Fellcone's heart was thudding in his chest, paws itching with anticipation as he reached to prod his companion. "Get up. I have something to show you. It is.. a secret, so we must be quiet." Sneaking out of camp, away from prying eyes that sought to find and consume them. Fellcone was terribly tired of playing Scorchedfang, it was only with Frozen he felt freecone.
Fellcone started to head out of camp, through the endless fields and across the thundering path. "I wanted to find a place more secluded than your tree.. a place that is just ours." The trail would end in front of a derelict Twoleg nest. One of the windows was broken, the gap wide enough for a cat to squeeze through. "Thought you would like the change of scenery."
Frozen had been sleeping lightly (as usual, there was no alternative) when he stirred to consciousness with Falcon leaning over him. He'd be lying if he said his heart didn't thump a few more times than necessary as his sleep-addled brain filtered through recognizing this as DANGER, as a captive situation-
but it wasn't, probably? It wasn't good, either. It was Falcon wanting to show him something and that . . . felt like a fever nightmare. So he'd go with him, of course.
And he went listlessly, still unsure if this was some strange episode because he felt out-of-body somehow perhaps from lacking sleep beyond just Falcon's disturbance. A chronic issue, he might call it. A tick in the long list of symptoms.
Clearly, he didn't learn anything from the actual kidnapping because here he was going WILLINGLY, so he guessed if anything he did learn. how to not be kidnapped. this was with his permission.
He could probably turn around and go back to camp unscathed without feeling Falcon's teeth around his neck.
"You're taking me again."
Frozen blurted it out, emotionless, until he realized he'd said that aloud and-- lopsidedly smiled of all things. (he had a choice this time, a reminder replaying in his head.) "Like last time, but... not. Better, I hope."
He was aware of the possibility Falcon would have no idea what he was talking about since he remembered so little of what felt important to Frozen (to both of them) but didn't care if he came off like a rambling idiot. Falcon was the one who woke him up.
When they landed at their destination, Frozen considered the chance of some horrible beast waiting within but entered anyway without hesitation. [b]"Did you make a nest so I can go back to sleep?"
He had to hand it to Falcon. This was a nice place. And he wished to express that but didn't have the words to convey relief, being away from the eyes of others, removed from their judgment. Just himself to face.
A pause, consideration. Jaw angled and clenched, slowly released with a thought. "I do not remember that." They had gone on a few outings, none that left the impression that Frozen did not Want or did not Like it. Swimming had been a bust, but could he blame Fail-cone? It was in the name.
"... I hope so, too. This is not suppose to be unpleasant, Frozentoes." Should he be concerned this was his go-to? Thinking of the worst? Fellcone thought he would like this more, away from WindClan's prying eyes.
This nest was their salvation. Free, quiet. Safe. Fellcone joined Frozen inside with minimal difficulty, thankfully the gap was wide enough to not tear his fur. "I found some white-moss and dragged it to a corner. You can sleep on that, if you want." His heart was pounding in his chest, a million miles as he led his companion over to the pile of sheets.
The nest alone was just part of why they were here. He wanted privacy for a reason. "Not terribly. They call themselves a Clan but lack bite, the Clan does nothing but lounge around and wonder why bad things are starting to happen." For a second, he fell silent... "Frozen, there are few cats I feel real around, and I wish to tell you something. A project, I have undertaken."
"Long time ago, before WindClan," Frozen idled in reply, unconcerned, writing it off as another vain attempt to chip away at an amnesiac's unmoving exterior. Falsifying real memories wouldn't be a satisfactory outcome either, and even the best case (an apology, an acknowledgment) would mean painfully little.
The thought behind this makeshift den -- calling it makeshift really did it a disservice, especially compared to what they were used to living in -- warmed Frozenberry. It was sweet. He felt ill. "This is for you? . . . Or us?" His voice cracked over the last word. Even if not a gesture for the two of them it was kind of Falcon to share the safe haven he'd been preparing, and Frozen wouldn't squander the opportunity to sleep somewhere that felt SAFE for once. No shared dens or trees in the middle of predatorland.
The nest alone was just part of why they were here. He wanted privacy for a reason. "Not terribly. They call themselves a Clan but lack bite, the Clan does nothing but lounge around and wonder why bad things are starting to happen." For a second, he fell silent... "Frozen, there are few cats I feel real around, and I wish to tell you something. A project, I have undertaken."
