#iterum | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redux-iterum · 20 days

Text

Charred Legacy: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

All things considered, it was a nice night.

Fireheart was half-rolled onto his back, front paws tucked into his upturned chest while his rear end remained on its side. His tail tapped absentmindedly on the still-warm sand as he gazed up at the stars. The weather had loosened up, mercifully keeping the sky clear and even warming the air a little. It was still somewhat chilled, but the ground had softened from muddy slop to dense soil—still retaining a bit of moisture, but not enough to stick to a traveling cat’s paws—and the frost had barely made an appearance before shying away and melting again into dew.

Thank the Three for small miracles, Fireheart thought as his eyes lazily drifted from star to star. They know we needed it.

Caught up in the beauty of the sky and the grainy comfort of the sand, he was only somewhat registering cats talking around him. Faint squeals drifted out of the nursery’s entrance and his ear twitched at what he thought (hoped, really) was Goldenflower gently chiding the kits inside. Frostfur’s litter was already out, but in the past month they had calmed down considerably and come to prefer talking with the one cat in the apprentice’s den who would soon be a warrior, Swiftpaw, as he regaled them with stories of the territory and all the strange creatures they would see there.

Fireheart twisted his head back and to the side a bit—yes, there they were, listening to the black tom recounting his experience going to the Mother on the far side of the territories.

“And I know she looks scary,” he was saying, “but that’s kind of the point, I think. It makes you respect her even more. You just have to be brave and go into her mouth, trusting her. And Yellowfang will be there to guide you, so you’ll find your way.”

The sole molly of the litter, fluffy ginger-patched Brightkit, spoke up now. “I won’t be scared. The Mother wouldn’t hurt us—we’re her favorites.”

Thornkit, dark and golden-brown, frowned at her. “Still gotta be ‘spectful.”

Fireheart’s mouth twitched into a brief grimace in sympathy as the tom’s ears went back in embarrassment at the end of his sentence. Thornkit still slurred and stumbled over his words, even with as much as Frostfur had worked with him on speaking clearly, and he had been speaking shorter and shorter sentences recently, and at a much lower volume. His siblings understood him just fine, save one.

That one, the deaf little white tom directly in front of Swiftpaw, was Snowkit. His bright blue eyes, wide and vibrant, were fixed on Swiftpaw’s mouth as the apprentice said, “Yeah, it’s important to be quiet on the walk in and during the ceremony. Just wait until Yellowfang speaks to you.”

Brackenkit, a thinner and lighter version of Thornkit, tilted his head. “Will Cinderpaw be there?”

“She was when I went.” Swiftpaw’s eyes lifted upwards as he squinted a bit. “I mean, we did ours together, so that’s why, but I think she’d have to go anyway.” He turned to look at his dark grey sister as she limped out from the ferns by the meeting stump. “Hey, Cinderpaw! Are you going to be with these kits when they do their pilgrimage?”

Cinderpaw beamed with a hacking scoff very similar to her mentor’s. “Obviously! I have to learn how to do it myself, and there’s no way I’m missing out on Brighty getting blessed.” She swept her tail, crooked at the tip, in the direction of the toms. “And you guys, of course.”

Brackenkit seemed to take no offense. “I bet my blessing will be from Rokhar.”

Fireheart purred, rolling slowly onto his side. Of all the three gods, the Tiger was the one he understood the least. Then again, it seemed like everyone outside of the seer role had some trouble grasping exactly what Rokhar was all about. The first seer of Fireheart’s life in ThunderClan, Spottedleaf, had described him as being “in-between” and “all-encompassing”. Even after more than a year of being a Clan cat, Fireheart still had no idea what that meant.

“Why Rokhar?” Swiftpaw asked, sounding amused. “Because he’s the cool—?“

“Because he’s the cool one!” Brackenkit said, exactly in tandem with the apprentice. At another frown from Thornkit, he added, “I mean, they’re all cool, but Rokhar’s the coolest.”

Cinderpaw limped up to the little gathering of the young, her bad leg crumpled up towards her belly. “Knowing your dad, he’s probably telling Horoa right now to bless all of you with a Lion’s touch.”

While the kits all started babbling to each other about whether that was true or not, Fireheart’s heart clenched at the mention of Lionface. He had been the deputy of ThunderClan after Redtail, another first for Fireheart when he had joined the Clan from life as a house cat. Both of them had been great toms, Redtail kind and friendly and Lionface majestic and confident (even if he and Fireheart had clashed here and there). Both of them were gone, and both of them had been…

Fireheart’s claws sank into the sand. He eyed Cinderpaw’s crippled leg.

It had been around a month since the trial that shattered the Clan’s collective heart. No one had spoken of it after it happened, and even the mere implication of something that would link back to that night was hushed or ignored. Fireheart couldn’t stand this thing Clan cats had with refusing to acknowledge bad cats or the things they’d done; it didn’t help anyone feel better, it just made things awkward and sad. Supposedly, the spirits of these bad cats could come back if spoken about or named and haunt the territories, but as far as Fireheart had seen, the only thing they haunted was his dreams.

What he’d give to talk about this with Goldenflower.

