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| - S U R V I V O R S 🍁 episode 4 "Larksong?" It couldn't be her. There was no way. She had been taken by the Union. He had watched her be dragged away, heard her screaming and begging for help, he himself had screamed her name till his throat ached... The she-cat crouched on the floor raised her head, and a pair of violet-gray eyes hit him with the force of a falling star, launching him back into a pit of memories he had been desperately trying to avoid for forever. It was her. Unquestionably her. Larksong, thinner and more worn out, her pelt ragged and scarred, her face haunted, but her all the same. "Casper," she whispered in disbelief. "Casper," echoed Sunny in a more urgent tone. "We can explain." He was too shocked to be angry. Helplessly, feeling betrayed, he turned to her and Merry. "Explain, then, because I don't know what to think. Has it been a joke? Has she been here the whole time?" "Of course not. Look at her. Do you think we'd ever let her get to that state?" "Then what happened? What is going on?" His voice rose till it split with an embarrassingly high-pitched crack. "Casper... We don't know." Sunny drew him aside, dropping her voice. "She can't talk about it. They've obviously done something horrible to her." "They? So she was taken by the Union? How did she escape?" "We don't know," Sunny repeated. "She was brought in two days ago by Lionspots. They found her and tried to interrogate her at HQ, but they couldn't get a word out of her. She was a complete wreck, and you know TreeClan cats can't deal with emotions. They brought her here. They thought she might carry an encoded message from the enemy, that she was released to convey it, and that maybe she'd tell us instead of them." "The Council took a traumatized she-cat and interrogated her?" asked Casper in disbelief. Sunny nodded, her claws unsheathing involuntarily and digging into the ground. "It's sick." A year in the Union's clutches. Casper couldn't imagine it. "Larksong." He turned to face the trembling she-cat, who looked both terrified and hopeful at the sound of her own name. It had been so long, but he felt the moons fall away as he looked into her familiar face, the sweetly pointed chin, the small pink nose, the large fox-like ears. "We were told to pretend we were keeping a prisoner so no one would trace her here," said Sunny softly. "I'm sorry we lied." "It's okay. I understand. It was to protect her." "I'm going back to the Hall," muttered Merry. "Mumbles is all by himself." She hurried out. Sunny gave Casper a gentle look. "I'll give you guys a few minutes to talk." In a quieter voice, she whispered, "Don't be sad if she doesn't say much. She's been through a lot." He nodded at her and turned back to Larksong as she left the room. He was at a loss for words as well; there was nothing he could think to say that would help anything in a situation like this. Larksong stepped forward and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. She was petite and warm against his body. He began to cry. He couldn't hold back. Couldn't understand why. She should be crying. She had been through hell. But seeing her like this... it broke something in him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered to her, as if the secrecy could shield them both from the screaming of his tortured guilt. "It's not your fault," she said. A lie, a beautiful lie. He wanted to believe it so badly. Wanted to believe he could comfort her. But he knew the truth. He remembered it all. "I've got to go," he whispered. Then he turned and ran for his life. He shot back through the tunnel and out the Hall. The others let out startled cries as he raced past them. Sunny shouted his name. He burst past the guard and out into the stillness of the outside, a burning hot comet with a tail made of fire, shooting sideways through the night air, a fallen star. He was almost off the dirt path when the sound of his name stopped him in his tracks. "Casper!" He turned, and there she was, or maybe she wasn't, for she was like a ghost. She looked insubstantial and wraith-like, wavering in the darkness, barely reflecting the moonlight, instead looking like it passed right through her. "Go back inside," he said, trying to speak firmly. For a second he almost believed she was truly a ghost, that by commanding her away he could forever dispell the ghost of his own younger self. She shook her head. Stubborn. Solid. Real: the air parting to make way for the sway of her chin, the breeze caressing