Truthfully, he didn't pay much attention to the Clan. They were easy to ignore, background noise, until he felt the eyes burning holes through him. Mainly, it was boring in a way that surviving in an unforgiving territory of bloodthirsty felines shouldn't be. "RiverClan used to be different." At least he thought it did. Perhaps it was a side effect of looking at everything through naive, inexperienced eyes.
Confusion struck, an easy escape from dwelling on whatever that possible-compliment could mean. (He didn't even know and it felt too intimate. He didn't want to know.) "It's not this? This isn't the project?" How much had Falcon been doing?
"Things before WindClan.. are a misty haze." Fellcone furrowed his brow, contemplating. "I have fragments, and they are so close.. to being whole, sometimes. But I never get there." He remembered some things, dark fur and a fiery gaze. Lighter fur and running water, blood gushing from an open wound. Nothing concrete, just snippets.
He knew there was a lot he could not understand, maybe he would never. But he liked these moments away from the chaos - the constant reminders of Failures where things could be Great. "Depends on what you want, Frozentoes. I thought you would like it.." Of course, if Frozentoes decided No-Fellcones allowed, he would respect that and find a new hidey-hole. He hoped that was not the case. "... so did ShadowClan."
The word felt weird, but real. Something he had not said in so long, something that would have never occurred to him if not for seasons of inklings, bits and pieces. The revelation is exhausting and rejuvenating at all once.
"... No. This is a small part, of my efforts. WindClan cannot know of this, what I have been doing.. but if things work, it will push them toward being a Clan again. They lack.. a spine, they lack drive. Passion." Absently, he licked his muzzle. His heart was screaming in his ears. "Everything I have done, is to make them stronger. Wiser. Bolder. ThunderClan -- they did not start killing until I drew first blood. I killed a lone warrior at their border to encourage tensions, and that is why it boiled over."
Maybe Frozen did not know all the details, maybe he did. Did not matter. "Same.. with Mousepaw, I needed to make sure this would work.. that.. Twilightstar would bite back, because WindClan has done nothing to stand for themselves. They will not unless there is no other choice." So he staged the murder, painted ThunderClan as the killers, mutilated himself. "And .. do not let Cowtuft touch you with herbs, nor that pesky apprentice of his. I laced them with poison while they were out of the den."
Mostly, it was an experiment to see what WindClan would do. If they would discover the truth, if they would go on thinking it was some weird cold. "Right now, they think it is some sort of sickness. But it is not what they think. Avoid their herbs. I do not wish for you to fall victim."
Lukewarm sentiment, but there was no true right way Falcon could've answered that. Admit it was for both of them, he could imagine the crash of anxiety (enamor) or the rejection he'd feel over Falcon explaining it was purely for show. The relief. And this was somewhere in the middle where it merely left Frozen unsatisfied.
"ShadowClan? What?" he echoed, suddenly tuning back in and wondering if he'd missed a key moment of Falcon remembering his history. "What about ShadowClan?" Something had clicked. He wanted to know to what extent.
Why did cats keep talking to him like this? The way Falcon spoke was similar to a Lion-monologue about being great by committing some terrible crime.
He felt light-headed, grateful to be laying atop the white moss nest because his wobbling legs would've proved unsupportive while he processed several truths simultaneously: ThunderClan was hunting them, Falcon was the cause of that, and he saw it as a . . service he was providing them.
There was something deeply warped about Falcon, a disruption in his worldview. Fragmented morality. He guessed it wouldn't be so hard to not have a conscience if he couldn't remember his past errors. "I know you're not the fun and games sort, but I thought that's what Clans did to encourage comradery. Not murder."Don't you care about cats dying? was what he could've said but retreated in guilt as he couldn't put names to faces or faces to families and that somehow made them more of an imagined figment than the real, living and breathing clanmates he should be defending.
Oh, and poisoned the herb supply. Because why wouldn't he do that. Frozen didn't know what to say, or do, and stared blankly. The acceptable thing would be to shame him, but doing so would merely cast light on his own unworthiness of being a clanmate.
A pacifist Clan seemed like what Falcon was trying to combat by enacting extreme measures in a twisted effort to watch the chaos unfold. It chilled his insides to acknowledge an unavoidable fact: Falcon was still dangerous. He supposedly didn't even remember his history, and yet-
violence. disorder. bloodshed. just for the hell of it
old habits for both of them
The time of being uncertain vanished. This was a Falcon he was familiar with. Frozen gave a few licks to his chest tufts and repositioned, a leisurely roll onto his back. Lamb for the slaughter wearing an expression of calm and asking (offering) sweetly, "I don't really want to fight ThunderClan, or anyone. Did you bring me out here to dispose of me personally?"
