Crappy, stupid FFnet!! It keeps deleting my ANs... .

So basically, this is about Goosefeather and his not-so-craziness. Don't read it if you haven't read Bluestar's Prophecy, or go ahead and read it. I really don't care either way. :D

I use some lines from the actual text, so I don't know if I should do a disclaimer or what. Personally, I think disclaimers are irritating and pointless, as Erin Hunter are not going to be writing fanfiction when they can just go and write the actual books. But, you know what? Whatever.

Crap, I need some sleep, dangit!

It all started so suddenly.

Goosefeather was eating his meal—a small finch—like he usually did: slowly picking off the feathers one-by-one at his favorite sunny spot beside the nettle patch. Then the feathers would be strategically turned over and over in his nimble paws, searching out for anything written in the downy softness of their patterns.

Today was no different, his finch already plucked and eaten. As he got to his paws, shaking out his gray-speckled pelt, he happened to overhear the shrill voices of two apprentices.

"My first catch!"

"My favorite!" a voice answered appreciatively, sounding impressed.

Goosefeather turned to see the two little apprentices, Bluepaw and Snowpaw—his own kin. His sister, Moonflower, was their mother, a sister from a younger litter. "You are both good hunters," he praised warmly as the two young she-cats looked up in surprise at his approach. He bent his head to sniff at the prized catch—a large vole—intending to do his duty as medicine cat and encourage the youngsters, but something stopped him in his tracks. He felt his fur fluff with fear as his eyes widened incredulously. "StarClan save us!"

Bluepaw launched to her paws, her eyes filled with shock. She did a double-take from the vole at Goosefeather's paws to the medicine cat himself, confusion in her blue gaze.

"It's a sign," he rasped out, his voice shaking. "Destruction for us all!"

If he hadn't rushed the words out to explain—to try and reassure his Clanmates—maybe things would have gone better and she would still be alive, scoffing at his jokes and rolling her amber eyes at his nonsense.

I promised.

"What's happening?" Pinestar was there in an instant, his eyes sharp with suspicion.

"Look at the vole's fur," Goosefeather breathed, barely aware of his leader's presence. "Look! See how the fur's parted along here...see how it's flattened along here?" He trailed an unsheathed claw down the flanks of the vole, pointing out the deathly omens that only he could see, only he could interpret: the words of his ancestors.

"But what does it mean?" Pinestar demanded.

"It's like a forest flattened by the wind," Goosefeather explained, impatient to Pinestar's ignorance: Could he not clearly see the signs? Was he really that blind to the truth? "This is how we will be crushed by WindClan."

"How can a dumb bit of fresh-kill tell you that?" a high voice called from behind him, and he turned to see a little golden tabby kit—Lionkit. He had helped to deliver this very kit a few moons ago, watching the stars for the future glories of the newest addition to ThunderClan, but all he saw in this kit's future were trials and bloodshed. Of course, he kept these thoughts to himself.

"Yes, how can you be sure?" Smallear looked suspiciously from the prey to Goosefeather's face, his eyes shrewdly narrowed.

"He's a medicine cat! He shares tongues with StarClan!" Adderfang snapped.

"The prey-stealing was just the beginning. The sign was sent from StarClan as a warning. Like a storm, WindClan will rage through the forest." Goosefeather closed his eyes as the spirit-murmurs swirled in his ears. "They will destroy us, rip up our camp, and make ThunderClan territory a wasteland. We will be clawed down like grass in a meadow."

Moonflower pressed forward—even now, so many moons later, his heart stung at the memory—and scoffed. "That's impossible!"

As he turned to face his sister, Goosefeather was once again shocked by the similarity between her and her daughter, Bluepaw. The apprentice pressed against her mother, her eyes wide as the rest of her Clan. Goosefeather let his eyes close halfway, remembering the prophecy that bespoke of this little she-cat: Like fire, you will blaze through the forest.

But can you live up to it, young one? Did you?

"StarClan has spoken." Goosefeather made sure his words rang clear over the whispers of his Clanmates.

"When?" Even in that single word, Pinestar's voice betrayed the tenseness he felt.

Goosefeather blinked sharply, pulling himself away from the ethereal voices of StarClan and back to the present. "I can't tell," he murmured. "But the sign has been sent now to give us time to prepare."

"Then we must prepare!"

"There's no time! We must attack first!"

Goosefeather sat down and bowed his head as the yowls of his Clanmates crashed over him. His mind swirled with the omen, futures of his Clan laid out clearly in his mind: ThunderClan destroyed, WindClan warriors lounging on Sunningrocks and hunting along the river, the Highrock toppled, the nursery shredded, his own den stolen...

Or...

ThunderClan victorious, hunting rabbits along the border and defending their territory against those rabbit-brained buffoons.

But, what if...?

What if he was wrong? What if this was just an unusual piece of prey? An apprentice brought it in—an inexperienced apprentice, at that!

