#this is under the idea that possibly goosefeather gives spottedleaf some insight

[sunnymoon-sunshine]

Crazy old Goosefeather had been in ThunderClan since time immemorial. His unkempt pelt and bulging eyes were already off putting on their own, but what truly set him apart from the rest of the clan his wild - and often dangerous - predictions. “He’d send ThunderClan off a cliff to their deaths,” She’d heard from the mouths of warriors who had lived long enough to see the damage caused by his paws. Feathertail alone seemed to show him kindness, rather than disdain.

The elder’s den looked foreboding, the knobbly branches curling like claws waiting to yank her in by the pelt. Spottedpaw rooted her paws to the spot, dread seeping through her fur like an icy rain.

Spottedpaw, newly apprenticed to the talented healer Feathertail, had only muddied her paws for a few days. He had praised her empathetic nature and knack for connecting with others, but as all apprentices must, she had to take care of the elders. And for some reason, likely due to all the talk, Goosefeather... well, he didn’t make her nervous. Or intimidated her, for that matter. It felt like a unique sort of emotion, torn between fear and fascination.

The other elders lay out in the wisps of sun that escaped from the cloudy leafbare sky. Goosefeather remained in the depths of the old tree, only raising his head when Spottedpaw’s soft paws pittered against the ancient wood.

“The new blood.” Was his form of a greeting, punctuated with a yawn. “Here for tick cleaning?”

She dropped a mouse in front of him. “I thought you might be hungry. You barely ate the past moon.”

Old Goosefeather dragged himself up, and it seemed to take all the effort the old cat had to do it. Once on his paws, he hobbled over and bent his head, taking a bite out of the mouse with yellowed teeth. His eyes never wavered from her. She didn’t move as he ate - something kept her paws in place. The air was thick with anticipation.

Once his meal was nothing but bones, he swiped his tongue over his maw a few times, as if scraping every last morsel he could. Then he spoke, shattering the silence between them,

“ThunderClan is doomed.”

Well, it was nice that he had such a positive outlook.

He seemed to wait for her to react. But she did not, so he continued, “What a clan without a seer?”

“We have a medicine cat,” She was quick to interject, “Feathertail, your former apprentice.”

Goosefeather let out a mrrow of amusement, sitting down with a flop. “My apprentice is a healer, Spottedpaw. He is no seer. He fears reading signs. He’s been ignoring them for many moons. And he’ll pass that along to you.”

Spottedpaw knew, instinctively so, that arguing with an old fool would get her no where. So instead, she engaged with him. “Why do you suppose that?”

“A misstep in his training.” Another yawn. “A mistake. Too late to fix. ThunderClan is doomed.”

A long pause. “Do you suppose it relates to how your... predictions have sometimes gone?”

Goosefeather was on his paws in a flash. His hackles raised, his lips curled. Spottedpaw flinched back from him as he spat out, “I saw the sign! It said we’d go to war with WindClan! I’d never have sent my sister to her own grave.”

She had only ever heard of Moonflower so very lovingly by her clanmates, especially by Bluefur.

She also knew the heartbreak that was her death.

“I’m sorry you lost her, Goosefeather.” She murmured, moving to lay her tail on his flank. He relaxed, if only just, allowing himself to sit again - though he made no move to sooth his ruffled fur.

“You’re right. He fears it. He is afraid of looking and not understanding.” He heaved a sigh. A rather dramatic sigh. “So he wanders the fog and closes his ears, ignoring the sounds - for he fears interpreting it incorrectly. And now he’s dooming ThunderClan with his ignorance,” He snorted in distain, “Going to lead us right off a cliff with his ignorance, the whole clan.”

Whatever trepidation she might have had entering the den had long since vanished. That empathy Feathertail so fondly praised came out in full force, mixed with curiosity made her stay and prod him further yet. “How are you so sure? Things seem relatively peaceful.”

“You don’t see the strength of the wind before it knocks down a tree, now do you?” Goosefeather retorted, though she thought he sounded a little amused. “The clan is full of doom and gloom right now. You’ve just yet to open your eyes to it.”

It was hard to believe the ramblings of old Goosefeather, but he sounded so sincere about it. So firm in his convictions. “Like what?” She asked, her head cocked to the side.

