Missingfoot x Whitespots-Eyes

Missingfoot stood as proudly as he could. The cries of his fellow clanmates sounded in the distance. Missingfoot recognized some, but others were from RiverClan, ThunderClan, ShadowClan, and the hated DarkClan. Led by none other then his former apprentice, his only apprentice, Goldenpelt.
How he hated his apprentice now. Goldenpelt was once a cleaver, charismatic, and thoughtful youth, but now was lost, crazy, and Missingfoot hated him. Goldenpelt’s apprenticeship was now where Missingfoot blamed the start of his half-life. Now DarkClan was only a sign of his old apprentice’s foolishness.
Missingfoot hobbled out of WindClan camp, panting with effort, his crippled leg ached as he tried to put weight on it to keep his balance. He had not walked this far from camp since that horrible day. That day of the fox.
Weeds and dried grass prickled the flesh on his scars. DarkClan was here, he could hear the fighting, the screaming, and he could smell the fear. Missingfoot was the only cat in camp. Swifttail, Freshheart, Nightpool’s kits…they were safe in ThunderClan. Like they should be. He felt no resentment for them. In fact, he was glad to be here.
Missingfoot knew it, though he hardly wanted to admit it, that he would not live to see his daughter return from the battle. She knew it too. He was glad though, because he wanted to go out as a true warrior. Fighting for the clan he loved, and not be hiding in some ThunderClan nursery.
Suddenly, what Missingfoot had been waiting for came running down the slope at him in the shape of a white figure. A tom who reeked of DarkClan. Missingfoot hissed as another one followed the first, a small she-cat already bleeding from a gash in her ear.
Missingfoot hissed at the intruders as he tried to arch his back without falling. The white tom barred his teeth and ran for him, the smaller she-cat paused, watching intently. Missingfoot stumbled to his side when the white tom barreled into him, and rolled around uselessly.
The white DarkClan tom stopped his fighting as he saw the stub of Missingfoot’s leg. His attacker went from shocked to amused in the blink of an eye. From his place on the ground, Missingfoot gasped for air as the tom laughed manically. “Littlestep! You have to come see this! This dumb cat doesn’t have a leg!”
The she-cat Littlestep moved forward cautiously, as though not believing the tom. Missingfoot tried to stand again, only to be pushed down by the tom again easily. The young tom laughed coldly, finding amusement in his pain.
Littlestep gasped, “Cloudypelt, you don’t think that this could be cat Goldenpelt told us about? Missingfoot, his old mentor?”
Cloudypelt’s laughter faded as he examined Missingfoot. “You could be right, Littlestep! I forgot about Goldenpelt’s old stories he told when we were apprentices!”
The two discussed calmly as though Missingfoot wasn’t even a threat! He burned with anger and humiliation. What was he thinking, he had given up fighting many greenleafs ago. He was useless, he couldn’t fight. His last hope of dying as a real warrior faded, I won’t die a warrior, I die as a pathetic, old cat.
No! He would fight! Missingfoot tried to get up again, putting weight on the stub. He winced in pain as the leg ached; the white tom finally took notice of him again and grinned. Stepping forward, Cloudypelt placed his paw on Missingfoot’s shoulder and pushed, sending Missingfoot to the ground again.
He felt a paw on his throat as Cloudypelt sneered, “Are you Missingfoot? Did you mentor our great leader?”
“No,” Missingfoot denied him, choking.
The weight became harder on his throat and he coughed. Cloudypelt hissed, “You’re lying! Tell the truth!”
Littlestep grabbed hold of Missingfoot’s stub gently, but an evil smile flickered across her face.
He croaked, “My name is Blackpelt…I-I’ve never had an apprentice.” Missingfoot yowled in pain as the she-cat bit into his old wound, ripping the flesh open again. He tried to fight off this tom from his throat, but he was exhausted, he barely had strength to move.
“I know you’re lying,” The white tom hissed angrily. “You piece of fox-dung! You pathetic, old, mouse-brained, fool!”
Missingfoot felt defiant and cross, this arrogant tom and this empty headed she-cat had the nerve. “I wouldn’t- wouldn’t be so cocky with were you, kittypet,” Missingfoot choked out.
Suddenly yowls came from the battlefield, crying out, “Goldenpelt is dead! Goldenpelt is dead!”
Cloudypelt gasped in fear, suddenly unsure. Littlestep was already running, leaving Missingfoot and her clanmate behind. Missingfoot sighed in satisfaction, but the white tom lunged at his throat suddenly…

It was like waking up from a sleep that only lasted a second, but unlike sleep, he didn’t feel drowsy, nor did he feel any pain. Even his leg didn’t hurt. Missingfoot opened his eyes to see Silverpelt all around him and he knew he was dead.
A beautiful white and black figure seemed to walk on stars as she came for him. Her green eyes dark, her legs long, and her body small and delicate. Missingfoot could only sit there in a daze, waiting for his beautiful mate.
Whitespots stopped in front of him, purrs rumbling in each others throats. “I’ve come to take you to StarClan,” she soothed, her voice echoing in his ears like the soft whisper of the wind. “It’s over now, my dear Blackpelt.”


Mkay, so I was inspired to do this and I swear I couldn't stop working on it til it was done. (Which means I must also apoligze for the sloppy background.^^' ) But this is how a always pictured Missingfoot's last moments in the battle for WindClan.

His story always makes me sad, so I'm glad I've finally done some sort of tribute to him.

This is number 37 in my warriors challage: Eyes.

Missingfoot and Whitespots (c) Me