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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Rosethorn listened to his condolences with a growing appreciation for the tom. Despite the anger of their first meeting, there really was an underthread of understanding between them. Not that she knew what to do with that revelation, but it was comforting all the same. "I do remember hearing that, but it wasn't worded quite the same way." The hazy gossip was coming back to her now.
"From what I remember, people called you a hero. They thought... Well, nevermind. I'm sure you heard what they thought, and that you don't agree. Probably why you left." Rosethorn debated her next words, trying to figure out what he'd appreciate the most. "I know... what it feels like to be a failure. To not measure up. And I also know that more often than not, that feeling is entirely self-generated. Other cats don't often see us the way we see ourselves- and that can be even worse than if they did see our faults as clearly as we did."
Rosethorn sighed softly, looking down at the dirt. "But I understand why you left. For a while, I debated doing the same. It felt like Summerclan was not the place for my grief and my self-loathing. They were too... happy. Too wrapped up in the positive to feel the negative as keenly as I did. But I get it a little more now than I did before."
The cream and gray she-cat was not used to sharing her inner thoughts like this- she was often outspoken about her opinions, but her deeper feelings were embarrassing to think about. Rosethorn flicked back an ear, smiling again to lighten the mood. "We're throwing ourselves a little pity party out here, aren't we?"
"SummerClan likes to overlook tragedy," he agreed somberly, looking anywhere but at Rosethorn. Prior to the events that ousted him, Phantomfox couldn't envision a life where he did not chase the sun until the very last light of day was erased from the horizon and where he did not share tongues with his clanmates in the place he called home. He could never have imagined a life filled with bloodlust and malice and solitude, nor the fear that would jolt through him when he walked alone, anticipating an attack from an unseen foe. SummerClan wasn't a place for cats like him. Those that saw dishonor in heroics and wore scars in memory of failure.
At her smile and sardonic remark, a sharp bark of laughter erupted from him. "I suppose we are. No one else will celebrate it if we don't." His silver eyes flicked back toward her now, an undertone of mischief coloring them and bleeding into his next comment. "Too bad I don't have more enjoyable company. Stuck all the way out here with a she-cat who tried to get me killed once already."
Something about his gaze unnerved her, made her fur prickle more than normal. Rosethorn was used to getting looks, because she was obviously very beautiful, but somehow that seemed unimportant when it was Phantomfox doing the looking. "And mind your manners, or I'll lead another raccoon your way. I should be getting back," she said, standing and shuffling her paws. "Maybe I'll see you- maybe not." With that, she headed off again, this time keeping a careful nose out for rabid animals.
The moons that passed between their meetings were eventful. Rosethorn was frankly overwhelmed by dealing with her sister's relationship issues and gardenkeeping duties. Every so often she would remember her meeting with Phantomfox. She wasn't sure why, since they were even now and she had no reason to worry over him.
Still, when news trickled in that Moonclan had been involved in a skirmish with Sunclan, her first thought was of the scarred tom and his wellbeing. The borders were closed, and she wasn't dumb enough to break the rules to go check on him. Then came the news that Moonclan had returned, and the borders reopened, so Rosethorn decided very casually one night to meander over to the Moonclan border. It was not to check on Phantomfox. She didn't care. It was just because she really enjoyed the scenery near that border. Plus, she needed a break from Crow's moping around camp and the angry gazes he gave her every once in a while.
While she was there, she casually sniffed around for Phantomfox. Again, not because she cared. It was just because she wanted to know if her flower crown had gone to waste. He'd probably forgotten her, anyway.
Were he to claim that Rosethorn never crossed his mind, lightning would strike where he stood and eradicate the beast named Phantomfox. She would slip into his thoughts when he least expected it: A raccoon scurrying through the brush would evoke memories of that day they met, or a cloud would drift by with its gray underbelly to remind him of the cream and gray she-cat, or in the midst of a war he might glimpse amber eyes that were too dull to be hers. He would think of her fleetingly, never expecting the surge of nerves that swept through him when he did so.
It was annoying, like Rosethorn.
Out of some misplaced principle, he avoided the border where they first met whenever he could (not because MoonClan had been driven out of the territory since then). He would patrol other borders and take out his frustration on cats in other clans, and if he couldn't find anyone dumb enough to cross over, he would plop on the ground and lay there for hours, mindlessly twirling the dying petals in the flower crown around his claws. He wouldn't admit it to Rosethorn but he kept it near him, if not on him, every day. Not because he liked it. It was just rude to throw away a gift. That was it.
