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!
News & Updates
11.06.2022 The site has been transformed into an archive. Thank you for all the memories here!
Here on Classic we understand that sometimes life can get difficult and we struggle. We may need to receive advice, vent, know that we are not alone in our difficult times, or even just have someone listen to what's going on in our lives. In light of these times, we have created the support threads below that are open to all of our members at any time.
Hauling himself up over the large rock and slithering down the other side, the tom moved fluid as a shadow over the river stones as he closed in on his prey. The rocks were slick with water and difficult to grasp, but he had grown up on far more treacherous terrain, and his steps were confident as he mounted the next obstacle. The rabbit's head bobbed as it drank in the cool waters, and as he eased himself closer, it paused to look around. Singedwolf struck immediately, launching himself off the rock with three paws and slamming into the prey. They rolled and he delivered a harsh killing bite moments before the pair plunged into the river, and he howled in shock at the cool rush of water around him.
Perhaps, had he been a threat, she would have reacted with bared teeth and a lash of her tail, claws unsheathed and prepared to attack.
But as the white she-cat lifted her head from sniffing at the herb patch she'd found and watched him attempt to glide gracefully – that didn't last long – across the stones after his prize, only to fall into the water, she found herself slightly straining not to let her giggle escape. He seemed like a big brute of a tom, all muscle and no personality, but surely any character who managed to find himself sitting in a lazy stream as his prey flounced off had to have some sort of comedic trait.
"I don't recommend playing around in that water," she called softly, smile on her lips, pink and purple eyes twinkling in amusement, "the fish tend to nibble."
Singedwolf's body thrashed back and forth in the water as he grappled with the current, refusing to let go of his prey for even an instant. He had fought hard for that rabbit, and his clan was going to eat it, sodden or otherwise. As his head broke the surface, he had time to growl at her comment before he ducked back down to grab the prey and freed up his paws. It was much easier, then, to haul himself out and onto the bank, the water shallow enough he could nearly walk. Once he was settled upon the shore, he spat out the rabbit and kicked it in her direction, an unfriendly look hewn onto his burned features.
His dark fur was sodden to his sides and hung down his face, partially covering up the nasty burns scars preserved there and his malignant eyes. He had seen Sakurapaw around a few times, though he had never cared to interact with her. The second Fawnheart approved him to leave the den he had left and never looked back, fighting on his own to become a warrior once more. SpringClan had treated the three-legged warrior well, and he repaid them with his hunting prowess, not his conversationalist skills.
"If the fish nibble on me I'll flat them where they stand," he growled.
Sakurapaw did giggle, that time. Despite his surly demeanor, she only found herself endeared to him; especially when his soaked fur hung off of him and made his build far less impressive and impeccable. She smiled and glanced at the prey thag was unceremoniously flung at her paws, blinking at the body before looking back at him. Though she knew as part of her duty she needed to get to know each of her clanmates, at her young age and the amount of information streamed into her during her training, she admitted internally not every face rang a bell within her.
Still, she was sorry for the missed opportunity; this interaction was proving to be quite the entertainment.
“My dear warrior, I don’t know what fish you’ve stumbled upon in your patrols here, but I have yet to see a fish with legs.” She giggled. “It would make a marvelous sight indeed.”
She tilted her head, expression growing serious a fraction. “You aren’t injured, though? From your impromptu afternoon swim?”
The sharp glare he shot her way could have split a stone in two. She was just a 'paw -- she should be cowering under the heat of his fury, not giggling and making stupid remarks. If this was SunClan, he'd swat her over the head and teach her a thing or two about respect . . . but SpringClan had made it clear more than once they didn't want him disciplining the other cats so harshly. His old job had left him with the ability to reach one lesson - stay away - and he didn't have the tools or the desire to learn anything new.
"No." The one-word answer was spat at her feet as his jaw locked. He sat down and started to groom his coat dry, keeping one eye on her. The fall had only injured his dignity, and that was in shambles anyway. Singedwolf had been learning a lot about modesty lately, not that he would admit to anyone that he wasn't as strong as he used to be. "If you don't shut up, you might be."
Sakurapaw quirked a brow. “Pretty strong words coming from a warrior to his medicine cat.” Though she could have easily placed heat in her words, they were accompanied by a small, much more emotion filled smile, with a mocking edge to it that indicated despite what she said, she didn’t resonate with the new title. If he had voiced his belief in her inexperience due to her apprentice suffix, she would have agreed with him, even if just internally. The she-cat didn’t believe herself worthy of being a full fledged medicine cat, let alone her clan. But she didn’t want to be swept away by that grief, not yet at least; out here, away from the camp and the medicine den, she was gifted a reprieve of the darkness that enveloped her.
The young white feline turned back toward the herb patch she’d been distracted from and nosed for the best plant, nipping what she needed off and gathering it together to neatly bring back to camp later on.
“I’m glad you’re alright. If that changes, don’t hesitate to approach at least Softpelt. She still has healing training, she can help you if you’d rather rely on her.” She smiled, briefly bright thinking back on her newfound friend. “She’s a gifted healer.” The she-cat bent down and picked up the herbs between her teeth, padding farther down the bank in search of what else she needed to restock the supply back home.