the valley of her sunken cheeks and lifting in the soft places of her fur. A flicker of strength in the fractals of shattered eyes. "Stars." Casper sank onto the grass. "What have I done?" She padded over to him. "Talk to me. It's not your fault. But you can't run away." "I'm not running away. I'm leaving you in peace." "Leaving me?" Her laugh used to be like diamonds; now it was ground to a fine, thinly sparkling dust. "Friends don't leave each other. And you're out of your mind if you think I'm anywhere near peace," she said. The grass hardly budged as she sat down. "They tell me you've been out of touch. Lost somewhere near the edge of the earth, Tildie said. They haven't heard a word from you in over a year. I'm glad you came back just when I got back. Impeccable timing." "Stop pretending everything's okay." "Only when you stop pretending everything will never be okay," she returned easily. "I have to go," lied Casper. "I have a mission." "Sunny said you were staying for a week." "They told you I was here?" "Of course they did. I might have thought they were lying, but then you came in. What did I say? Impeccable timing." There was a pause. Then, "I know my parents are dead, but what happened to Eagleclaw?" "He's dead, too. I'm so sorry. I don't know how it happened; he was killed by a Union cat is all I heard. I didn't get word till after the battle." Clearly stricken, Larksong murmured, "Sometimes, in the darkest times, I would hear his voice. Through the pain and the blood, I heard him. I didn't hear what he was saying, just his voice. And it would get me through it. He must have come down from StarClan just to be with me." Casper, who didn't believe in StarClan, was still touched by the emotion brimming in Larksong's voice. "My brother's gone," she said, her voice numb, her eyes hazy with pain. "Sorry," said Casper, rather idiotically. She took a deep breath. It sounded like a gasp, like she was trying to convince herself she was still alive. "I have no family." "Larksong, where have you been? Why did they hold you?" The anguish on her face immediately made him regret asking the question. "They questioned me," she said, her voice betraying the fact that they had done much more. "I don't even remember half the things they wanted to know. They asked about my family, about Brackenface especially. Maybe because he was a TreeClan war general. Maybe they thought I knew something." She stumbled over her words, as if each one was a sharp edge that sliced her open. "They kept me in a dark cave. I never saw sunlight. A cat would question me from outside the cave. I never saw her face. I don't know who she was, just that it was a she-cat. She sent in a pair of soldiers to... if I didn't give her satisfactory answers they would... I didn't, though. I never told them anything. I don't know why they were so concerned with my family and everything, but I never let them know anything they could hold against anyone." She smiled and it went through Casper's heart like a set of claws. "Please stay. At least this week. Then you can go on your mission, do your great deeds." He hesitated. "Sunny, Merry and Mumbles will all be so happy. Tildie will be thrilled. Even Captain Briggs, though he'll hide it by insulting you more than everyone else." "Larksong, I just--" "Please, Casper." How could he say no? * * * Sunlight filtered through the emerald canopy above Casper and his friends' heads and turned their pelts glossy as they trotted through the woods. Ahead, the deep green waters of Drurray Pond rose up out of the soft earth. The surface was covered with its requisite summer share of lily pads with fat frogs perched atop them, reeds that whistled nonchalantly in the breeze and nodded like a bunch of gossiping ladies, and flowers in glorious bloom. There were blushing peonies, dewy and pink-cheeked, daffodils with petals like the tips of a yellow star, forget-me-nots as blue as sapphires, tulips like crimson cups. Larksong's favorite were the lily blooms themselves, the glorious maiden flowers perched like elegant half-moons, the white of their silken petals bright against the cool green pond surface. Casper watched her eyes sparkle in delight and wonder as they reached the familiar haunt. "It's been forever," she murmured, breathing in deeply. