Like the flint which awaits the shock

[Kenya]

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[atrb=width,400,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/fbg.png] F L I N T

Flint glared at the rune stone through slitted eyes. His silent prayers never making it off his tongue, he concentrated on the markings. Noting every chip, every shade of color. Was this the source of the Silence? How long had this ancient stone been standing here, waiting?

A stray early leaf-fall oak leaf dropped of a branch. Flint drew back and hissed as if it could burn his ashy pelt. The leaf landed in the water silently. It was the same color as the new silence member. That cat was unstable. Silencefall must of lost her mind to trust that crazed house-cat. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. The leaf swirled in circles in the deep water, no wind aiding it. Flint watched it silently, only aware of his own heart beat in the still air.

Suddenly he snapped. His anger and frustrations taken out on the red dying thing. His claws unsheathed as he hooked it from the water. Slamming his paw on the ground, he yowled in frustration.

"Why won't you show me more? Have I not done everything you asked?!" He glared at the stone, the hunger for power in his glazed green eyes. Only silence and the falling of another leaf answered him. Flint's grey flecked pelt glinted back at him from the deep water. Even his own reflection seemed to mock him. He bit down on his tongue tasting blood. Wishing it were the blood from the cat that was supposed to be the sacrifice.

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[sil]

This night marked the third day in a row that Larksong had left her WestClan den in pursuit of her missing son. It’d been two moons since the kit—now of apprentice age—had last been seen. Two long, arduous moons she’d been searching, hoping, waiting, while trying to still be the best mother and mentor she could to her remaining children. With Fawnpaw it was easier, as the pretty young she-cat was her apprentice. But she could sense Otterpaw’s resentment; all of her attention was focused on either training Fawnpaw or mourning her lost son.

Those heated, judging, angry emerald eyes, so much like the father he’d never know, would make such a sharp claw of guilt cut through her, she oftentimes couldn’t even face Otterpaw anymore. Pursuing this lost cause of seeking her young son was easier than facing the reality of what she was leaving behind.

She followed the rumors of missing cats oftentimes escaping to the mountains without preamble, as she refused to believe that Foxkit had fallen prey to one of the swamp’s predators. She headed out vaguely northeast.

At some point, her journey changed.

At some point, she began to hear whisperings in her ear. Voices that promised to reunite her with Foxkit. She ignored them at first, accrediting them to starvation and exhaustion, but still finding herself irresistibly drawn in their direction. Soon, it became hard to remember when she had ever been without the whisperings. They took on Foxkit’s voice; “Mother, this way…Larksong, where are you? Come to me...”

She couldn’t turn back if she wanted to.

The glittering Runestone came into view, slowly, enticingly, Foxkit became more excited as she drew closer. Larksong didn’t even notice Flint beside the relic; she was so immersed in the lights, the magic.

Foxkit was here, and she could feel it with every fiber of her being.

[Kenya]

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[atrb=width,400,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/fbg.png] F L I N T

Flint turned sharply to the scent that was carried in the air. He crouched, ready to jump. A she-cat, thin and clearly out of her mind stumbled before him. She didn't even seem to notice him, so he made no moment to draw attention to himself. He watched the rune stone catch her eye, and she seemed lost in it. Lost to it. What was she hearing? Flint rose from his crouch and stepped forward on dark paws.

The cat seemed helpless. "Who are you?" He asked sharply with a growl in his throat. Almost as if the stone had heard him and was giving him his answer. Blood would be spilled today. His eyes went dark with anticipation. They asked for sacrifice and blood. That is exactly what he would give them. The voices were never wrong. They called to him, and he would always answer. "What are you doing here?" He asked, this time more slyly then before. Flint's dark paws unsheathed his claws. He scraped them against the ground. Around him the wind picked up, ruffling his pelt. Yes, they must want this.

"You seem to be lost. What are you looking for?" He inquired behind a wicked grin placing another paw forward. He could feel the muscles behind his grey flecked pelt. Feel the tenseness in his claws. This was it.

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[sil]

“Larksong… why did you let me go? Why did you leave me?”

The Runestone’s glittering markings swirled in a whirlpool of reds and oranges. Foxkit’s face swam in the eddy of colors; sad, angry, lost… crying.

“Larksong…”

“Who are you?”

[/b]

Surprised, Larksong swung around toward Flint, his features nothing but a blur of emerald eyes and ashen fur. “F-Finn…?” she murmured, misunderstanding and anger curling in her gut. Finn, that blasted tom who never really loved her, who never cared for their kits. Why was he here? She pulled herself into a crouch, rage forcing a hiss through spittle-coated lips.