"Are you sure?"

Pinestar's voice snapped Goosefeather out of his thoughts. "Have you ever seen such markings on a piece of fresh-kill?" he shot back, trying not to sound defensive, even though the leader was echoing Goosefeather's thoughts.

"Is it Goosefeather you doubt, or StarClan?" Adderfang hissed.

"If we can't trust StarClan, then we are lost," Dappletail supplied gently.

"Why are you hesitating?" Stormtail demanded Pinestar. "The decision is easy! You are choosing between survival and destruction!"

Goosefeather's eyes wandered back to the vole on the ground, and he ran his paw across the torn fur again. Snowpaw brought this in, he whispered to himself. What does it mean for an apprentice to bring in such a terrible sign from StarClan? Surely they picked her for a reason.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, an image shot through his closed eyes: Bright lights, a burning smell, a shriek of pain—

He whipped his paw away from the vole, flexing his claws as the shock of the vision faded. Raising his eyes to lock with Snowpaw's, he immediately looked away, the fur along his spine bristling.

Pain and misery to follow this apprentice and her kin. Even now...

Goosefeather looked back up at Pinestar just as the ThunderClan leader mewed gravely, "We'll attack WindClan at dawn."

- - -

Lying on his back on the cool, herb-strewn floor of his den, Goosefeather turned the vole around and around in his paws, holding it up to the light and peering closely at it. I know this sign is genuine...but what does it mean? This can't be all that it says! There must be more! I will not allow my Clan to be destroyed! ThunderClan will live on...it has been prophesized.

Goosefeather sighed, breathing in the sharply-scented smell of his den. "What can I do?" he whispered aloud. "How can I stop this?" Angry, he dug his claws into the vole's cold flesh and tossed it away from him, bitter disappointment flooding his belly. "So I can heal the wounds of my Clan but not save them from death. That seems fair."

Flipping onto his belly, his dug his claws into the earthy floor of the den, relishing the feeling and pretending for a heartbeat that this was one of those kit games he had played with Moonflower. So long ago, it seemed, that Moonflower was born. Goosefeather himself had been the only kit in his parents' first litter, and they had always wanted to raise kits and kits and kits. Disappointed in his solitariness, they had another litter, this time with four healthy pretty kits—a perfect image of the perfect family. Goosefeather—Goosepaw, then, under the careful watch of his mentor, Amberlight—had been the one to help the little kits into the world. While his mother was in the nursery, Goosepaw had bitterly resented his unborn siblings. Why should they get the love and devotion of his parents, just because they were the newest kits and he was the oldest son, the left behind apprentice, the most useless cat in the Clan?

So many emotions...

But then he saw them—his kin. Every thought of anger and envy and frustration left him in that moment. Kin.

But, of course, whenever something good happens, there always has to be that StarClan-forsaken thing that goes wrong to destroy the happy family. After the bout of greencough, only one remained out of Goosepaw's happy family. His parents, his three little brothers...all gone, except for little Moonkit.

I promised...

He swore to himself that he wouldn't let her die, not while he still had breath in his lungs and strength in his limbs. He would do anything to protect her.

"Anything," he breathed to himself on the floor of his den, his eyes slowly fixing on the vole, crumpled into a stiff heap. Moving forward, he grasped the vole with one paw, dragging it close to his face. "Anything. Anything." Repeating it like a chant, he flicked the vole off his claws and farther back into the herb storage, where it landed in a messily-stacked pile of catmint. Padding up to get it, Goosefeather's eyes lit with excitement. "Well," he said to himself. "That'll work."

- - -

"You killed her!" Swiftbreeze shrieked, out of control. She slammed into Goosefeather, knocking him off his paws and onto the sandy floor of the hollow. "This time one of your ridiculous omens has killed one of your Clanmates!" Her eyes were wide and dilated, unseeing in her rage. Goosefeather had never felt so afraid in his life as he looked from her to the limp form of his sister, clamping down the wail that was building in his chest as every fiber of his being tried to reject this reality.

"Stop!" Pinestar screeched, running over from his den to the aid of his medicine cat, but Adderfang and Tawnyspots beat him to it, yanking Swiftbreeze off of Goosefeather and restraining her, even though she fought like all of TigerClan to get loose and back at Goosefeather's throat.

Goosefeather shook out his fur, feeling as if he were going to lose consciousness. I promised, he told himself. I promised!

"We should never have been sent into that battle!" Stonepelt hissed furiously, looking like would love to sink his claws into Goosefeather's gray fur, too.

"I was only interpreting the signs of StarClan," Goosefeather told him, drawing back on the memory of Amberlight telling him about situations like this.

"Even when the Clan is panicking and blaming you, you must remain calm, Goosepaw." Even now, he could remember her sharp yellow eyes and white pelt. "It is of the utmost importance that you keep your head in a situation like that."

