Qeya River Shadowblight

Upon the sight of Silvertongue, the fearful animal within Shadowpaw became dominant. She ran far from the desert and went into hiding, alone and unconsolable. A small, sick part of Shadowpaw was glad to see Starclan deliver comeuppence to one who had abaondoned their moonstone… but maybe not so much. Not like this. The thick, putrid scent of Silvertongue’s blood and ruined state was forever imprinted within her offspring’s mind.

Eventually, Shadowpaw had no where else to run. She returned to the river where she knew her mother, Ash Star, now lived with her new children. Perhaps Wren had returned, too.

Winter’s Wake had discovered a base of the Saatsine wolves, but it was not as guarded here; the borders were pitifully stale. The caribou-chasers had migrated southeast with the caribou. Though perhaps their base was still tended to, the rogue snowrunner had to wonder why they kept borders at all, with all the traveling they were wont to do.

An arrangement of charred twigs stood ahead of him. A scarecrow? No, it looked skittish. A sable young deer, then? That wasn’t it either. When Wake had padded near enough to determine the creature’s profile, he realized it was a wolf.

Ave, stranger, he called, lifting his tail in a wag. Do you run with Saatsine?

Shadowpaw waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Had they moved again? Shadowpaw’s ear flicked and her lips pursed in thought. Maybe the river wolves had gone on their own search of Silvertongue…

The voice of another, from outside the old boundary, popped her thought bubble.

It was not a face she recognized. He looked to live the life of an outrider, like a lawless cowboy of the taiga... but his demeanor was reminiscent of a cat's.

Shadowpaw grimmaced. She didn’t have any more time to waste on interloping loners. But… maybe this one knew things.

“Saatsine? Never heard the name,” she replied. “I’m looking for the wolves of Qeya River. I need to speak with their leader, Ash Star. Do you know this land? The Taiga? Have you seen them?” she asked flatly, as if to not reveal her heart’s weakness.

The wolf was displeased to see him. How was this possible? Was he not a vision to behold? A sight for sore eyes?

Maybe they were partially blind and he need only to come a little closer…

The winterwolf strode forward a few paces, letting his ears stand tall for her viewing pleasure. I do not know an Ash Star, he began, remembering that Sun Eater had mentioned no mate nor a partner in his leadership of the caribou-hunters. But this land smells of the reindeer-chasers, the pack of Saatsine. I know a bit about them. They are led by a wolf with one eye named Sun Eater. Perhaps that name spoke to her.

It was unlucky for Winter’s Wake that Shadowpaw was immune to such respledency. She barely harbored adirmation for anyone – and certainly not romance, attraction, or lust.

The way he postured annoyed her, but Shadowpaw was so interested in what he had to say that it kept her from stalking away.

Reindeer-Chasers. Saatsine.

The name Sun Easter sounded like a clan name…

Shadowpaw’s round eyes narrowed suspiciously. If she took this stranger’s word as truth, then had her family been chased out? Was Saatsine the danger Ksura spoke of? Why Wren and Silvertongue had abandoned Riverclan in the first place?

“How do you know so much about them?” she pressed. Was this wolf affiliated with Saatsine?

As Narcissus’ despair at not being openly admired began to dissipate, Wake started to take a more scrutinizing look at his company: searching for fault among the narrow shadows of her appearance that would render her opinion of him (or lack thereof) moot in his egoist thoughts.

She was woods-at-night dark and scrawny—sharp with bones that hardly had any meat to them. The star upon her forehead was most interesting, however, and he wondered if she was related to @Morwenna.

I have spoken with several of them, he answered, his mind’s eye softening as it passed over the memory of Suliya. I have also met others not of Saatsine. Do you know a Morwenna, or an @Esma? He wondered if the second name would mean anything at all to the blackbird, seeing as they had both asked after a wolf named Ash Star.

tags for ref - and also sorry for the belated mention of esma, since that thread is still ongoing

At first, the rogue’s answer did not satiate Shadowpaw’s appetite for knowledge. Yet, there was a nugget of gold among a pan filled with dirt.

Esma. My sister.

Shadowpaw did her best to conceal the glimmer of hope that sparkled in her round, yolk colored eyes.

“Esma is Ash Star’s daughter,” she said plainly, as if to beguile the man. No one else needed to know their connection to one another. No until Shadowpaw had more answers. “The other name… don’t know it.”

She looked away, put off, when he began to overtly gawk. “Sounds like you love to talk,” Shadowpaw remarked brusquely. “What's your deal anyway? You a trader?” she guessed.