Tonight, however, with eve approaching and the blossoms of new-leaf arriving in full force, he ventured back out to that fateful border. He didn't expect her to be there; she probably forgot about him, anyway. He was just passing through like any good warrior would do, but he couldn't repress the stir of jitters waking in his steps as the pretty, annoying she-cat came into view. Correction: pretty annoying she-cat, because Rosethorn was annoying. Also pretty, but he would die before he admitted that without an insult attached to it.
"Getting a little close there, honey." A simper breezed across his scarred muzzle, a taunt laden in his tone as he referenced the very first time they met, though unlike then there was no animosity in it.
"You're ok-" Rosethorn cut herself off, clearing her throat and quickly stifling the relief in her gaze into boredom. "Oh, it's you," she said casually, coming to a halt. "I'm surprised to see you here and not off harassing a kit or something."
Her long, soft tail swished behind her as she sat, carefully observing the tom. He looked much different at night, more ethereally silver from the scarring. "I think I might have heard something about a war. Though it might have been a rumor- I wasn't really paying attention." That was a lie- she had hovered near any conversation about the conflict, wondering if she'd hear news that indicated her obnoxious savior's fate. "Our borders just opened again, so I've been pretty preoccupied with more important things."
His whiskers twitched, a barely discernable motion but it was there all the same. He caught the beginnings of relief in her eyes, and despite himself Phantomfox let it slide without much more notice than that. "I just got back from harassing the kits actually," snipped the MoonClan feline, coming to stand across from her. There were new scars gleaming across his shoulders that would go unnoticed in the daylight, hidden by his darker fur until the moon rose to highlight all the memories of pain and warfare strewn across his body.
"More important things like planting flowers and running from raccoons no doubt." Her familiar floral aroma wafted around him, and Phantomfox felt a pang brush through him as he thought of the wilting flower crown and its tattered state. But he couldn't ask for another one. That would be uncool and she would think he cared or liked it or some nonsense like that. Instead, as he stretched his legs into a languid stretch, what he said was, "MoonClan successfully drove SunClan back to their own territory. How they'll be able to survive since everything was destroyed in the fire, I don't know and I don't care. It's so sweet of you to worry about me." Underneath the snide tone, there was some satisfaction to know that Rosethorn had worried at all.
"It's good to hear that not even the youngest escape your unbearable presence." Rosethorn quickly scanned his form, checking for injuries and noticing the new scars. "And yes to the flowers, no to the raccoons. I learned my lesson and won't be encountering any more hostile wildlife if I can help it. Apart from yourself."
Her gleaming amber eyes drifted to the scars again, and her nose twitched as he told her the story. She was tempted to offer more herbs, but then again, she didn't owe him anything anymore, right? He could ask the medicine cat if the wounds hurt- she wasn't his personal plant gatherer. "I was not worried," she said with an eye roll. "Why anyone would be worried about a bully like you is beyond my understanding. I just happened to be in the area to... to gather some herbs and look for plant seeds. How is the rest of your clan?"
A hum that was surprisingly melodic lilted from him just then, unconvinced by her admission. "So where are the herbs and plant seeds?" A cursory glance at her paws would confirm that she had not collected any supplies. "Or did I need to help you with that too? Save your sorry tail and do your job for you?" The derision was playful, humor alight in moon-washed eyes.
"The rest of MoonClan is fine. There was lots of fighting and bloodshed-- y'know, stuff you wouldn't understand." He omitted the gorier details for her sake, like how cats on both sides were felled or how Marvelcanvas was slain by Bloodystar, only to awake in the aftermath with her name and nine lives. "I take it that the borders are open again. Ratstar must have gotten tired of you mouthing off around camp." p
"You know, this may surprise you, but cats actually like me back in my camp. The borders would've stayed closed forever if I was the determining factor." Rosethorn laughed faintly, brushing past the topic of bloodshed. He was right- she wouldn't understand, as she purposefully isolated herself from anything that could lead to death.
There was a moment of quiet as she tried desperately to think of some herbs that may grow around here. She could've told him to butt off, that she could find them on her own. She probably should tell him to go, now that she knew he was fine. "I'm looking for lavender and thyme," she said finally, listing two cold-hardy herbs. "I doubt you have any idea what they look like, as much of an unlearned brute you are. But if you do know where I can find some, I'd appreciate you pointing me in their direction. Not that I need your help with anything other than pest control, though."