"What are you doing here?" [/i] the tom asked, and his features immediately softened, years shedding and fur taking on a slightly darker tint.

Larksong sat up in alarm. …Otterpaw?

"You seem to be lost. What are you looking for?"[/i]

Larksong blinked heavily. Flint’s snarl came into focus. She swung her head toward the Runestone, confusion steadily clawing up her chest with icy talons. It was nothing but a gray, marked stone in a pool of water. There were no glowing markings—where did she see the glowing? The sight of the water made her inexplicably ill; she tried to swallow some excess saliva but found that she couldn’t.

Was she getting sick, like the others? She had shared fresh-kill with Nighteye before she went under… The patch tabby queen turned back to Flint, his hostility nearly palpable. “I’m… I’m looking for my son, Foxkit. He’d be about 9 moons old now.” She slowly got back on her paws, instinct compelling her to take a few paces backward. The bloodlust in Flint’s eyes unnerved her. Where was she? Could she cry for help? Oh, StarClan. A few more pawsteps and a hind leg slipped into the chilly pool around the strange stone. Panicked, she drew the paw back into her body. “You, uh… wouldn’t know what I was talking about, would you?”
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[Kenya]

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[atrb=width,400,true][atrb=background,http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g171/Sillvy/fbg.png] F L I N T

"Foxkit?" He echoed her lost son's name. "There are no cats like that here. Mostly because clan cats aern't welcome here!" Flint spat lowering himself to the ground in preparation for his attack. His body swayed uneasily side to side as if the ashy gray cat were in a trance.

"Probably got eaten. By a fox. Picked off by an owl or eagle. Stolen. Stolen by a two-leg!" His green eyes locked on her throat. The voices he heard would be very pleased indeed. Not only was she still fairly young, but she was a clan cat at that. Flint stilled his swaying paws for a moment, His flecked gray body almost vanishing into the ground. "I think its time you went home Queen."

Without even a heart-beast passing, Flint jumped at her. His teeth clamped around her throat. Twisting his head, he pulled the Queen onto the ground. Swiftly he placed his left paw onto her stomach to hold her in place as she struggled, her back legs now fully emerged into the pool surrounding the runestone. Flint smiled a wicked grin, and threw back his head yowling his victory. The impulse to end it was to strong, and Flint found himself fighting to control it.

Finally, he gave in. His teeth sunk into her throat and he clamped down as hard as he could manage. He stayed that way until he saw the life leave from her eyes and the blood mix with water. The voices he heard would be pleased.

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[sil]

Larksong flinched at his harsh tone, panic flaring and instinct telling her to flee. But her mind felt sluggish, like she’d been holding her breath to the point of unconsciousness. Colors melted together; Flint’s eyes were swaying bands of emerald fire, his flashing teeth were too white.

His words hurt her like physical wounds. A stranger voicing all of her concerns about her missing son. Her throat was rapidly becoming more constricted, and it was becoming harder to speak. Larksong was trying to work around the saliva in her mouth and the fear holding her fast when Flint pounced. She let out a garbled half-cry, half-snarl, her Warrior training rushing back to her as she lashed out at her attacker. Her retaliation was short-lived. She was drained, physically and emotionally. The pain in her throat spiked when Flint threw her to the ground.

The world swam around her as she gazed up at the violent tom who was so overwhelmed with blood lust that he turned to the sky to bellow his triumph. Her lifeblood drained from her, covering her pretty patch tabby fur, speckling the mocking gray rock of the Runestone, and drenching her murderer. The liquid pooled around her and mingled with the swath of water at her feet. She would bleed out in minutes.

Larksong squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of her failure, how she was so stupid for leaving her own kits to chase after a dead one. Now she’d be dead. She prayed for StarClan to take her away from this dreadful place. She’d been a terrible Warrior by mixing her WestClan blood with a loner, and she’d been a poor mother to their subsequent kits, but she had always tried to hardest to make it all right. A sob escaped her.

It hadn’t been enough.

In her last moments, as Flint fastened his teeth into her throat to secure the kill, Larksong saw the flickerings of light that she hoped were StarClan coming to take her home. Everything about it was…wrong. Cats came to greet her, smelling of anguish and death and hunger. They were so hungry. Their eyes, claws, and teeth flashed like slivers of ice. Within seconds they fell upon her very soul, feasting, glorifying in the completion of their vengeance. She wouldn’t sate them, of course, not with their greed and desire for revenge so ancient, so deep within the very mountain itself. Larksong realized that the voices she heard were just manifestations of the illness rotting her mind. These voices were the ones that propelled Flint to kill her.

Her lost soul would not be able to roam the valley, for The Silence had found her first.