Tigersun's Corruption

It all began one night, in the nursery. A queen had birthed a single kit, a runt compared to others’ newborns. She was vividly aware of this when a large golden tabby tom entered, his green eyes always holding onto that deep, irreparable fury.

Sunheart looked up as a voice spoke. It was him.

“How many are there?”

“Just one, a tom. He’s healthy, but a bit small,” the medicine cat answered for her. Sunheart shot her a grateful look. The she-cat’s voice was calm, though the queen’s mate was known to be anything but even-tempered. “You may go see them, though Sunheart is quite tired after kitting.”

Sunheart felt her heart clench, and any happiness remaining from the birth of her son drained away as she watched anger grow in his eyes.

“You could have at least faked a smile,” she said quietly, averting her eyes to the tiny, fluffy kit at her stomach.

“He isn’t going to be of any use to the Clan, just another weak mouth to feed.” Sunheart watched worriedly as the anger held within him spilled out, marked by the sudden lividity in his voice. “We should get rid of him at once!”

Sunheart’s face twisted with grief. “You’ve gone mad, Tigerleap! He’s just a kit, born prematurely. Give him a chance. You will see, he’ll grow up to be--”

“--to be weak!” Tigerleap snarled, showing his teeth at the cream-colored queen lying before him.

She flinched away. In a desperate attempt to placate him, she whispered, “I named him Tigerkit, my love...in honor of you…” She turned away, baring her shoulder, expecting to be struck in his anger. The blow never came; all she heard was a menacing growl.

“He has no right to have that name!”

She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears. “Stop! Enough! Just leave, Tigerleap! LEAVE!”








The kit Sunheart bore was lively and curious about the world. Though born earlier than most, he grew rapidly, and soon matched the size of those as old as he.

One night, after the moon had set, he woke to the feeling of teeth on the scruff of his neck. He was being carried. He froze with fright, and when he was dropped, he stumbled and was slow to rise.

“Useless kit,” a low voice growled. “I should have killed you before you became such a pest.” Tigerkit looked up, his icy blue eyes full of terror, to see his father. Though he’d been named for him, the tom seemed to have no affection for the kit whatsoever. Indeed, it seemed that Tigerleap hated his son all the more for being named after him.

Well, if that bitch gave him the name, might as well see if he’s strong enough to have it, he thought, eyeing Tigerkit. Without another word, he turned and raced into the forest.

“Wait!” Tigerkit wailed, and went after him, trying to catch up. It didn’t help; within moments, the camp was out of sight, and so was Tigerleap. The kit went forward more slowly then, trying to figure out where his father had gone.

The shadows suddenly erupted into movement, and within a moment the scrawny kit was pinned beneath the hulking form of his father. He squealed and writhed, fearful.

Tigerleap snarled, and the paw pressing into Tigerkit’s throat was suddenly sharp with claws. Tigerkit froze, staring wide-eyed.The ocher-furred warrior pressed his claws into the kit’s throat, just enough to prick blood before he was off of him, leaving Tigerkit gasping for air.

“Get up, you pathetic weakling,” Tigerleap hissed. Tigerkit struggled to his paws, all the playfulness gone from his pale blue eyes.

It went on like that, Tigerleap attacking and driving his son to the ground. The kit’s soft fur became tangled and dirty, one paw bleeding, and small red dots marring the white fur of his throat. Eventually, after countless times, Tigerkit fell and did not rise.

Tigerleap shoved him, rolling him over twice. It had begun to rain, and Tigerkit lay in a mud puddle. Still, he winced away and chose not to regain his footing.

With an impatient snarl, Tigerleap scruffed him roughly and threw him back to the ground. “Get up!”

Weakly, Tigerkit managed to huddle himself into a crouching position and stayed there, his head ducked.

Tigerleap shoved him again. Tigerkit collapsed in a heap, tears streaming in his eyes. After several cuts of pain across his back, he struggled to his feet.

“You worthless scrap,” Tigerleap snarled. “I should have killed you when your good-for-nothing whore of a mother bore you. Attack me.” The obvious threat went unsaid. Convince me, his eyes challenged. Convince me you’re not completely worthless.