"Enough! Goosefeather is not to blame for our defeat. All warriors risk their lives for the sake of the Clan. It's part of the warrior code. Our wounded need attention; arguing won't help them!"

Goosefeather barely heard his leader's words. He let his eyes slide out of focus, feeling himself shudder inside. Keep it in, Goosefeather, he told himself.

"I'll get more supplies," Featherwhisker said immediately, turning and rushing to the den. Goosefeather hurried to follow behind him, not wanting to be in the same area as his sister's lifeless body. As soon as the fern tunnel closed around him he stopped, lowering his head to stare at the ground, feeling his chest still shake.

"Goosefeather, should I use marigold for the wounds, or shall I try to just keep cobweb on them? Also, Stonepelt's wound looks deep enough that I might need comfrey..." He trailed off when he realized that his mentor wasn't listening. "Goosefeather."

But Goosefeather couldn't move, still feeling that bizarre sensation making his body shake. He took in a deep breath, sudden laughter bubbling up from his throat—dark and unnatural. He stood there, not able to breath, chuckling so hard his shoulders were shaking.

"Goosefeather!" Featherwhisker's tone was shocked and angry. "What's wrong with you? Your sister is dead, you old..." He trailed off, clearing trying to rein in his anger.

Still laughing, Goosefeather just shook his head. "You...you wouldn't understand," he choked out past his weakening chuckles. "You won't even if you live to be an old, old cat."

Featherwhisker curled his lip. "I don't have time for your nonsense. I actually care about our Clanmates! Why didn't you confer with me about the sign, Goosefeather? Did you really think that I wouldn't understand that, too?" He pulled back, disappointed. "I thought you were better than that."

"Don't underestimate how great I am, Featherwhisker." Goosefeather lifted his gaze to his apprentice's. "Go on, then. Heal your Clanmates. You're their golden kit, you know. Go use the skills I taught you and win their favor. Go on!" He flicked his tail towards the fern tunnel. "They're over there waiting for you."

The long-whiskered apprentice just looked at him with disappointment. "I pity you, Goosefeather." He picked up his herb bundle and walked out the tunnel, his scent soon fading with his passing.

Goosefeather watched him go, tilting his head to one side. "Not as much as I pity myself, apprentice." He turned and walked slowly to his den, letting his shoulder slide along the smooth stone wall until the shadows engulfed him on all sides. Leaning the side of his face against the cool rock, he slowly slid down the wall and crumpled into a heap on the herb-littered floor.

- - -

And now Goosefeather lifted his head from where he was lying, just outside the camp on some nice flat boulders. He tipped back his heavily-grayed muzzle to look up at the sky, marveling in its lucid brightness. "A cold day," he said to no one. "Almost looks like...snow." He laid his head back down, chuckling softly to himself.

Seasons upon season had passed since that day, and yet he still couldn't bring himself to think of her name. It had been banished from his mind countless moons ago. "My fault." Goosefeather's voice was raspy with disuse. "If it wasn't for me, you'd still be alive, sister. If I hadn't had been so...vain to think that I could change the will of StarClan. And so the prophecy came true...only not for ThunderClan as a whole..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "ThunderClan was destroyed...for me. You were the last of my kin, sister. I've lived a long good life, but these old bones aren't getting up from this rock if I can help it." He let out a rusty laugh at his own joke.

The Clan had lost all respect for him, and really, who could blame them? Goosefeather didn't say a word to any of their claims of his age affecting his work or his senescence addling his brains. He let the curses rain down upon him, knowing deep in his old heart that he deserved them.

"How can I forgive myself? I was so arrogant then...and now you're long-dead with the rest of our kin...but don't worry, sister. Bluestar is a great leader." He felt a prickle of sadness when he thought about the fate he had predicted for Snowfur and how it had proved itself true. The white she-cat, a new queen, killed by a Twoleg monster, never to know her own son and his kin, which could, no doubt, change the fate of the forest itself.

But he didn't want to think about the forest or ThunderClan or any of the other petty problems of the Clans now. The sunshine was warm on his pelt, and he closed his eyes as the soothing feeling swept over him, seeming to seep strength into his very bones.

An icy coldness pricked his nose like a mouse's claw.

Opening his filmy eyes, he saw that a perfect snowflake was perched on his nose—only for the shortest heartbeat—before melting from the heat of his body. A slow, warming contentment began to flow through his veins, and he knew that she was there, telling him that it was finally time.

"Moonflower," he whispered, giving voice to the name he had locked inside himself for so long. "My sister...have you come for me?"

Then Goosefeather closed his eyes, truly happy for the first time in seasons, and left his body on the smooth boulder outside ThunderClan's camp, following the shining spirit of his sister up through the swirling snowflakes and to the stars.

So, this AN got deleted, too. There's really nothing else to say here so, uhh...hope you liked it? Maybe? Possibly?

R&R?

Shadow :D