Snakefang's Final Battle (Unfinished)

Rain beat down relentlessly upon the dense landscape of pine trees and other such shrubbery as the brown speckled warrior picked his way carefully through the wooded area. Despite the ruthlessness of the downpour, he somehow managed to keep his pawsteps soft and calculated as he scanned the area for any prey nearby.

Lightning cracked overhead, lining everything in the forest with a brilliant white light. A low growl caught in the warrior’s throat. It had been raining like this for nearly a full moon, making border patrols and hunting the most miserable of tasks. But Fernclan needed its strength more than ever right now. Even now Snakefang could almost taste Cloverclan’s ever nearing scent on his tongue.

A slight rustle in some nearby leaves made him freeze. Prey. His gaze narrowed, spotting a waterlogged vole that appeared to be evacuating from its rather flooded underground burrow. Snakefang pressed himself flat against the muddy ground, instinctively preparing for a pounce. Satisfaction flooded through him as he caught the vole by surprise, sinking his unusually long fangs deeply into the small creature before it realized what was happening. And with that the speckled warrior rose, padding back in the direction he had come. This vole along with the decently large bird he’d caught earlier should be a reasonable addition to the fresh-kill pile, especially considering how little prey was out in this kind of weather.

He quickly unearthed the raven, skillfully gripped it in his jaws, and began the short trek back to camp. No hunting party seemed to have gone far from the shelter of the camp, not in this miserable rain anyways. Even now a strong wind buffeted his fur, sending a slight chill through his veins.

Ferns swished beneath his paws as he entered on the outskirts of the camp, sending droplets of water trickling down his forelegs.

The camp wasn’t as busy as usual, he noted, dropping his prey offerings onto the fresh-kill pile. Most of the cats seemed to be out on patrol or safely tucked away in their dens. One thing that did catch his eye, though, was the seemingly anxious auburn she-cat discussing in hushed whispers with Scorchpelt below the hightree. Snakefang couldn’t help but curl his lip slightly upon seeing the deputy.

Though he’d finally come to accept Scorchpelt’s relationship with his mother-- he kind of had to, for the sake of his half-siblings-- he still felt a somewhat rising resentment every time he saw them together. The two of them nearly ruined his kithood, after all.

With a deep sigh he turned his pawsteps towards the warriors’ den. Might as well dry off and get some rest, seeing as there was nothing else to do.

“Kits?” Scarletflame’s confused mew made him stop. “Larkkit, Gingerkit, Nightkit? Where are you?”

Scarletflame stood at the nursery entrance, peering inside. She then turned her gaze to the clearing, eyes searching. “Come inside now, you shouldn’t be out in this rain.”

Snakefang’s gaze narrowed. “How long did you leave them without supervision?” he questioned gruffly. She always seemed to be abandoning her responsibilities for Scorchpelt.

Scarletflame turned to look at him. “I-- they were asleep last I checked,” she managed.

“It doesn’t take long for young cats to escape, does it?” came a somewhat teasing remark as Scorchpelt padded up behind his mate. Snakefang could sense he was resisting the urge to cast a sidelong glance in his own direction.

But his focus was already elsewhere, his jaws opened as he drew in the many scents from the camp. Most of the less recent scents had already been washed away by the rain, but there was definitely the distinctive trail of his half-siblings that led straight for the camp exit.

His jaws closed in an annoyed growl. Had neither of them been paying any attention? So caught up in each other that they’d let their kits wander freely into dangerous territory? He felt his accusing stare settle directly on his mother, a rising resentment in his chest.

“Could you not even handle watching them for one measly heartbeat?” he snapped,  a sharpness in his tone he’d rarely used in addressing her before.

“Snakefang!” Scorchpelt hissed back in defense of his mate.

Scarletflame’s eyes stretched wide with hurt, and Snakefang felt a twinge of satisfaction.

It had been her own fault that she lost the first of this litter. Snakefang wasn’t too keen on letting her repeat the same mistake.

“They couldn’t have gone very far. I’m sure we’ll find them in no time at all,” Scorchpelt mewed reassuringly, resting his tail tip on Scarletflame’s shoulder. Scarletflame turned her apprehensive gaze to him, slowly nodding.

With this Snakefang whipped around, setting off at a quick pace in the direction of the escaping kits’ trail. Scorchpelt called after him, but he ignored it. He’d never listened to the tom anyways, especially throughout most of his apprenticehood. He had certainly given Scorchpelt a decent amount of hardship for taking on the task of mentoring him.

He soon emerged once again in the rain soaked forest, mud squelching between his toes. Grimacing, he picked his way forward. Not only could he follow the somewhat recent scent trail of the young cats, but the footprints that they had left behind as well.

A rustle in the undergrowth made Snakefang’s ear swivel back, recognizing the firm pawsteps of Scorchpelt following close behind him. Strangely the tom did not scold him, but fell in beside him with an equal determination. Unlike most father figures Snakefang had encountered, including his own, Scorchpelt didn’t seem to turn and run at the first sign of trouble.

Yet Snakefang’s paws soon fell on a familiar path, drawing him out of his pondering thoughts. This path led to the narrow creek on the east side of the Fernclan camp. Snakefang had been avoiding that area ever since the Rosepaw incident.