"I am surprised. Are you sure they like you or did you get scratched by that raccoon? You may be hallucinating." Before she had a chance to react, Phantomfox was on his feet and crossed the border with seemingly no second thought, stooping so that he could touch his nose against her head. It was the most fleeting touch before he leaned away, a thoughtful expression upon his face to mask the jitters. "Just as I feared," he monotoned grimly, "you have a bad case of unlikability. Thankfully, it isn't contagious so I don't have to worry."
Certain she would try to box him around the ears-- if she could reach-- he slipped back to his side of the border and began to move alongside it, beckoning with his tail for her to follow. "I know what lavender looks like, thank you very much, but you'll have to find the thyme on your own. I'll be busy protecting you from the big scary wabbits and all, anyway." In a way Rosethorn reminded him of the days before Foxpax's death, and she certainly brought out the remnants of Coyotewild that were buried beneath his scars. It was bittersweet; he liked it, but it reminded him of why that part of him died.
Rosethorn's amber eyes widened when he crossed the border, and she was frozen with surprise when he touched his nose to her forehead. She should recoil away from him, as ill-tempered and threatening as he had been before, but she found herself fighting the urge to lean into this touch. The verbal insults were lost on her, just a buzz in her ear as he pulled away.
She wasn't sure why he did that, and she couldn't know the way the brush of her soft fur and her eternally floral scent lingered on his nose even after he was safely back on his own territory. Why did the scent of pine linger long after he was gone? Rosethorn shook her head- this was embarrassing, and frankly confusing. What was he saying? Something about protecting her from rabbits.
"I hope the rabbits get the better of you," she muttered, moving off after him as they walked. They moved in relative silence, Rosethorn too absorbed in her own thoughts to say anything clever. Finally, the lavender came into view- a patch of it among the trees on the unclaimed side of the border. She moved towards it, gathering some quickly and binding it with a dying vine she pulled from a tree. Why had she asked him to come? Summerclan didn't even need lavender.
"I think I smell thyme over there," she motioned to the edge of the moorland that extended across the border. "I doubt there's anything you need to protect me from, though if there is you'll see it coming." Not knowing she'd soon regret her words, she moved forward, nosing her way among the grasses in search of the herb she was unnecessarily searching for- her clan had no use for excess thyme either. After a moment she gave a startled yelp, backpedaling rapidly and lifting one foot off the ground and cursing under her breath.
The copperhead that had bitten her was already slithering away- moving in the same silence it had struck her foot in. Droplets of blood pooled on the velvet pink of her paw pad, and she stared at it dumbfoundedly before the pain started to set it.
He was pained when the breeze stole her scent from him, and he made his stride very casually slow down until she gained some ground on him, the same breeze now flicking stray wisps of jasmine in his direction. Maybe that's what caused his lapse in focus as they steered towards the moors, allowing himself to let down his guard as contentment blanketed their silence. Phantomfox would blame himself for what came of that.
Rosethorn's cry wasn't so much loud as it was heart-stopping, and in an instant he was back on alert, discerning the source of her pain to be the copper-hued worm trying to slip back away without consequence. He was upon it before it registered the threat, just like the last time she'd seen him leap into action, but this time he barely had to lift his paw to smash the offender beneath his weight. The scarred warrior was careful to keep it out of her sight-- he was certain Rosethorn's sensitivity could not handle the sight of blood and death at once.
Her attacker disposed of, Phantomfox moved back to her side to assess the damage. Her pad was already beginning to swell around the puncture holes, the area irritated and red (like Rosethorn's face had looked during their first encounter). "I don't know anything about snake bites. I'm taking you back to camp." She wouldn't be able to object, because he flung her across his back and charged in the direction of camp, heart thundering in his chest. The bite wasn't severe and the wounds not incredibly large, but he could still feel where blood would leak from her paw and melt into his fur.
No one could even approach the medium's den while Zestal oversaw Rosethorn's care. Phantomfox was reverted to his primitive nature that itched to relieve his angst in the only way he knew how: Violence. His claws pricked into the dirt underfoot as he prowled outside the den, tail lashing and a snarl etched into his muzzle, which was quickly vanquished when he was finally permitted to enter the den. The worry washed into relief, but that was swiftly ignited into annoyance that tinted his outburst. "Can't you even watch where you're putting your feet? You're a real sorry excuse for a wildcat, did you know that? I can't be around to protect you every time you choose to get hurt! Stupid Rosethorn."