The kit didn’t move. Suddenly, Tigerleap’s temper snapped, and his claws slashed at his son’s face. Tigerkit yowled, a high, desperate sound, and landed on the ground again. When he looked up fearfully, two long cuts scored down his face, along his left eye. Blood welled, and spilled into his eye, half-blinding him. Salty tears mixed in with the blood and rain as it dripped down his face.

“You’re useless! Do you hear me?! Useless!”

His father turned and then vanished into the forest, his long tail lashing behind him until it, too, disappeared.

Tigerkit laid down in the mud, utterly defeated. He was cold and sore, his body pockmarked with wounds. Whenever he had fallen on his nose, or caught a claw in a rock, his mother had always been beside him. “It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright,” she would croon, licking the top of his head comfortingly.

As unconsciousness claimed him, Sunheart’s voice resounded in his mind, echoed within his being.

It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright…






Sunheart and the medicine cat found him early the next morning. When Sunheart woke and found him gone, she’d approached Tigerleap. The fierce tom only growled, “He’s worthless. If the scrap has run away, why bother finding him?”

The rain had washed away their scent trail, but they had eventually spotted the tiny kit, lying in a heap and sleeping.

Days passed, followed by endless nights. Most of the latter were spent in that same clearing where Tigerleap had spilled the first drop of his son’s blood onto the ground--and certainly not the last. He was sore every day, and constantly covered with fresh and healing cuts.

Tigerleap wrote it off as his clumsiness, and everyone but Sunheart agreed. The she-cat was too afraid of Tigerleap to confront him about it, or try and convince the leader of the warrior’s brutality. But she cared for her son best she could, stealing herbs from the medicine cat’s den and healing him as best as she could.

The abuse continued. It broke Tigerkit, and then it strengthened him. He began to fight back, slowly. His small defiances angered his father more than his surrender.  So he continued with them, just small at first: clawing back at him, biting his tail.

But then one night, Tigerleap became displeased with him. He was annoyed before, but Tigerkit’s weak attempts at revenge didn’t go unnoticed. He bit the kit’s shoulder and pushed him into the dirt before hissing, “Don’t bother coming back to camp tonight, you worthless runt.” Then he turned and left without a backwards glance.


Tigerkit remained in the clearing that entire night. It drizzled on and off, and by the time he appeared at the camp entrance at dawn, he was shivering, his thick fur plastered to his skin. He dashed in as soon as he could see the sun cresting over the horizon, making a beeline for the nursery. He was stopped by a wailing she-cat, who came up to him and began nuzzling him fiercely. Tigerkit stopped dead, shying away automatically. “Oh, poor little thing,” she murmured, looking at him with pity in her eyes. Tigerkit just stared, wide-eyed. What was happening?

More cats converged, whispering amongst themselves. One came forward, an older tom with gray fur. “Your mother died in the night, Tigerkit,” he said solemnly.

The kit just continued to stare, frozen. No. That couldn’t be true. He’d seen her just yesterday, as healthy as ever. She’d fussed over him, cleaning his wounds with herbs taken from the medicine cat’s den, before sending him away again to bear Tigerleap’s wrath.

Then, abruptly, the sea of sympathy he was drowning in parted. He knew before he even looked who it was, and then all he could see were the angry green eyes of his father. The tom’s reddish-brown fur was raised, and he looked livid. “Tigerkit--”

“Let him be, Tigerleap,” a voice said over the noise. Tigerleap whirled to meet the offender, hissing. His eyes narrowed.

“What?” he said venomously. The she-cat who’d spoke just looked away, her ears flattened with both submission and resentment.

The medicine cat came up, brushing Tigerleap aside. “Do you want to see her, little one?”

Tigerkit nodded, and took a step forward. The path cleared, and then suddenly, he could see her. In death, she looked very small. Her beige fur was dirty, like he knew she’d never let it get. Her blue eyes were closed to the world.  The white patches on her ears were smudged with flecks of mud. Tigerkit trembled, and then approached her. His nose touched hers; she was cold, and smelled strongly of lavender and rosemary. He  curled up beside her, tears leaking from his eyes. The rest of the Clan slunk away, their heads low.

