Well, my friends have been pestering me to publish some of my writings online...poems, I'd written for English class, but I don't think I'll put those up, they are rather terrible...so I just decided to write a short Warriors scene. :3
I wanted to make this into a drawing...but, I tried, and failed...horrible. XD
So I decided instead to just apply my writings skills to it. Writing is my comfort zone, and though I don't think I'm very good at it, I'm better at it than drawing. X3
Do enjoy reading this small snippet...I don't know if this scene was included in Warriors or not, I haven't read them in so long...*saunters off to reread Warriors*
^^

-I do NOT own Warriors, it was rightfully created by the three united authors under the name Erin Hunter, and I give them full credit for creating such an AMAZING series. This is just a fanfic. -



Ashfur placed his head upon his paws, flicking his tail. Even in the shade of the tree he sat under, the Greenleaf heat was getting to him...in their old home, it had never been quite so hot. The breeze from the lakeside failed to reach this far into the trees, Thunderclan could only rely upon trees and undergrowth, and the small stream that trickled nearby, for relief of the atrocious heat.
His eyes flicked over across the hollow, by the Warriors den; Squirrelflight was there, beside Brambleclaw-as usual.
He felt his claws unsheathe, digging into the soft earth. His eyes narrowed to slits, and he felt the strong desire to run and pounce at the both of them, Brambleclaw especially; how he would love to bite down onto his scruff and taste disgusting blood, cut him up and mar his arrogant face, then sit back and yowl in laughter at his pain. It was savage; sardonic delight, but it's how he felt, and was nigh on the point of doing it, when the kits emerged from the nursery.
They were three, small, helpless, each not looking exceptionally like the other. The two boys, the golden, orangish pelt, and then the gray, fought together playfully, scuttling across the ground and mewing in pleasure. The single girl, a puny, black-furred cat, wiggled her haunches and joined the fight, pinning down her brother, Lionkit, easily, nipping his ear affectionately before turning her attention to Jaykit, tackling him. Jaykit seemed to not grasp what was happening, and thrashed blindly, fighting back unsuccessfully. Hollykit had him pinned within seconds, and then, pleased with herself, set about cleaning her fur.
Squirrelflight leaned forward and began to do that for her, swiping her tongue across her daughter's pelt, ridding it of dirt, and perhaps a few stray ticks.
Brambleclaw fluffed out his chest and stared adoringly at his children.
Ashfur growled, the sound coming from deep within his throat, and he could have sworn, for the briefest instant, he'd seen red.
It was wrong, all wrong; Squirrelflight had been his, his and his alone. Those could have been his kits that were running around in circles, around their mother and father, he who looked so bright and haughty.
Brambleclaw had stolen her. His love, the only cat that he'd ever felt such a strong surge of affection for.
His claws seemed to seep deeper into the ground, and he wanted to bite something.
Angrily, he stood up and stalked to the fresh kill pile, which he, Cloudtail, and Sandstorm had so recently restocked. He picked up a squirrel, clamping his teeth onto its tail. On his way back to his spot, Whitewing walked over to him, holding a mouse. "Hello. May I join you?"
"Sure, why not," Ashfur mumbled sourly.
He settled into the dirt, eating his squirrel viciously.
"You're in a bad mood," Whitewing observed dryly, nibbling at the mouse.
"Am I?" Ashfur hissed sarcastically, "Why, I hadn't noticed."
Whitewing scowled at him. "You're no fun these days. You used to be. But you never are now. It's as though you've got a tick that won't detach itself."
"It's nice to know that other cats notice," Ashfur sniffed, still sarcastic, "Thank you for that information."
He pushed away the half eaten squirrel, feeling sick, and continued to glare over at the happy family.
Whitewing followed his gaze, and as her eyes fell upon Squirrelflight, she instantly stiffened, and she seemed to adapt a disgruntled mood as well. She said nothing, and continued to eat.
Ashfur flicked his ear lazily, his eyes never leaving Squirrelflight, looking over her glossy, orange pelt, the deep green eyes that he'd always been so fond of.
What could he do? He needed to do something...something that would teach her royal highness a lesson, and maybe punish Brambleclaw in the process. But what? What could he possibly do, that would give him such a satisfying relief other than harming her or Brambleclaw? He wanted revenge; he wanted it as simply as he wanted a full stomach, or air to breathe. It was becoming an obsession of his.
His eyes fell over the kits, who were trooping back into the nursery, being shepherded by Squirrelflight...
And it hit him.
The idea struck him like water, he felt as though he were drowning in the entire brilliance of it...the altogether evil, and just by the idea, he was given an air of smugness, of...happiness.
Squirrelflight would pay...she would, by means of her kits...
But he couldn't do it now; no, not while they were so young...he'd need to wait it out, which seemed so cruel, because he'd already waited so long. Patience...patience...
"Whitewing?" he asked, suddenly merry, "Would you like to go hunting? Or maybe gather together a patrol?"
Whitewing, startled, looked up from the remains of her lunch, tilting her head slightly to the side, obviously appalled by his sudden shift in attitude. "Er...umm...sure, Ashfur...of course."
She lightly leapt onto her paws, and said "Yes, let's go hunting...I'll go collect Mousepaw, Spiderleg is in the medicine den with an injured paw...and Stormfur too, he's not been out of the Warriors den yet...stay right here."
She left, dashing off to search for Mousepaw and Spiderleg.
Ashfur could feel a smirk playing upon his face, and he suppressed it, keeping his face blank of expression. As always.