#warrior cats fanfiction

Sandpaw is trying. She hadn’t realized, before, how much trying went into every day. She can feel the tally mounting, the energy it takes to wake up and hunt and tend the elders and beyond that, to have a life outside her duties, to talk to her friends and smile at her mother– every day takes an effort, and it is exhausting.  

But nonetheless, she tries, and it seems to be working.

She knows she will be made a warrior soon.

For now though, she is not– but StarClan knows that when her Clanmates are in danger, she will fight like one. Yowls break through the brambles like birds rising to flight; silence, then a wild outbreak, and she hears Fireheart’s cry raise to the sky on wheezing wings.

Tigerclaw gives the signal, and the ThunderClan patrol bursts out onto RiverClan territory.

She doesn’t have time to take in the scene; she just launches herself at a dark-pelted warrior that she does not recognize and hopes for the best. As she sinks her teeth into his pelt, she tastes the telltale damp of river-water and the lingering oil of a fish-eater. I’ll show him how ThunderClan protects its own.

Her claws thrash against his stomach, churning fur and flesh alike, and victory clamors through her like thunder, adrenaline drowning in the beat of blood in her ears.

That rush turns to ringing as the tom twists under her and lands a solid kick on her head. She stumbles back.

The RiverClan warrior does not relent. He’s in front of her in a moment, balancing on his hind legs and batting at her face left and right, so fast she cannot pick a direction to dodge before the next one hits. Sandpaw crouches down,  searching for any escape from his relentless onslaught– if she can get some space, she can fight, but there’s no escape here.

She catches sight of an open space through the storm of blows and crouches even lower, bunching her leg muscles under her body as if hunting a mouse. Her opponent sweeps too far and in the moment of his disbalance, Sandpaw dashes past him.

“Get off of our territory!” The tom cries, whipping around to face her. “Thunderclan rat.”

“ThunderClan fights to win,” Sandpaw calls back. Her tail lashes as the two eye each other. Blood drips from a cut over Sandpaw’s eye, and she resists the urge to wipe it away; it’ll only give him an opening.

“Only cowards try to steal territory,” the dark warrior accuses, his muzzle wrinkling into a snarl.

Sandpaw’s snarls back. “We don’t need to!”

At least, she hopes so.

Eyes narrowed to slits, Sandpaw sizes up her opponent. His eyes glow with fierce determination. He’s protecting his home, like I’m protecting my clanmates. Can she be sure that the others weren’t stealing prey? Graystripe would never, but what about Fireheart?

Could a kittypet ever really understand the Warrior Code?

Maybe not– but Sandpaw can, and that means fighting ThunderClan’s battles no matter what she might think.

A battle cry tearing into the air, the RiverClan warrior launches himself at Sandpaw and the two go tumbling, a writhing mass of enmity, indistinguishable as they lash and claw for what is just. The grass flattens beneath them and a trail of fur and blood follows them as they clash.

“Surrender!” The tom hisses, his claws deep in her hind leg. Sandpaw finds the nearest thing– his tail– and bites, hard. He lets out a yowl and they roll again, further from the rest of the cats and into what feels like their own theatre.

The rushing in Sandpaw’s ears is louder now. The ground seems to throb with the beating of her heart and all is reduced to that simple truth: blood in her veins, blood in her ears, blood on her claws. That which flows inside her is strong and fierce; that which is outside her must be multiplied til the battle is won.

“Sandpaw!” Fireheart’s cry breaks through her reverie, and in the split second that she looks away, the RiverClan tom takes advantage of her distraction and goes to bat her head again. Her wide eyes catch the bone-white gleam on his claws, the sun caught in spires behind him as he rears, high and final.

Fireheart tumbles into the both of them, sending the RiverClan tom flying, and reaching to yank Sandpaw by the scruff, hard.

“Fireheart, what are you doing?” She gasps, her breath coming hard. “I can win my battles without you!” She whips around for her opponent, only to find a space where he had stood. “What–”

The rushing in her ears dies down, but a roar remains.

Her heart nearly stops when she sees a white paw grasping the edge of a cliff, only a tail length away from where she and the tom had been fighting. She thinks it does stop when that paw disappears over the side, and the wail of her enemy is eaten by the river, his last cry taken by the rapids’ churning teeth.

There is no fight after that.

Sandpaw feels like a ghost in her own body, bound only by the pain in her pelt and the invisible flames that lick across her paws. She has always burned hot, but never like this– the forest could come blazing down and she would not feel the coals.

It’s that dark tom’s blood, caught on her own claws, searing crime into her fur. Whiteclaw. She says the name again to herself. Whiteclaw. She won’t forget.

“What was all of that?” She catches Tigerclaw’s whisper to Fireheart and tilts her head towards them. She’d like to know that herself.

“It was the faster route…” Fireheart trails, a hollow look in his eye. “We thought it would let RiverClan know that WindClan was back.”

“Well, they know now, don’t they?” Tigerclaw hisses.

ThunderClan had been in the wrong. And a cat had died for it.

The patrol slinks back into camp, all the fervor drained from their paws by the long, painful walk back.

Sandpaw goes straight to the medicine cat’s den. Yellowfang’s sharp, spicy scent catches her nose and she is relieved to find the grumpy old cat at work organizing her herbs.