Spottedpaw hardly expected an answer, and yet Goosefeather hauled himself to his paws, with much less grunting and exaggeration this time, though still shakey on his paws from age. He made his way to the front of the den, then flicked his tail for her to follow. She obliged, craning her neck to see beyond the branches. The camp was busy with a surprising amount of activity, from cold paws looking for some task to keep the cold off. Warriors and apprentices bringing back scraggly fresh kill, patrols slipping in and out of the camp, and the chatter from cats pressed against each other, looking for both warmth and company. It looked fine, Spottedpaw thought. Peaceful, even.

“Where to begin, where to begin...” Hummed Goosefeather, surveying the camp through narrowed eyes. “ThunderClan teeters on ruin. And he-” the scraggly old medicine cat jerked his head towards the camp, “-is why.”

Spottedpaw tipped her head to the side. It made no sense at all. Thistleclaw wasn’t exactly pleasant, but... “Why do you suppose Thistleclaw is the reason for ruin?”

“You don’t see it. But you will. You’re a sensitive cat - you’ll pick it up.” He sounded almost like a mentor, speaking briskly to a young apprentice. “He’s got blood on his paws. That monster will drive ThunderClan into the open claws of every opponent he can find.”

“He doesn’t seem...” Spottedleaf began, but Goosefeather whirled around, baring his teeth in her face. Her ears flicked back to lay flat against her head, but she refused to shrink down.

“How many times must I tell you to look. Seeming and reality are two different things, you fool. He’s got blood on his paws, Spottedpaw. And he’s not the only thing wrong with this StarClan-forsaken clan.” He hissed, flicking his tail into the camp.

“Bluefur’s got to make a choice, and her bastard kits will suffer no matter what she chooses.”

Spottedpaw gasped, mouth hanging wide from shock. “Don’t call them that! They aren’t even born. If Thrushpelt heard-”

“I’m sure the father of Bluefur’s kits would march right on over and rip my fur off if he belonged to ThunderClan.” He retorted. They watched in silence as Bluefur emerged from the nursery, her thick blue pelt fluffed against the cold and belly round with kits who were near. At entrance of the camp, Tigerclaw’s massive figure emerged, shaking paws that were clumped with snow at every step. He carried an impressive catch - amouse, neither fat nor thin - towards the nursery, laying it at Bluefur’s paws. While Spottedpaw couldn’t hear what was spoken, Bluefur’s expression was grateful, while Tigerclaw showed concern.

“He’s a monster.”

Goosefeather’s words were colder than any wind or chill, than the freeze that came in the night and clung to whiskers on the dawn. Each word that rolled off his tongue were said with absolute certainty. He said them and meant them.

“Tigerclaw is a great warrior,” She murmured, glancing sidelong at the batty old cat, “For all that Thistleclaw is brute and claw, Tigerclaw thinks before he acts. Surely a cat such as that cannot be a monster?”

“I would think, Spottedpaw,” Goosefeather drawled, “That a cat who thinks about the act of evil first - and yet still goes through with the deed  rut- is much more dangerous than a cat who goes in claws and teeth first without a thought in his head.”

“You do a good job of insulting multiple cats in one sentence.”

He let out a wheezy mrrow. “You’re blunt.” Was his only reply.

Spottedpaw’s whiskers twitched. That, she thought, sounded suspiciously like a note of approval. But then, remembering his words, she slid back into seriousness like a RiverClan cat to water. “What will he do?”

“Many things. He will do many countless things. But I can tell no more than that. His path is dark - he will walk it alone.”

“How can you be so sure?” It was a genuine question that rolled off Spottedpaw’s tongue, “How can you tell a sign from the stars from nature itself?”

Goosefeather sat back on his haunches, turning his gaze on her. He was so old, and yet his eyes so intensely blue - so fierce in his conviction.

“Because, Spottedpaw, it wasn’t curiosity or kindness that dragged you in this den. It was fate. It was the stars that pulled you in. ThunderClan needs a seer,” He continued, drawing his eyes back onto the camp, “And if StarClan says it, then it must be so.”

She followed his gaze.

Her fur bristled in fear.

Logically, she knew it could have been from a meal, or a wound, or something else of some sort. But she could see it now, where she hadn’t before.

Thistleclaw’s paws were soaked in blood.

#sunnymoon's writings #spottedleaf #goosefeather #warriors #warrior cats au #warrior cats #hello friends it is I #your local tired friend #who just wanted to write something #and so something she wrote #this is under the idea that possibly goosefeather gives spottedleaf some insight #I also should reread this and edit this later #but later