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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Cascadepaw had done this once before at this point. She had seen Pantherpaw, and they had... well they had come as close to rekindling as possible. There were still parts of her sister that she couldn't swallow, particularly the way that she couldn't help but think that her sister was convinced that she'd gotten pregnant to save Cascadepaw's life. Perhaps, in Pantherpaw's mind, this had been the case. Perhaps she had saved Cascadepaw's life. The problem was that Cascadepaw didn't ask her to play martyr, and that no matter what happened between them, no matter how supportive that she had resigned herself to be when she felt such raw pity for the other cat, Pantherpaw's game of martyrdom hadn't actually been a game of matryrdom, not in Cascadepaw's mind. It was an evasion technique; no matter what her sister's intentions, she'd allowed herself to evade the worst two nights of their lives. Cascadepaw had come to realize that Pantherpaw had never been on trial the first time, not really (at the time, she hadn't known Pantherpaw's outside life), and she certainly hadn't been asked to be involved in the execution of their mother. It was a shame to rank traumas, but Cascadepaw had unwittingly done just that. Out of the litter, she had decided that Pantherpaw was least traumatized. Cascadepaw came in rank two.
Which left the most traumatized of the litter. The one that Cascadepaw still needed to right herself with. Duskpaw. If anyone had a right to be messed up in the head, it was Duskpaw. There was a part of Cascadepaw that hated herself for not being there for her sister more; if she had it bad, the other had it worse. Even practically, Cascadepaw's idyllic behavior left her in a higher social class than her sister. Part of her, though, felt such deep guilt. Where she resented Pantherpaw, she felt such guilt over Duskpaw. She should have done more. She should have told her sister what to do, coached her, done something. But no, all she did was feel bad that she'd gotten off easier, that she'd convinced the world by her show. It was almost harder to deal with than the resentment; Duskpaw was the one who was suffering the fate they all deserved, and the guilt created wider chasms than anger ever could.
But Cascadepaw needed to try to push past it. She had to. She needed her sister, needed the only cat who would ever come close to really feeling how she felt. She needed both of her sisters.
She let out one last sigh, before padding over to her sister. It had been so long since they'd been close, it felt strange. "Duskpaw," she meowed, her voice quiet. "I was about to go on a hunt, I was wondering if you'd join me?" Her gaze slid to her sister's, something that happened rarely, but she needed to communicate more than she could say. They needed to get out of camp, to a place where there were no ears. They needed to talk.
For the most part, Duskpaw tried not to be angry. She tried not to be bitter, to hold a grudge, to be upset with her sisters, because they were supposed to be in this together, and they didn't deserve it. But they had hardly spoken, and she could feel it all festering inside of her, every terrible, resentful thought. Pantherpaw had gone parading with Kier, she was expecting his kits, Cascadepaw was nothing but silence. Duskpaw was alone, and she supposed that was the point of it all, to separate them so they wouldn't get any ideas, so their loyalties lied only with Nightclan, not each other — in a place such as this, family was either a distraction or a stepping stone. Family had gotten Duskpaw and her sisters on trial in the first place, but she tried not to blame them. But togetherness seemed like such a foreign, unachievable concept now, when they were all pushed so far away from each other, when her sisters had the chance to do something, to at least pretend to be someone who fit in, someone worthwhile, and Duskpaw was left behind, the scapegoat who couldn't stop ruining her chances at catching up.
She had almost accepted it by now, that she would never again be able to just be normal with her sisters, that their relationship had been pulled too thin and the string had snapped. Grief was a silly thing, because she was grieving her mother, someone dead and buried (in the same grave that Kier had pushed her into, the same grave she'd had to beg to be pulled out of, the one she'd touched with her paws and sat in and felt) like she was supposed to, but she was also grieving two cats who were alive and well, cats she could look around and catch the eye of in camp, cats who weren't supposed to be grieved for. It was a confusing mix of emotions. She should be happy for them, she knew, she should be happy they had a chance, but she couldn't bring herself to be. Guilt swarmed, dark and consuming.
Duskpaw was in the limbo between Inferior and prisoner, not quite terrible enough to be put in the prisons but hardly good enough for even the lowest of Inferiors. She was utterly alone in her position. Duskpaw. From the place she sat at the edge of the main cavern, partially hidden by the shadows of the wall, she startled at the familiar voice, looking up and catching the eye of Cascadepaw, only briefly. "A hunt," she repeated quietly, mostly to herself. She looked down at her paws, flexing them until only the edges of her claws were visible, and she shuddered at the thought of using them. She was about to decline, to rush away with an excuse about someone needing something, despite the fact that nobody wanted Duskpaw in their business, but she clamped her mouth shut and nodded without a word, getting to her paws. She took a step closer but didn't move to stand beside Cascadepaw, head lowered and expecting, waiting for her to take the lead. Duskpaw didn't mention that she hardly knew how to hunt at all, but with the look in her sister's eyes, she assumed that wouldn't be a problem.