“You need something?” Yellowfang called back. “Or are you just here to enjoy blocking my sun?”

Sandpaw forced her fur flat. “There was a fight.” It’s all she says, but it’s enough.

Yellowfang turns to face the apprentice. “Those are some deep cuts you’ve got there.” Sandpaw nods. “Stay there. I’ll get something for them.” Brusque as ever, Yellowfang rummages deep into the crevices and comes out a mouthful of herbs. Yellowfang’s eyes narrow as she licks a poultice over the deepest of Sandpaw’s wounds.

“You alright?” Yellowfang asks.

Sandpaw nods again.

“Hm.” Yellowfang raises a paw, and Sandpaw turns her head away. Yellowfang doesn’t need her watching to put on cobwebs. A needlelike-jab makes Sandpaw let out a yelp as she jumps back– more in surprise than pain, but still enough movement to make her shoulder ache.

“What was that for!” Sandpaw cries, unable to erase the hurt on her face.

“When something hurts, you call out. You don’t sit there in silence and endure it til it kills you– you let cats smarter and older than you help deal with it.” Yellowfang’s face sets into a scowl. “Now come here and let me do my job.”

Huffing, Sandpaw reluctantly trots back to Yellowfang’s side. “I’m fine.”

Yellowfang raises her paw again in warning, a single claw unsheathed.

“Okay! Fine,” Sandpaw concedes, and Yellowfang lowers her paw to start working on the next round of herbs. “StarClan. You didn’t have to go and do that.”

“You’re stubborn, like me,” Yellowfang says. “If nobody prodded you, no one would ever know that you’re hurt.”

“Maybe I like it that way.” Sandpaw frowns. That’s how warriors are meant to be, after all. Strong. “Besides, you can see all my wounds. I’ll be fine.”

“A little medicine cat, are you?” Yellowfang applies the marigold with a little more force than necessary, and Sandpaw cringes. “But you’re right. As long as you don’t go fighting any more battles for a bit, your body will heal just fine.” The medicine cat meets Sandpaw’s eyes, and she’s surprised to find concern there. “It’s not your body I’m worried about. Some wounds aren’t on the body– and those are much harder to heal.”

Sandpaw takes a deep breath. It shudders on the way out. “What do you mean?”

“The claws of your mind are sharper than the ones on your feet.” Yellowfang stares at the ground, her eyes distant. “And they’re eager to tear at you. They’re poisoned like an adder’s fang, and they leave hate to fester in your heart– not of an enemy, but of yourself.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Sandpaw says.

“Is that so?”

Sandpaw swallows.

“So nothing happened out there today? A clean, honest fight?”

Yellowfang’s eyes are even and flat as stones. Sandpaw cannot see into them, read their depths for any answer Sandpaw can give other than the one Yellowfang wants.

“We won,” Sandpaw allows. “That’s all that matters.”

The medicine cat levels her gaze at the Sandpaw. “I didn’t peg you for weak, Sandpaw. But even old cats can be wrong. If you’re done, you can go.”

Sandpaw’s heart wrenches like a bone popped out of its socket. “I am not weak!” She exclaims, her claws digging into the sandy floor of the cave.

Bristling like a floor of pine needles and twice as incendiary, Yellowfang brings her face close to Sandpaw’s and hisses. “Then face your pain!” She gives Sandpaw more space. “Warriors don’t run from a battle! They stand up and face it!”

“Well maybe they should run, sometimes. Maybe not every battle deserves to be fought.” Sandpaw’s eyes go wide. “I’m sorry– I shouldn’t have said that–”

“And why not?” Yellowfang challenges.

“Because I have a duty to defend my Clan! And if a battle is being fought, my Clanmates are in danger–the warrior code–”

“The warrior code is good, but there are times where it demands blood that does not need to be spilled. Not every leader is just.” Yellowfang pauses. “Do you regret fighting today?”

Sandpaw sets her jaw. “I…regret that the battle was fought. It was over nothing– if they’d just talked,” she mews. “No one had to die.”

A sigh settles on Yellowfang’s shoulders. “I see.”

“But I don’t regret fighting today,” Sandpaw says, and she realizes as she speaks that she means it. “I did what I thought was right.”

“That’s all we can do.” Yellowfang lays a tail on her shoulder in a comforting gesture that Sandpaw wouldn’t have expected of the old she-cat. “You’re young now. This is the time of your life where you do what you’re told and trust that those leading you are making the right decisions– but soon, you’ll have to start making those decisions yourself. And when you do, hold on to that. Always wonder if a battle is worth dying for before you walk into it, because you never know when a claw will slip or a rock will tumble.” Images of Redtail’s body flashed briefly in Sandpaw’s mind. “It’s not much, as far as advice goes, but it’s all I can give you–when it’s time for you to make those decisions, you can consider the choices of your Clan, but ultimately, you must do what you think is right. Sometimes that means mercy, even if everything you know tells you to strike.”

Sandpaw presses her paws nervously against the ground. Her wounds sting, but Yellowfang’s words sink into her now-patchy fur. “I understand. May I go?”

“Get some rest,” Yellowfang murmurs, her eyes somewhere else. “And be kind. “