The Long Night

[Zee]

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Whitewolf was dead...or she was supposed to be.

From the cavity between ribs where her heart once beat—furiously as she’d enforced her will all she could during her walk among the living—she felt something drop, like a lump in her throat except it took firm hold of her lungs and refused to let go. Darkness swarmed her vision just as it had when she laid bleeding out on the battlefield while she panted in faint but desperate waves. She had already died; how was it happening again? Just as she had in her final moons, she was suffocating. But this time she felt the literal weight of the world crush her chest to as many pieces as moons she’d lived:

Eighty-one.

For eighty-one moons, she had toiled over ThunderClan’s state of being, for peace had always been short-lived and her leadership had never quite been stable. She’d grown up early even after losing her leg and her family—both the one she was born to and that she’d chosen—and had risen to the positions of trusted advisor and role model to many. Yet others had failed to see her as the honorable force for good she’d striven to be all until the weight of the world broke her at last.

Whitewolf had fought her hardest but in the end, the darkness prevailed.

There was an end to the abyss that had turned her life’s blood to shattered waste, it seemed, for Whitewolf thought she felt earth beneath her broken body but her sense of touch was too faded to know for sure. Her throat cut, she couldn’t speak and still could hardly breathe. This is not what she thought her afterlife would be—the least StarClan could have done was take her pain away. So why didn’t they?

“Sister…”

At the sound of a feline voice, Whitewolf turned her head the little that she could. Her face sank so much that she looked like a corpse—well, that’s what she was after all—as her eyes weakly widened toward her discovery.

Oh, stars. Springpaw? His countenance was so hollow it almost looked gone, what little fur remained on his body sinking onto bone. Was this the true form of StarClan cats? Disgusting, deteriorating undead? Whitewolf opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a fragile, truncated croak. She wanted—no, she demanded to hear what grim fate had corrupted her brother so.

“I’m sorry I had to bring you here.”

Where? Whitewolf asked herself, having learned her lesson when it came to speech. She’d be lucky if she could utter a word ever again even in death. Cats in ThunderClan likely blamed themselves for what had befallen her, and perhaps a few in RiverClan. But Whitewolf knew the reason StarClan had taken her voice was that she was responsible. On Earth, cats still needed her yet she was here. Dead. Where was here, though? Whitewolf had a guess.

“To hell.”

Ah. So she had gone to the Dark Forest. Everything made sense now; StarClan had abandoned her and likely ThunderClan as well. At least some of her clanmates were apt to join her sooner rather than later. Still, the fact that Whitewolf hadn’t gone to StarClan made her choke on a dismayed sob. She’d done her best to do right by her ancestors and obey the Warrior Code...why was this the fate they had left her to? This twisted, broken, hollow, wicked fate?

“There are things I need to tell you, Whitewolf. Things you deserve to know.” Springpaw observed her through milky, lifeless eyes, dead but still somehow not completely devoid of emotion. “After the fox wiped out our patrol that day, I went here instead of to StarClan. I went here because I’d been training in secret for nearly ten moons trying to become a better Warrior, and in turn, I sold myself to this wretched place.” He looked down at her battered body with a softening expression. This was his sister, after all, and she was dead. Dying wasn’t an easy thing. Not for someone like her, who despite living a long life had so much she could have done. “I...wanted to be like you. You always told the truth, Whitewolf. I spent my entire life lying to everyone I knew. I spent my life lying to you.” His somber gaze was apologetic in and of itself but Whitewolf knew something else was coming. Had she gone to the Dark Forest just to hear her brother’s apology, or had she truly earned eternal damnation? Springpaw might have held the answer to that question; he was her only hope now. “While I was here I learned the secrets of our family. I understand you’re aware that Stagheart wasn’t our father—that he was our uncle who had promised to take care of us after his sister, our mother, passed away.” Springpaw looked up and blinked his tanned eyelids. “I know who our real father is. Are you prepared to hear the truth?”

In life, the truth was all Whitewolf had ever wanted. She despaired to learn that Springpaw had lied to her and omitted his training in the Dark Forest from their private conversations but knew well he wasn’t the only one who’d done it. But the secrets of their family? How had Springpaw learned of his and Whitewolf’s blood when Whitewolf had given up on that search as an Apprentice? As her body slowly pieced itself back together--looking grisly and half-dead but still improving her condition more than tenfold--she gave Springpaw a weak nod.

“We are not true ThunderClan, Whitewolf. In fact, there is no ThunderClan in our blood at all.” Springpaw knew how much Whitewolf loved the Warrior Code and only imagined how she’d feel when he told her that she’d only existed as a result of their mother breaking it. But she needed to hear it, and hear it she would. “We are half-ShadowClan,” he said. “And half kittypet.”

Crestfallen, Whitewolf stared at her derelict brother. How could it be that she’d spent her lifetime serving a Clan she had no relation to by blood? Hearing that made her world seem even darker, for what did the Warriors of ThunderClan who’d known that secret think of her? They must’ve figured her prone to disloyalty; must have supposed she’d betray them any day. And the ones that were still alive...well, they’d have to find a way to live without her. As soon as Whitewolf regained feeling in her ears they drew backward—her agony had become too much for one day.

“I’ll give you time to ponder this knowledge before I send you back,” Springpaw added. “But I warn you this: the longer you are down here, the more like me you will look. If you spend too much time dead then your clanmates will not recognize you anymore.”

At that, Whitewolf’s head shot up. Back? What did Springpaw mean, back? She was dead. She was supposed to stay dead. How was it that she could ever return to the land of the living without interference from StarClan, who had left her to rot down here? And if the Dark Forest was powerful enough to resurrect her, what did that mean for her future? What did that mean for ThunderClan?

“It’s complicated,” Springpaw said as if he read Whitewolf’s thoughts. “For your life, I trade my soul. My suffering shall end for good and you will not see or hear from me for eternity.” Concern rising in his milky eyes, he turned his gaze to Whitewolf again. “But if you’re not careful, my suffering will become yours. And perhaps ThunderClan’s as well.”

Dumbfounded at Springpaw’s words, Whitewolf sat idly and soaked in the dreadful feelings that came with her damnation. She didn’t know why Springpaw wanted to bring her back but she did know something:

that ahead of her, before the sun should rise again, was a long and dreary night.