Not that he cared that she was a magnet for misfortune. He was just mad that it always happened on his watch-- first with Foxpaw, and now Rosethorn. Why was it that every she-cat in his life seemed intent on getting themselves hurt or killed? Maybe he was the source, the root cause for it all. The thought roused a deeper anger that came from his self-hatred, his eyes settled on the herbs binding her wounded paw together, the sharp scent of Rosethorn's blood still heavy in the air.
Rosethorn felt terrible. It had been decreed that she would live, and the wound had been treated with herbs, but their medicine cat... or whatever the position was called... had moved off to attend to a kitting queen in the nursery. Rosethorn had been left alone, in a strange den, surrounded by strange cats, to experience the nonlethal but unpleasant lingering effects of the venom, which had to work their way out of her system on their own. She had already vomited twice, and felt on the verge of it again, and her paw burned despite the herbal paste. Her breathing was labored, and her vision blurry.
"Don't yell at me," she hissed, faintly shaky as she moved to lay down. "Don't you think I know everything you just said?" She wished she could go home, but Zestal had insisted she stay until she was fully better- she could not limp home in her state. A patrol had been sent to Summerclan's border to let them know she was recovering in Moonclan. "If I'm that much of an inconvenience to you, you can just leave and let nature pick me off on its own time." Her pain made her more vitriolic than usual, as she turned and vomited again where she had been instructed to by Zestal.
"You're not--" Splintering his fury was something raw, a desolation unraveling in the embers of his wrath. She looked frail. Frail and trembling and shallow, some ghost of the cat named Rosethorn who aimed steady shots at him and who held more ferocity in her heart than a lioness, and it pissed him off. Not because the effects of the venom were sucking the energy out of her while it dwindled out of her bloodstream, but because, again, he was not the savior others considered him. It was another dishonorable scar slashing across his heart. "You're not an inconvenience, you stupid idiot. Y-you just shouldn't be here. You should be In SummerClan where it's happy and positive and you don't get chased by rabid animals or bitten by snakes or yelled at by me." She knew that. He knew she knew that. There was no reason for some sloppy speech from a caustic tom that wasn't supposed to care. He didn't care. "You just shouldn't be here and shouldn't be getting hurt."
There was an itch in his pads-- an urge to move forward, to stroke her back or be reassuring, to be a comfort rather than another thing making her nauseous. But he wouldn't, because then he would care, and he couldn't care, not again. Instead, he hung back, a shadow in the mouth of the den.
Rosethorn just nodded weakly, not in the mood to combat his claims. However, underneath it all, it was almost worth it to face these dangers to spend time near Phantomfox. Something about him was raw and real, and drew her more than the happy go lucky cats of Summerclan. He didn’t mask his pain, like her sister did, and he wasn’t unburdened, like others in her group. Even if he was rude and defensive, he seemed inherently more deep than others she knew.
Not that she would ever admit that, because that would be sappy and gross, and she didn’t have the energy. She sank down into the nest that had been prepared for her and taking the poppy seeds to help her sleep. “Well, whatever I should or shouldn’t be doing, I’m going to sleep now. If you have nothing else to say, keep an eye out to make sure none of your weird clan mates murder me in my sleep.”
She sank her head down on her paws, dull amber eyes closing. As drained as she was, it took only a few minutes to drift off. But her sleep was clearly uneasy- she twitched and muttered, and eventually started shaking from the cold. When the medium returned, he seemed relieved she was sleeping, saying something about finding her a cover since there wasn’t anyone around to keep her warm- who would sleep next to an outsider? But he never returned again, distracted by the lengthy kitting, and Rosethorn continued to shiver rather pitifully.
He tried to leave-- he did, but when he relocated from the medium's den to his nest, sleep did not come. On a good night it would take hours to fully sink into unconsciousness before the beasts in his nightmares reared their ugly heads. This was not a good night; he was restless and flustered, his stomach in knots, and for the first time in moons, it wasn't the presence of his torment that kept him up. It was the trembling scrap of soft white fur in the next den over. As grating as she was, Rosethorn saw past the surface level hostility and superficial wounds to the scars on his soul, and she offered some solace in her indiscriminate wit. And no matter how much he tossed and turned or shuffled the moss in his nest, there would be no sleep for Phantomfox while his companion slept alone, the twitching he'd seen in her paws burned into his mind.