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, their paws cushioned by the verdant carpet of grass that ringed the pond. For a long moment, each cat stood, taking in the beauty of the nature surrounding them. "Lovely," said Mumbles, in his usual slow, unsteady way. Casper was about to agree, but he glanced at the stocky tom and saw that he wasn't looking at the scenery, but at Sunny. The black she-cat seemed unaware of his attention, her mouth slightly parted as she spun in a slow circle, smiling. "Oh, it's all so beautiful." Suddenly realizing what was going on, Casper felt a stab of pity for both of them. Of course Sunny loved Mumbles like a brother; they had grown up together. But as far as being anything more... Merry let out an excited squeal and ran into the water of Drurray Pond. A group of disturbed dragonflies rose up around her, twinkling and twirling like bits of jewel against her pelt. "C'mon!" she said, raising her paws and smacking the water so that it sprayed them. Casper charged into the water after her. It was cool on his skin and felt good after the heat of the greenleaf sun. He heard the others splashing noisily after him. Larksong got in last, but she looked at home once she did. "Don't know how other cats hate the water," she said. Laughing, Casper said, "My friend, Hyacinth, absolutely abhors it. We went on a mission near the Emerald River a couple days ago and she put on a really good act at being brave, but I know she's scared of it." Larksong closed her eyes blissfully, letting the water run down her face and mat her pelt to her frame. Her scars were barely visible against her water-darkened fur, save an especially bad one that gleamed in a silver crescent just above her right eye. Reopening her eyes, she sloshed towards Casper, laughing a little as she went. "There's mud all over my toes." "S'okay. At least you've got a brown pelt. My fur's going to look green by the time we get out." "It's worth it, though. Casper, I wanted to ask you something." "Go for it." "So, I'm not really ready to delve into... everything that's... I mean, I don't..." "It's okay, Larksong. Really. You don't have to say," he said gently. She bit her lip. "But I don't want to lay down and do nothing. I want to find out why I was imprisoned. Why didn't they just kill me?" Her voice dropped. "It would've been better." "Don't--" "Don't tell me not to say that," she said with uncharacteristic and unexpected vehemence. "If you knew what they put me through, you would wish it too." "I--I don't know. I can't imagine. I'm sorry." "I deserved a choice. To fight. We should have a choice between being killed and killing. They never let me. Not a choice or a chance. Always sent in too many cats, too many soldiers, enough to hold me down while others attacked." Her eyes started to blaze, the violet streaks like violent flames, the gray like clouds of smoke and destruction. "Torture. It robs you of the one thing that should never be taken: the will to live. You can't kill for yourself, you can't even let yourself die, life is just one long, dark tunnel of pain." She stopped, as if she'd said more than she wanted to. "But don't you apologize either. I wanted to ask you for your help." Casper hesitated. He was aware that if he agreed, he wasn't just signing up for an investigation. This would mean looking right into the face of the monster that had taken Larksong. It would mean facing his own guilt, her pain, a tangled mess of the very worst of the sins of war. But he knew he couldn't leave her to do it alone. "Of course I'll help you. We're going to make whoever did this pay for it." Larksong had changed. Not in every way. He could still see the gentle, funny friend he had made a year ago. Parts of her remained, clinging to the skeleton of her body, peeping through the frayed edges where all else had been ripped away. But she had changed. Fundamentally. He couldn't quite describe it. There was that hunger, that flame in her eyes. "Oh, they're going to pay. In blood, in tears, in confession," Larksong promised quietly. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she shrugged. "They put me in hell, Casper. They lit me on fire. I will burn them alive." * * * After all of that, the innocent fun and laughter, it felt impossibly strange to be on the eastern side of the Emerald River, standing with a solemn-faced patrol of Trackers, ready to execute a mission. You're a leader again, Casper told himself. The stakes were high on field missions. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Larksong and his other friends were miles away now, practically fantasy. This was real. Hyacinth at his side, her claw-sheath gleaming at the ready. Terrence and Iris, their faces streaked with mud war paint. His own fur was coated with the same to make sure his white pelt wasn't a giveaway. Finn, a short tom with shaggy brown fur, needed no camouflage to blend right in with the long summer tallgrass. Warriors. They needed no code to prove it. "Keep your claw-sheaths at the ready, but don't flip them unless necessary. We're here to keep watch, not to fight. Everyone knows their stations and report times?" Each cat nodded. "Good. Split up. A week's worth of patrolling earns the all the Trackers prey, so do us proud. Stars watch over your path, all of you." "Stars watch," echoed his patrol, and they split up, each going their separate way. Hyacinth lingered. "Be careful." "You too," he said warmly. They hadn't gotten any time alone since the patrol had met up; he'd had to brief the others on the mission. It felt good to be beside Hyacinth again, a piece of him returned. "It was rough. Without you for a week. I had to hang with the cadets." "Me too. I mean, it was rough." And he had missed her. It was nice, reliving his time at Drurray Way, but... it had been too dream-like. He was no longer innocent enough to think that evenings lit by fireflies and long swims in an emerald pond were what life had in store for him. He was a sinner, a killer, a cat with scarlet paws. Hyacinth had watched him kill. She stood by his side in times of war. She knew his dark heart and was his friend anyway. He couldn't bring that darkness into the lives of Drurray Way's inhabitants. Already he had betrayed them once. He could never let anything like the Massacre happen again; he couldn't bear it. Protect the innocent. He was not innocent. He would follow his own blood-drenched path, guarding the light of the pure, but never daring to go near it. Never daring to touch it, for the fear of putting it out. Reaching his own station, he slipped beneath a cap of tallgrass rising out of a knoll in the ground, hidden completely from an approacher's view. Now, he waited. He hated waiting. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Time always slows down just when you don't want it to, and flies past when you're trying to cling to moments you want to remember, the fickle, taunting thing. A rather strange-sounding coyote's howl keened from a mile or so away. Casper's ears folded upwards. A pair of coyote howls was the Trackers' universal signal to each other; one that would instantly register in the mind of any cat, awakening the primal instinct to watch for predators. No one would think that a cat itself was howling. Learning to make the sound was part of training for cadets; every moon or so, Mudpoint would ring with the sound of young cats squalling in terrible imitations of coyotes. Another howl. Casper was on his paws at once, though he broke cover carefully, first his ears, then his face--once he was sure the coast was clear, he slunk out of the tallgrass and broke into a swift, noiseless trot in the direction the signal had come from. Mentally, he went through where each member of the patrol had been stationed. His pulse and pawsteps quickened as he realized the howls had come from Hyacinth's post. As he approached, he heard rustling in the grass parallel to him. Seconds later, Finn and Terrence broke out of the stalks. "Heard the signal," panted Finn. His eyes roved the scape behind Casper. "Where's Iris?" "I don't know," said Casper uneasily. He'd been hoping for a quiet week's worth of patrols, but their first night was already becoming more eventful than he'd like. "Did Hyacinth see something?" "Obviously," Terrence said. "The question is what." Casper froze, sensing movement nearby. "Form up. I'll take point, both of you flank me," he said. Finn and Terrence positioned themselves on either side of him as he moved forward, eyes straining to see in the darkness and shadows of the shifting grass. A cat let out an abrupt meow of fright; Casper realized almost instantly it wasn't either of the cats with him, and called tentatively, "Iris?" At the same time, a pungent, salty smell hit his nostrils. Blood. Freshly spilled. Stomach pitching, he broke into a run. His paws struck something soft and wet, and he went down. Finn let out a gasp of horror and pulled Casper back from the body. Iris lay in a patch of trampled grass, her eyes glazed and lifeless as they reflected the moonlight, her mouth slightly open. Blood poured from her slashed body and pooled around her. Fear for Hyacinth and sorrow for the loss of a Tracker fought in Casper's heart. It took all his strength to push both emotions away; emotions led to irrationality, and he needed now more