BlogClan 2 Wikia
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The only thing Spottedleaf could remember for a long time was pain.

She was sorting herbs and stressing about prophecies and omens and death and everything dark and twisted that loomed in ThunderClan's near future, a future so black that surely even fire couldn't extinguish it.

And then came the pain. Spottedleaf was so caught up in her thoughts that she never heard the crunch of leaves or absence of birdsong as the predator crept from the shadows. The birds had never minded Spottedleaf, they didn't stop chirping near her, like they did with most hunters. They'd land near her, pulling worms from the ground or sampling poppy seeds and honey she laid out for them sometimes. Spottedleaf never hunted or hurt the birds unlike other wild ferals. Why should she, when her job was to heal and protect, not injure and murder?

The only thing Spottedleaf felt next was a numbing blow on the back of her neck. Something wet and warm trickled down her shoulders, spattering the earth. She felt dizzy, and weak, and was compelled to lie down, but her paws were too heavy and her brain was too foggy, and she ended up thudding painfully on her back instead of gently settling down.

By then, she could start to feel the pinpricks of pain making their way around the first shock's numbness. Her breath came ragged and labored.

I'm hurt! Someone's attacked me! Spottedleaf thought, fear and panic swirling in her chest like whirlwind.

The world seemed to slow. Suddenly, Spottedleaf was aware of a cat's pawsteps fading away into the distance, as the murderer fled to safety, sprinting home to craft a believable alibi before his crime was discovered and traced. As she noticed this, she became aware of others things; she could see falling leaves dancing in the wind as they returned to the earth from the heavens. She could hear the larks singing their hearts out to the open world; beautiful symphonies composed of twisted twitters that morphed together to create such spellbound song. She felt morning dew dripping on her snout, slipping from frost-covered pale emerald, gold-brown-flecked leaves. She could smell scents of the forest stronger than she ever had before; pleasant rain washed sage, a mouse that had crawled through mint, a hint of citrus, carried to her on the back of beam-touched wind; scents she could almost taste in her mouth.

She took deep breaths to fill her aching, tight lungs with the forest's invisible gifts. The panic in her heart eased, and with it, so did her breathing. She wasn't alone, not while she was here, in the company of birds and mice and a welcoming woods with branches like warm wings, hiding her and protecting her from further harm.

And she knew, in that moment, that she would be alright.

She was going to survive.

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