A Disagreement [OC Plot]

It was delicate, the balance that sustained Windclan. Such a large beast and yet so frail, kept together by the barest threads, moving to the whims of a single pair. Too similar to one another to work together, maybe, or maybe it was that they loved the other to the extent that they were willing to sacrifice so much for them. Harestar had fallen in a most ungraceful manner, but such sacrifices had been necessary for the rise of something greater.

That was not to say the ragged symphony of her dying breaths didn't haunt Hazelstar to this day. The memory came to him in bits and flashes, shattered pieces of a grand glass puzzle: the unseeing stare of her glazed eyes, the grotesque parting of her jaws, the way her paws had feebly reached out for him- for them. That's the part that mattered most in the memory, when his other half and then deputy to-be joined him in the scene. Then it wasn't just him, just Hazelwind, no longer singular, no longer alone. It was a them, now. The act had been unspeakable, malicious but necessary, and it'd been done by them both.

Little had changed since that day. Hazelstar carried the title and wore the crown, and he liked things just like that. But it was never his rule alone, for Crowsong was the reason why he had even gotten to this point. They ruled together, two necessary halves of the same entity that might, someday, bring true unity to the forest and turn two clans into one; let plural become singular once more, and let their reign be absolute at last.

But such plans were a long time coming, and for now they fiddled and toyed with that their puppet strings could reach. Windclan thrived even in the face of winter, and for once, the bengal was truly unafraid. He had overcome endless obstacles, and done things Harestar wouldn't ever dream of achieving, all with his lover by his side. The father of his heirs. The same cat who just happened to come to him then, looking as fresh as the first breath of spring. Hazelstar tilted his head down, reaching for the deputy's touch. "Good afternoon." The regal bengal hummed back, sweet as songbird's lovesong. There was an air of seriousness to Crowsong's presence, one to which Hazelstar adapted with ease; he knew his mask better than he knew his real face. The partners with business to attend to, the royal pair who smiled and schemed and looked absolutely pristine. A sweet reminder to their warriors of just how necessary they were, definitely. If the shift in Crowsong's tone surprised him, the leader had the grace to hide it; he smiled and silently nodded to a passing she-cat, looking as composed as one could be. "Do we? What about, dear?"

If truth be told, this had been buzzing around Hazelstar's mind like a bothersome fly. Maybe not for the same reasons that it bugged the deputy, though-- Hazelstar's meal was different than the one he had served his mate, and a bit harder to chew. It was hard to believe what Feverstorm first told him that thrice-cursed morning, but the poor medicine cat had no reason to lie to him. Honestly, the bengal had hidden the tale the healer told from Crowsong in fear of the deputy getting rid of Feverstorm then and there, but there was a bit of doubt still prickling his side whenever he recalled his words. Soon, soon, soon. What a fool Harestar was. What a goddamn idiot, pulling the oldest trick in the book. "Oh, he was honest for sure. You should've seen his expression. So afraid of being punished for not seeing anything really meaningful. You know this, I told you everything."

The leader of Windclan hummed most pleasantly. "I think not," he meowed, not unkindly, as if Crowsong had just suggested mice for dinner when he'd prefer pidgeon. He tilted his head to the side so he could properly look at his mate then, his face peaceful and his words just quiet enough for them to remain unheard by any bypassers. "If we get him an apprentice just now, he'll know what comes next. Openly threatening him like that would only make him panic and act against us. Why not leave things as they are? He's too scared to confront us or tell anyone about your little outburst." He brushed his mate's flank with his tail to soften his words, though he was still disappointed that Crowsong had acted so harshly when honeysweet words would've been enough to silence Feverstorm. Oh well. No use crying over rotten freshkill. "It'd take more than a year for an apprentice of his to reach his level. He's too valuable of a card for us to dispose of him so easily, love." 

With Outliers closing, Buzz and I decided to play out the WindClan plot through fake screenshots similar to this! That way we can kind of tie up loose ends with the story and also let it be public so any future content we make relating to the events that happened in this plot will make sense!!

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