than ever to keep a clear head. Leaders couldn't afford emotions. Followers could, however, and Finn was indulging himself. He was rolling around in the grass, each sob threatening to break his body apart. He didn't even think Finn and Iris had been that close; the tom was just being dramatic for the sake of it. Or perhaps he was in shock. "Get a hold of yourself," Casper said, more coldly than he'd intended. "We have to find Hyacinth and find out who did this." "Don't bother." The grass parted in the wake of a ginger she-cat, her green eyes filled with urgency. "They got Iris? This is bad, really bad." "Why did you give the signal? What did you see?" Hyacinth slapped the grass with her tail, angry. "Trackers, dying in a war we shouldn't even be fighting in." "Shut up, Hyacinth. Answer the question. What did you see?" Casper demanded. "RockClan cats, what else? Maybe some Shadow soldiers too, I don't know. They were headed for Waller's Trench." Casper exploded. "Then what are we still doing here? We've got a mission to fulfill, we have to warn them." "Iris is dead. I don't care about those stupid LightClan cats or their flower gardens," sneered Hyacinth. "Let them deal with their own problems." Trying desperately to control his temper, Casper said, "You know I want to protect the Trackers more than anyone. But we have to warn the LightClan cats. Not only is it our duty, they're innocent. And those aren't flowers, they're herbs vital to--" "The war effort. I am so sick of war," she said bitterly. "Be as that may." Casper raised his tail and flicked it forward. The patrol fell into formation, closing ranks to cover the empty place where Iris should be running. Casper felt a horrible gnawing at his heart as they raced away from her body. It wasn't right. He had failed her. Waller's Trench was a dark scar in the landscape ahead. During the day, it was bright and beautiful, deep green foliage marked with blues and pinks and yellows of the various medicinal herbs and flowers that were carefully tended to and grown in the rich soil. At night, however, it lost this welcoming air and became a gaping mouth of darkness... with teeth. A cluster of protruding shapes, standing on the edge of the trench. The shapes began moving. It looked like they were throwing things into the trench. Casper couldn't tell what they were, but when the first one hit the soil, a cloud of green-gray gas burst into the air, like the spray from some foul monster's mouth. One of the shapes turned, and he saw that it was a RockClan cat wearing a tightly-tied leaf mask over his nose and mouth. Screams began to fill the night as the LightClan cats in the trench were woken by the bombs. Even from a distance, Casper could smell the acidic reek of the gas released. The RockClan cats threw as many of their deadly loads as they could before running for it. The air was thick with the gas, a dense cloud that stung like condensed fire. Finn gagged and stumbled. Casper held his breath and strained to peer through the smog. A few cats began to climb out of the trench, like ants crawling out of the wreckage of a submerged anthill. Too few cats. So many LightClan cats lived in Waller's Trench, peaceful civilians who only worked in agriculture, growing herbs for healing. Medicine, not poison. Were they all... They couldn't be... He had to help the survivors. He rushed forward and caught one frail she-cat, about the age of a cadet, as she teetered, yanking her back from the edge. "Mom," she said raggedly, staring at him with unseeing eyes. "Mom," she screamed again, hysterically. The inside of her mouth was bleeding. Terrence took her from Casper's grasp. "Get out of here!" he shouted, dragging the she-cat with him. "There's nothing you can do, Casper!" Hyacinth bellowed from a place that was too far away for her to reach him. His head was beginning to swim from lack of oxygen, but he was pinned to his perch by sheer awe, awe from the terribleness of it all. He peered into Waller's Trench and realized the Union's motives. The plants were dead. They lay in blackened clumps, useless, poisoned. Seasons of work, gone. Generations of tender care, trampled. They were too late. They hadn't saved anyone, not even the freaking herbs. Another massacre. Casper fought the urge to open his mouth and scream, to gulp in the poison gas till his own worthless heart stopped beating. This is war, he told himself. You lose battles. If losing battles means losing lives, then suck it up. He turned and ran.
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