones and let the apprentice keep ahead.
When the ground sloped, he kept to the bushes and picked up the pace, arriving at the bottom before Cypresspaw had even crested the top. He found the perfect spot for his dramatic reveal — a tumble of rocks where the earth fell smooth again — and hopped up onto them, sitting down and curling his tail around his paws. When finally the medicine cat came tumbling down the hill, Speedyraptor threw his head back and burst out laughing, hoping he'd completely lose control and come rolling like a boulder. "You suck at being a cat worse than anyone I've ever seen!" he called out to him, sitting there harmlessly on his rock ahead of him. He hoped he would stop running; if he kept going, he'd have to kill him just because letting someone go would make him so angry that he'd fly into a rage. Better they stop now when it was Speedyraptor's choice. "Man, who taught you how to do any of that? Can't run, can't track, can't smell — I love you SummerClan cats. You're such total softies. So cute."
If he hadn't been planning to run for his life, Cypresspaw would have bothered to be confused — 'what mouse?', he would have asked, because metaphors always found a way over his head — but he couldn't be, and instead he ran, barreling into his mysterious tormenter, but instead of stopping he only gasped and continued, shouldering past.
At the bottom of the slope, he slowed, the sound of his heartbeat blaring in his ears alongside his own heaving breaths, and for a moment, a foolish little moment, he thought he'd actually outrun him, and though his adrenaline still pumped, he thought he might be able to find somewhere to hide — just in case — to wait out the night and find his way home in the morning. At the sudden laughter, he startled again, head snapping up towards the tumble of rocks, and he stumbled backwards, partly tripping over his own heavy paws.
At his taunting, Cypresspaw felt his face heat up with shame, embarrassment, and he shrunk in on himself. "I — what?" Somehow, he felt the need to apologize for being, apparently, so terrible, but he kept it down. Cute? "Who are you? Why are chasing me? If I was trespassing, I'm sorry I didn't mean it, I'll go home and you'll never, ever see me again — I promise." Without moving his head, he looked to the side, contemplating running once more, but he shooed the thought away — clearly, it would do him no good, clearly Cypresspaw couldn't outrun him.