Why would the kits want to go there, especially now?

As the two toms drew nearer, Snakefang could already hear the sound of loudly rushing water. His pawsteps seemed to falter.

“All of this extra rain must’ve caused it to flood,” Scorchpelt spoke up, suddenly sounding more apprehensive than usual. “And the kits are headed straight towards it.”

As if in confirmation of his statement a wail came from the direction of the water, sending a bolt of panic through Snakefang’s chest. Within heartbeats he broke into a full fledged run, racing full speed towards the river. He had known this feeling once before, when he lost the calico she-kit to a rogue’s claws. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

Leaping over a fallen log, Snakefang dashed towards the swirling waters. By this point the water had stretched nearly to the treeline. Snakefang at once parted his jaws and strained his ears, desperate to catch the scent or sound of his half-siblings. “Larkkit, hold on!” Gingerkit’s yowl brought his focus to the far side of the swirling water. “Don’t let go!” Nightkit’s cry followed. Finally Snakefang had drawn near enough to spot the young cats. Gingerkit’s familiar ginger pelt crouched nearest the water, Nightkit’s waterlogged figure crouching closely beside her. They appeared to both have their claws hooked into a rather large branch, both straining to keep it steady. At the end of the branch, halfway submerged in the water, was Larkkit.

Snakefang dug his claws deeper into the mud, surging forward despite the protestant aching of his legs and chest. But before he could reach the scene he could already see Larkkit’s claws slipping, his head vanishing beneath the surface of the violent rapids. A screech escaped Snakefang’s jaws. It couldn’t end, not like this.

With one final push the speckled warrior reached the water’s edge. Trusting Nightkit and Gingerkit not to do something stupid, he didn’t hesitate to plunge his body into the icy water.

The shock struck deep into his every bone. It took him a few moments of flailing to find his paws enough to swim. Raising his head above the water’s surface, he desperately searched for a glimpse of the dark gray tom kit. A little ways away, Larkkit’s head resurfaced, and along with a gasp for breath the kit opened his jaws in a cry of terror. “Larkkit!” Snakefang screeched, willing his paws to carry him steadily towards the thrashing figure. Yet within moments he was gone again, head vanishing beneath muddy waves. Gritting his teeth and pressing his ears back flat against his head, Snakefang too brought his head underneath the water, claws reaching out for anything he could get ahold of. Forcing his eyes to open despite the sting, he strained to see anything through the murky water. A blurry dark figure caught his eye, drifting rapidly downwards. Kicking out with the strength of all four paws Snakefang followed the fading figure, hoping desperately that it was in fact Larkkit. As he drew nearer it became more clear that it was, but that the young cat barely seemed to be moving. Panic once again welled up Snakefang’s chest. He had fought so hard to save the calico kitten, only to inevitably fail in the end. He could not allow Larkkit to die too. Sinking his teeth into what he believed to be the young cat’s scruff, he began to fight his way upwards. Or, what he believed to be up.

Only now did he notice the tightness in his chest, the unbearable achiness of his legs, and the tiredness of his muscles which he fought against in an ever growing desperate attempt to reach the surface.

As the doubts started to enter his mind, the prospect of failing, of giving up-- his head finally broke through. Once again he could feel air moving through his fur and hear the no longer muffled noises of the rushing current.

Jaws clamped firmly in Larkkit’s scruff Snakefang desperately sought out the water’s end. Yet it seemed to stretch out in all directions from here, and his only guess was the treeline. So he fought his way forward with what little strength he had left.

That is, until he struck something. A rock, perhaps, maybe a tree. Knocking the air from his lungs and nearly dislodging Larkkit from his grasp. He felt himself slipping back underneath the surface, the weight of the water pressing in on him from all sides.

He willed himself to fight it, to carry the weight of both of them back to the surface once more. He felt himself slipping into a familiar darkness. Once again he stood facing Yellowtail and her cruel group of killers. Relentless pelts swirling around him, beating him down from all sides. This was a battle that seemed impossible. A battle he couldn’t win.

And so he sank to the forest floor in anguish, allowing the darkness to finally claim him.

Teeth met his scruff, pulling him strongly upwards. He became aware of his paws drifting limply through the water, and then he felt the surface. And in his jaws he still felt Larkkit’s scruff. Good. He’d be safe soon.

A rough jarring motion told him that they had reached solid ground. He felt the weight of his body as he was dragged across it, then came to a halt. Only then did he allow himself to release his firm hold in Larkkit. Relief flooded through him as he felt the kit’s body stir, letting out a wheezing cough. Scorchpelt’s voice sounded as though distant as he spoke words that Snakefang couldn’t quite make out. Though he may have reached solid ground he still felt as though he was being dragged beneath the surface.

The next time he awoke he found himself in a place very familiar to him. The Fernclan medicine den. He’d been here many times before whilst recuperating from various injuries. Eyes narrowing, he managed to make out the dark figure of Larkkit resting in a nest nearby. “Snakefang,” Scorchpelt’s mew caught him by surprise. He hadn’t seen the tom approach.

[Insert last words, blah blah.] The End.