When he returned, the healer had left and Rosethorn was still wrapped in her restless sleep, and slowly he drifted to where she lay. Thankfully there were no other occupants in the den to witness this softer side of the MoonClan brute, the side of Phantomfox that would curl up against a wounded friend and feel the shivers begin to dissipate. His last coherent thought before he lapsed into the first dreamless slumber in moons was that he hoped he woke before Rosethorn because otherwise he was never hearing the end of this.
Phantomfox was lucky- the poppy seeds did their job well and she was deep in the reaches of unconsciousness. Even as he awoke from his sleep, she did not stir. At some point during the night she had shifted and curled closer, used to slumbering beside her sister even moons after her sister had moved into the nursery. The twitching had faded long ago into a deeper sleep, her features relaxed as she dreamt.
Rosethorn would have been mortified to know the position she was in, with her soft cheek nuzzled into his shoulder and her velvet nose brushing his chin. There was a steadiness to her breathing, and as she slept she dreamed of pine trees and safety.
There was a lot to be learned about an unconscious Rosethorn.
Phantomfox learned that she was very, very susceptible to the strength of poppy seeds. Often she would try to stave off their effects, fight them off to continue their twilight talks, but soon whatever she was saying would slur and she would lightly snore instead. He would wait for a few moments, ensuring she was deep in the embrace of slumber, then move over and tuck her against him, a motion that grew more natural each night. He learned that her body would seek warmth throughout the night until she was fully against him. Often the only way to be comfortable at this point (or so he told himself) was to sling a leg across her and rest his chin on the crest of her head, right between her twitchy ears. He learned that Rosethorn would mutter soft, unintelligible sounds right before she woke up and that was his indication to move.
Most importantly, he learned that when Rosethorn was stretched against his side, Phantomfox was not hounded by nightmares. He slumbered restfully and fully, and his attitude in the following days was much less prone to aggression. He was almost pleasant to be around.
Over the next few days of Rosethorn gaining her strength back, Phantomfox attended his duties as any good clan cat would do. His spare time was not spent far from the SummerClan garden keeper. Each day they shared a meal in some different part of camp and he would explain the aspects of MoonClan life that differed from what she was used to. Their positions, their duties, and their belief system-- which was the hardest part for him to adapt to. She would glimpse a homesickness in him that was rarely roused, a rare moment that revealed that Phantomfox did not feel entirely at home in MoonClan yet. And then he would say that he was lucky to get away when he did because living with Rosethorn full time would be insufferable.
The last day saw him more somber than usual. Rosethorn was cleared to return to SummerClan and Phantomfox would be her sscort, waving off the other cats that came forward to join the patrol. "I guess we should get going then," he grumbled at her, setting one reluctant paw after the other on the way out of camp.
Rosethorn was relieved to be going home- she wanted to know what was going on with her sister. During her stay in the foreign clan she had spilled out all the details to Phantomfox, since she needed to talk to someone, and he was hanging around. He must feel guilty for letting her get bitten, to put up with her presence so long.
There were other things she had told him, details about her parents and her life before the clan. Rosethorn had also woven another wreath for him, from new leaf flowers- it was a measly gift for saving her life a second time, but it was all she had.
Now she walked along cheerfully, only slightly favoring her uninjured paw. “I hope I don’t get addicted to poppy seeds,” she remarked with a laugh. “My dreams have been more pleasant than they’ve been in moons with them. They also help keep me warm, I’ve noticed. I suppose you’ve been freezing away in the warrior den, as unsociable as you are.”
Her comment brought a flush to his cheeks that encouraged Phantomfox to glance away, taking in their surroundings instead of letting Rosethorn see that lapse in composure. "Yeah, freezing. It has been cold the last few nights, but I don't sleep much anyway," he claimed, glossing around the subject. Though he wasn't currently wearing the wreath she'd presented to him, the second he returned to camp it wouldn't be found anywhere other than around his neck, thumping against his chest and wafting the smell of jasmine into his nose.
"You'll have to give me an update on your sister's situation." Maybe this would be an excuse to see her again, feigning interest in her sister's lopsided love life. "Do you think she's taken out the trash yet?"
