This is what happens when you go to sleep past midnight everyday with writer's block on your mind. I have always been intrigued by Goosefeather, despite of putting down Bluestar's Propechy halfway thru (I give up on the Warriors' series. The new ones are crap these days, pardon the language). The info is all based on what I have read on the Warriors Wiki.

I do not own Warriors. The stick would have been a rock, because sticks decompose after many years.

Chapter 14:

"He was born with the stars in his eyes."

"Excuse me?"

"I said he was born with the stars in his eyes."

"No, I heard you the first time, Marigoldflower."

"You did, but you did not hear the meaning, Bluestar."


"Indeed I shall, dear daughter*. StarClan is the beginning and after.

"We can only shape the middle."

StarClan's ways were mysterious, but there is not a doubt where kits originated.

Oh, of course a male and female come together and do all of that, but before was an another matter.

You see, kits were little pinpoints of twinkling light in the sky, wandering aimlessly as lost souls before suddenly latched onto a family on earth.

And then they forget that they were stars.

StarClan ruled before and after. They always have. They could make changes in the middle. But they could not change the fact, the crucial mistake in a tiny soul who landed on Earth unceremoniously.

He remembered being a star.

He was born with stars in his eyes. For his eyes.

"Momma, where's daddy?" his sister asked Moonkit asked in a quavering voice. Despite of being very bright, she'd always worried. He saw her aura as a pulsing thing, too bright to be contained.

"Hush, Moonkit, he's only hunting for our Clan."

"No," Goosekit mewed suddenly, genuinely surprised.


"No, he's dead, 'memba? A badger got him a moon ago, and he died of infection."



The stars gave him the sight, and they blurred the lines sometimes between reality and the future.

A curse.

He saw disease.

"Wait! Mumblepaw, don't catch that vole!"

"Great StarClan, just because you're lazy doesn't mean I am."

"No, you don't understand—that vole- it's stuffed with crowfood. It ate something bad." The picture of the vole eating some horrible mush was vivid in his mind, as if he was there personally.

"… Whatever. Watch me as I waste a good vole, Goosepaw."

He probably saved Mumblepaw's life that day. Or at least his stomach.

But nobody knows. It was a beautiful yet terrible blessing.

But sometimes, the stars start getting fuzzy in his vision, and he can't see.

When he can't see, he panics.

There is no light. There is no future. He sees his own nightmares, none of which were true. He hated untruth.

And so, he was blamed for the failure at WindClan.

Moonflower died. He saw her die, he saw her soul rise up to StarClan, as bright as ever.

He wanted to say what he saw. What he always have seen.

The beauty, the grace, the horror, the death.

Before they were plunged into this evil world of terror and killing. That the spirals of nutring light that cared for them before were still out there somewhere.

That the future held much darkness, and they could prevent it if they listened to what he said.

But he didn't.

Nobody blames the stars.

"Like fire, you will blaze through the forest," he whispered in his den to himself, recalling Bluefur's shock and pity for him.

He tried to warn her. But he knew.

He saw pain, remorse, and fire.

He could see.

But she could not.

Those amber eyes.

"They mirror death," he said out loud. "He does not deserve to live." Nobody listened. Had he not said it loud enough?

This kit was going to kill many cats. Create chaos. Become a traitor.

Alas, nobody saw fault in kits.

Death took form of an eating, indestructible being in his mind. Not a suckling kit still at his mother's side. But when he saw this kit, he saw death's promise.

He was powerless. Curse the stars.

This kit.

He should have died.

He needs to die.

Sometimes he saw blue, like the sky on a beautiful day.

Blue was joy. Joy was blue.

The stars would dance.

And it was bearable.

"Would you like something for your aching feet, Goosefeather?"

Dear little apprentice. He couldn't remember her name, but he was gratefully as he shook his head politely. Something was pressuring his mind. Knowledge.

"I am going to die." The words were out of his mouth before he knew it.

A pause. "We all do, at some point, if I may saw, Goosefeather."

"No. I will die on the first snow of leaf-bare." The stars burned. "Nobody shall miss me. I understand. And when I do, I shall fade gladly to the sky, where the stars I see shall no longer be my eyes, but my whole being." He took a breath.

She looked at him with dark, solemn eyes. "I shall miss you, my elder. Wait for your stars.

"You'll be with them one day."

She vanished.

"Is he here?" Bluesetar asked, perplexed by the story behind the raving cat she had known nearly her whole life. Marigoldflower smiled.

"He is with our stars. Our youngest stars."

I have seen stars. They told me horrible things, things of greatness that behold in the future. But there was also great kindness and joy.

I think they told me truth.

However, I do not wish this sight on others. Truth is much better left to be unseen until the proper moment.

But sometimes, stars manifest by themselves, and grow into whorls of pulsing, energized light, unshining others with their own majestic beauty.

These stars, my friends, can either shine glory or chaos.

I shall say no more, but those truths I have seen, those truths, are mine.

Nobody else shall see.

Except… me. They are me.

Well, please review after you're done reading! The apprentice is purely fictional. Perhaps she is a figment of her imagination, or some apprentice that never lived to her warrior ceremony. Flames are welcomed.