Frozen's reaction surprised him, and for a second Fellcone wondered if he was mistaken about the whole ShadowClan thing. But no, of all the uncertainties he knew this was not one. No, ShadowClan was right. Why Frozen reacted so, he did not understand. "Yes." What, did he want clarification? ".. Just.. they were different. Stronger." It was almost bitter. In another life, one could be proud to identify as such a cat. But darkness swirled beneath the surface, black and blue memories that morphed into one.
It was clear to him Frozen did not understand, maybe could not. Like his memory, grasping at straws that did not exist. "This is comadery. They will rise to the occasion as one, or they will die." Was cold, maybe. But did he care? No, these cats meant little to him. About as worthless as a rotten piece of prey - and dumber, too. "How they play their stones is not up to me, but I will make sure Hell crashes upon them if they do nothing." This was a requirement, a necessity. One could not drive them from their home and then sit and remain like caterpillars, fat, happy. useless.
Fellcone reached to bop Frozen on his head. "You are like me. Not one of them. I do not plan to kill you - do you want me to?"
Another dead end in the series of intertwining tunnels of Falcon's capacity for his old life. Pushing him on it often ended in futility and Frozen felt dumb for trying in case there was a sliver of a chance he'd regain himself. (He'd inflicted it on Frozen, it was unfair he didn't have to live with the lingering mind-poison.) Karmic retribution didn't top his list of reasons, but as immoral as it was, it had to be there somewhere.
The severed connection bothered him the most. This was their shared history. Frozen had been so vulnerable for him, with him, and none of it mattered.
"I don't get it. What do you care? It's a lot of effort for a Clan you..."aren't even really a part of. Or maybe this was a massive ploy -- the amnesia -- to assimilate into WindClan and destroy it from the inside. "Yeah, they don't do much. And they aren't trauma-bonded . . yet," Falcon seemed intent on fixing that, "but I don't know what you're getting out of this."
Gazing at his exposed belly, then back to Falcon, he shrugged. Whether he lived or died, that didn't concern him. Quietly, he admitted, "I guess if someone's going to kill me, it should be you." Just appeared now was not the time his homicide would be enacted which was rather convenient since he wasn't done caking on the charm of submission and obedience. "I'd let you." He swallowed. "Not others. Just you."
It appeared his answer was unsatisfactory to Frozen, and Fellcone let out a lil hum. Racking his brain, trying to remember, remember... "Golden fur painted scarlet, it dyes the water red. His throat is severed, a small price to pay for cruelty." Maybe that would be telling. The blood in the river had tip-toed in the recess of his mind for moons. Maybe that would be more appeasing to Frozen.
"I do not suppose you would." That would be where they differed: Scorchedfang needed to fix this sad excuse for a Clan. "They make a mockery of a Clan name, and must prove themselves worthy. Otherwise, they are naught but kittypets playing a game they cannot survive. Either way, it must come to an end." And once it had, he would move onto greener pastures. This was not-- could never be, his home. His home.. was not with any Clan.
It was with the cat laying before him, small and fragile, breakable. The only place he ever felt free. Freecone.
He was tired of playing pretend.
"Just me." Was not that sweet? Fellcone absent-mindedly flexed his claws against the floor; they tore at strands of dirty-gray. "You will not be dying tonight, my dear. Maye in the future."
Frozenberry stared, and stared, and then stared more because he hadn't pinned Falcon as the edgy poetry or wannabe-medicine-cat type rattling off prophecies. "Have you been. . ."killing cats? WindClanners? Who? It was such an off-color thing to say. If there was a connection between that and his desire to cull WindClan, Frozenberry didn't follow.
Falcon taking up the angel of death mantle did make him wonder what either got knocked loose recently or if he'd always been dishing out vigilante justice. Perhaps it was the thought alone or combined with Falcon's earlier statement, but discomfort welled in his bones. He remembered something. But everything before his Life With Falcon blurred with age and came from a lens of youth.
An echo of his former self. Different, but similarly twisted. Ruthlessness influenced every move, and Frozen had a focus: be on the right side of this. Morality aside, survival would win out every time.
"You find me worthy enough to keep around, and that's a high compliment."
He didn't miss Falcon's claws scraping across the ground.
So Frozen idly asked, "Who are you thinking about hurting?" Or was that just his default mode? Perhaps if only to lighten the morbid question, he added: "Do you want a list of cats who've wronged me?"
Mostly, that would be Falcon. The rest were nameless faceless wisps that filtered through his life and reminded him of past hurts or the shell of a cat he now was.
away from prying eyes [p]