"I've shredded kits before, you think I'll stop at medicine cats?" he answered. It was difficult to tell if he was being honest or just exaggerating, but Singedwolf wasn't known for his swagger.
He glared after her as she left, his lip curling as she turned her back on him. Singedwolf should have left it there. The old version of him would have; he would have snorted, muttered "good riddance", and never thought of her again. She wasn't a threat, she wasn't his responsibility, she was less important than the dirt under his paws. But even if he resented to think he had changed, a part of him had grown forlorn and lonely in this outcast clan, far from the cat he had failed to protect.
And so he called out to her impulsively, striding a few steps her way to make sure she could hear the sneer in his voice. "Softpelt isn't a real medicine cat, and you don't even have your name. No wonder Fawnheart died, there's nobody left in this clan with an ounce of healing ability. I'll trust my injuries to nature before I let one of you smear dirt in my wounds."
Sakurapaw stopped. She knew it was a ruse to get her attention, get her anger, reel any emotion other than the serene calm she nurtured and helped flourish under the guidance of her father, Softpelt, Goldengriffon, and above all, StarClan. She knew he was the type of tom to have not come after her; perhaps she could focus instead on the truth within his action that him coming after her when he could have left well enough alone was representative of a cry for help. A moon ago, that would have been her focus. But the survivor’s guilt that had been eating away at her heart and mind after Fawnheart’s passing, the toxic, ugly, snarling thing that lived in her heart and tore her down every time she experienced anything positive, the belief that she wasn’t good enough for her clan or the path she was on, it culminated with the unnecessary push Singedwolf gave to result in her freezing, her sick mind latching onto his words and warping them, making them far worse than they already were, causing a swooping in her stomach, a paling to her cheeks as the blood drained from her face, but above all else, a sudden desire to feel anything. She was so used to feeling numb. Earlier that day, watching the warrior splash around eccentrically in the water, was the first time since her mentor’s passing that she’d experienced any genuine emotion.
Now that the same feline who’d created that joy tore it to pieces, she longed for nothing more than the numb to go away again. Which led her…
The she-cat sat the herbs down at her feet, slowly turned, and gazed up at him with clouded pink and purple eyes.
“I understand. As you’ve made your opinion of me, and Softpelt, and subsequently Fawnheart by criticizing and demeaning her successor so soon after her passing clear, I can only assume your reasoning be that you mean to make your life — and the lives of others, as surely if you are suffering under the apparent misguided care of myself, so too are they — better by solving the situation.”
She dipped her head.
“I commend you for thinking of your clanmates and your own health before placing any cat upon a pedestal. To keep to tradition, you could challenge a duel? Surely further eradicating any reputation I was generously given through being associated with a much better medicine cat would secure my removal from position and, symptomatically, the freedom of yourself and our clanmates from the dangerous oversight of my presence.”
The corner of her lips curved ingenuinely. “Though, I’m sure challenging someone like me to a duel would be seen as a waste of time.” She dipped her head. “In that case, I’ll make sure to notify Softpelt of your decision to no longer seek treatment from her or myself. I apologize for your mistreatment by the two of us having gone on as long as it has.”
Singedwolf barked a laugh, harsh and grating. He was not a cat who laughed often and the sound was ugly and rasping in his throat. "Challenge you? I'm old as the damn dust and missing my favorite leg, and I could still kill you before you laid a claw on me. No, I'm not going to waste my time in a fight against someone like you." He stalked forward as he spoke, drawing up close so he could loom over her and spit in her face, but when he was inches away he stopped and simply glared into her, his eyes hard and unforgiving, his burned mouth twitching out of his control.
"I don't care if you end up the best medicine cat in the world, I don't care if I'm on the verge of death, you keep your paws off of me," he agreed firmly. "Better to die fighting than at your paws."
Sakurapaw blinked. Though she was still hurt and spiraling into the darkness she believed she’d gotten away from, she was now confused. She thought her monologue made it clear what options were at his disposal, and yet he was acting like he hadn’t heard her say a single thing. Did she not say she would inform Softpelt of his preference to not be treated for illness or injury by either of them? And yet he was getting in her face, with his admittedly not pleasant breath — she could give him some mint for that, but remembered he didn’t want to be touched with her dirty paws, even though she was incredibly hygienic and regularly washed them — and spitting at her that she will never touch or help him. Despite having already said that before and her agreeing to it. Did he know he was talking in circles? Was it some sort of strategy? Perhaps he was hard of hearing… or so enraged he couldn’t hear past the blood rushing in his ears.
“Right…” she squinted in confusion at his bizarre eccentricity, “well, like I said, I’ll inform Softpelt of your preference not to be bothered by us. So, if that’s all…” she blinked at him, growing steadily more concerned by his behavior. She was tired; all she wanted to do was go back to camp, despite the hard memories that lived there, and keep away from the beast.
"Good. You do that," Singedwolf growled. He remained in place, immobile except the irritated lashing of his tail; the fury etched into his face was comfortable there, but as the tide of anger started to recede, there was nothing to take its place. He looked vaguely uncomfortable and finally stepped back. It was less of a step and more of a hop, his sole back leg stiff and awkward when it came to moving in this direction, but he managed it without falling.
"That's all. Get lost," he said with finality.
His coat was prickling, so he turned back to his prey, abandoned several cat-lengths from them.