Sounds like you love listening to my voice, the winterwolf casually countered, returning fire and using her own ammunition to do so. Since you continue to ask questions. Wake’s amusement at the darling young woman reached a sharp incline. It was clear she did not like him, which only made her all the more fascinating to him.

A part of him wanted to annoy her further by refusing to answer her question, but he could tell she needed no assistance in the irritability department. I am mere missionary. His head tipped slightly, wondering if she knew what that meant. My name is Winter’s Wake.

The man’s smooth remark, and his ability to act unbothered, got right under Shadowpaw’s skin. Her large ears pressed flat against her skull while her lip wrinkled to show a needle sharp fang. “Psttchh,” she huffed, grocery list short of one witty rebuttal.

Just about when Shadowpaw was ready to dispose of their conversation like a used and crumpled up wrapper, the man said something that made her want to open it back up and lick out the crumbs.

“Winter’s Wake. Sounds like a Clan name,” her wry voice appraised, thick with souvenir. If there was one thing Shadowpaw was passionate about, it was her religion, handed down by her cherished Papa. "Shadowpaw," she quickly supplied. A small cringe accompanied the apprentice name she so despised. The suffix, paw, should have been long shed by now.

“So what’re you peddling?” the girl inquired… but the way her chin tipped back as she spoke alluded that her cup was already poured full by another. She was interested in what he had to say, if only to learn of another creed that Starclan had full superiority over.

Shadowpaw, he repeated, tasting her name like a new language.

Shadowpaw, though humorless, expressed no shortage of curiosity.

Wake was aware that she would simply wring him of whatever she deemed useful and swiftly be on her way, but he would never pass on an opportunity to extol the virtues of his religion. Not even the patronizing lift of her self-important chin would stop him.

I share the knowledge of True Fates, he answered, gladsome. I come from the Rhythm folk. We believe there are signs in nature, a purpose for all. We honor our gods with prayer and sacrifice, and we celebrate the inevitable. The seasons, the weather, the living, and the dead.

He felt as she did in her heart. There was no path better laid than the path laid before them all by the Rhythm. What spirits rule your Clan? he coaxed, head tilting the other way.

Shadowpaw, for all her acerbity, listened quietly and patiently.

The preacher earned an rare ounce of her respect for his devotion. Though it was nearly impossible for Shadowpaw's dogmatic beliefs to be swayed, she could appreciate his spirituality. It was something her packmates of yore seldom shared – notably Wren, who never once wanted to dream with Starclan.

Another tuppence was placed into his proverbial palm when he asked Shadowpaw of her denomination. Her expression brightened the smallest smidge, happy to speak of her beliefs. In this way, the two were cut from the same cloth. It was possibly the closest thing to camaraderie the girl had experienced in a long while.

“Starclan watches us,” Shadowpaw began as one ebony paw pointed to the sky. “It is the plane were our ancestors reside, and the place we all strive to reach when we die. Only those who are well remembered in life can run with Starclan… those who have brought shame cannot join the ancestors.”

She continued. “We commune with Starclan through our dreams… they send us wisdom… prophecies… sometimes beautiful, sometimes terrible. Connection with Starclan is everything. From their birth, every Clan child receives their name from the ancestors… and it changes as they age and learn the ways.”

“Fate,” she continued, “is known by Starclan, though their omens are not often clear.” Her pointed comment strung a common thread between them.

Perhaps Starclan comes to you as ‘True Fates’ because you have not learned to dream, Shadowpaw thought with narrowing eyes.

I think I have to amend Starclan beliefs & lingo to be more of a departure from Warriors so it may fit within WRPG guidelines, but simply don’t have the imagination right now, haha

Words came pouring from the tight-lipped Shadowpaw, who had brightened a shade or two as she bore witness to her beliefs. Wake felt her devotion as much as he heard it; her reverence bringing him clandestine delight. His beliefs were not so rigid that he could not appreciate the deviations in faith.

For this, too, was a part of the Rhythm. The starwatcher was simply uneducated on the matter (which was exactly what she thought of him).

There are those in my faith who learn to interpret the signs of our gods, those received in waking or sleep. They are called Madonnas, he imparted. They are living vessels for our omens, good and ill. The most respected among us. And if they have honored their vows, they can become Directress, spiritual leader of their branch, with the ability to guide us each to our True Fate.

He smiled. Perhaps it is your Starclan our Madonnas speak with. The snowtreader was wise enough not to degrade Shadowpaw’s religion or otherwise present it as inferior, impossible. But we call it Paradis. The great hunting grounds of the Sibling Fates. It is the eternal home of those of us who kept faith and gave tribute.