Tigerleap leaned in. To an oblivious eye, he might have been comforting his son. But the words he hissed were anything but comforting. “Don’t act like such a useless scrap,” he said. “However miserable and disappointing you are, you are still my son. And my own blood doesn’t dare do such a weak thing as cry.”

Tigerkit looked up at him, and his eyes widened with a sudden understanding. “You killed her,” he said. Loudly. No one was around, but just the words gave him a surge of power. He stood up, looking up at him with fury in his eyes. “You killed her.”

Tigerleap bared his teeth, and stood up abruptly. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said. “You’re grieving, and inconsolable.” And then he lunged for him, and Tigerkit leapt back with a squeal. He stumbled over his mother’s body, and felt teeth sink into his neck. But then he was in the air. Being carried by Tigerleap. He could feel pain tingling in his nape, buzzing all along his spine.

His father let go of him and let him tumble roughly onto the ground in the medicine cat’s den. “He’s wild,” Tigerleap said. “Speaking rashly, acting out--he’s obviously grieving for his mother. Can’t you give him something?”

The medicine cat gave the tom a sharp look, but padded over. “Chamomile, maybe. He just needs time.” But soon enough the white-and-yellow flowerheads were in front of him, and Tigerkit ate obediently. They tasted sweet, and afterwards, he felt calmer. He looked up at Tigerleap, fearful of  reprisal.

Tigerleap smiled coldly. “Come with me.”





Several moons passed; Tigerleap continued to train his son in the dead of the night, and Tigerkit told no one about what went on. With his mother no longer able to care for his wounds, he simply cleaned them as best he could, and was grateful that his thick fur hid most of them.

Soon enough, his sixth moon came. When the Clan meeting was called, Tigerkit swelled with a sudden, gratifying excitement. He’d be assigned a mentor; and he’d train with him, rather than sneaking out of camp every night with his father.

After he was called up, he looked at his leader with glowing eyes.

“Tigerkit, you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Tigerpaw.” The young tom’s heart swelled, his eyes opening even wider.

“Your mentor will be Tigerleap.” No words had ever before shattered a cat so entirely as they did to Tigerpaw now. He stiffened, shock making his muscles rigid. “I hope Tigerleap will pass down all he knows onto you.”

Tigerleap came forward, his green eyes glinting with a vicious heartlessness. “Tigerleap, you are ready to take on an apprentice….” Tigerpaw stopped listening then. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. No, it couldn’t be true. There must have been a mistake. No, no, no, no….

Tigerleap stepped towards his son, lowering his head to ceremoniously touch noses. Tigerpaw broke from his reverie and moved forward until his nose pressed against Tigerleap’s. His father’s eyes stared him down, colder than bathing in a river during winter.

“Tigerpaw! Tigerpaw! Tigerpaw!” The newly named apprentice looked at the assembled Clan with unseeing eyes. How could they be so blind? How could they cheer for this?


He stood for his vigil silently. No friends came to talk with him; he didn’t have any. He was raised separately from the other nursery kits, no doubt influenced by Tigerleap’s ferocity. When dawn came, the deputy dismissed him. Numbly, he padded towards the apprentices’ den, expecting at least a few hours of sleep. He had no such luck.

Tigerleap approached his son with a cruel smile. “It’s time to begin your training,” he said, his voice smooth and guileless.

“I’ve been training since I was three moons old,” Tigerpaw scoffed boldly. His father’s eyes flashed with anger, but the new apprentice held his ground.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tigerleap lied evenly.

“What do you suppose all those cuts on me as a kit were, father?” Tigerpaw mocked. “You ought to know; you’re the one that put them there.”

Tigerleap’s jaw set. Tigerpaw could see it, but he pressed on anyway. “What did you do to my mother? I suppose you’ll just lie about that too--”

A sudden, blinding pain made him flinch away; when his vision cleared, his face was marked with blood that he knew would scar. But he didn’t apologize or cower. Instead, he stood tall, staring Tigerleap down.

“Don’t you ever speak to me that way again,” the warrior snarled, and then he turned and stalked out of camp. A wayward flick of his tail gestured for Tigerpaw to follow him.

The apprentice hesitated for a moment, and then he, too, disappeared into the underbrush.