But she was in the nursery now, and she needed peace and quiet to raise his adoptive siblings until they were big enough to come out and explore camp. Being forbidden from visiting, Fireheart just had to rely on news shared by Brindleface or Frostfur—mostly Brindleface, as Frostfur had left the nursery early to give the crowded den some room and now only came to check on her nearly-grown kits. Brindleface had been incredibly nervous and sensitive when she was stuck in the den, but now that she had been able to leave her kits for walks here and there…

“Fireheart! There you are!”

The ginger tom blinked and got to his feet, shaking off what sand had clung to his fur. The beautiful grey tortoiseshell in question had just climbed up and out of the nursery, her pale green eyes shining as Fireheart approached her.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said when he was close enough. “Well, two surprises.”

Fireheart perked up. “Really? Are they about Cloudkit?”

“They are.” Brindleface’s fluffy tail curled at the delight that must have immediately brightened up Fireheart’s face. “I’m sorry you couldn’t have come seen him before, but that makes this a little more interesting.”

Cloudkit had been adopted into the Clan, the same as his uncle. Fireheart had been given the kit by his frantic sister, Rosy, and ThunderClan took him in with only a bit of reluctance. The two of them did not look similar—Fireheart was skinny and shorthaired and Cloudkit was a ball of white fluff—and with the automatic distance of Fireheart not being able to visit to see his nephew and bond with him, he could only hope that they wouldn’t be so different that they could not find common ground besides being outsiders at birth, especially since Fireheart had promised to mentor Cloudkit once he became an apprentice.

“What is it, then?” he asked, trying not to sound overly-eager.

“Well, for one…” Brindleface turned and poked her head into the nursery. “Babies, do you want to come out now?”

Indistinct squeaks of excitement immediately followed this, and Brindleface purred before turning back to Fireheart, saying, “That’s the first surprise. They’re ready to meet you.”

Fireheart’s fur flared out and he beamed. “I can see him now!”

Brindleface nodded, her whiskers twitching. “And the second…”

She gestured with her paw just in time for the first kits to scramble out of the den: both grey with broken tabby markings, similar in every way except for the molly being both more delicate in the face and fluffier than her brother. They completely ignored Fireheart and bumbled out into the center of camp. Who followed them was—

Not the kit Fireheart had brought in.

This kit was fluffy and round, sure, but ginger covered his ears and nose and was steadily claiming his tail. His fur was quite long and puffed out, even if he was a bit small; if it weren’t for the unusual color, he would fit perfectly in with the rest of ThunderClan. By the way his deep blue eyes blinked owlishly at Fireheart, he was just as surprised at the reunion.

“Cloudkit,” Brindleface said with another paw-gesture, “this is your uncle, Fireheart. Remember how we talked about him?”

“Ohhh,” Cloudkit said loudly. He looked Fireheart up and down before announcing, “You’re short.”

“Cloudkit!” Brindleface scolded. “That’s rude.”

Fireheart chuffed and bent his head to meet his nephew’s eye-level. “And you’re pudgy.”

Cloudkit squinted at Fireheart. “What’s ‘pudgy’?”

“Fat!” Cinderpaw called from across the clearing.

Cloudkit squawked and slowly and clumsily swatted a paw in the direction of Fireheart’s nose. “’Mnot pudgy! You’re pudgy!”

Brindleface stared at the little tom in baffled embarrassment, but Fireheart pretended to be struck and rubbed his nose like it’d been scratched.

“Don’t beat me up, please,” he said, poorly hiding his amusement. “I’m sorry, you’re not.”

Cloudkit nodded in satisfaction—then, to Fireheart’s surprise, he toddled right up to his uncle and bumped their noses together. Him being so small, it didn’t hurt, but it was more of a punch than usual.

“Hi, uncle,” Cloudkit said, pulling back.

Fireheart’s whiskers twitched. “Hi, nephew.”

“That’s better.” Brindleface stepped forward to lick Cloudkit’s ear. “Are you ready to meet your Clanmates now?”

The little puffball nearly jumped in place and waddled off after his siblings, who were currently interrupting the discussion between Frostfur’s litter and Swiftpaw. Fireheart watched him go, amazed at the strength of the flame of affection in his chest, even when he hadn’t seen the kit since he’d come to the Clan.

“How did his fur get like that?” He turned to Brindleface now. “He was white when I brought him in.”

Brindleface rolled a shoulder. “Kittypet blood, I’m guessing. I’ve never seen anything like that in the territories. I thought he was sick at first, but he’s been perfectly happy and healthy this whole time.” She gave Fireheart a cheeky squint. “Both of you stick out now.”

Fireheart sighed a chuff. “At least he’ll be warm this winter.”

Brindleface nodded. Then her eyes flicked to the side and narrowed a fraction before she walked off after her litter. Fireheart’s gaze followed where she’d looked.

Darkstripe. Of course. He was glaring at the now-wandering Cloudkit.

Fireheart contained another, much heavier sigh. Since the trial, the dark tabby had hardly said more than one word to anyone, and they had to speak to him first. Fireheart hadn’t dared start a conversation with him—Darkstripe had never liked him to begin with, but since the end result of the trial was largely on Fireheart’s shoulders, the hatred in Darkstripe’s eyes burned Fireheart’s back whenever the two had to cross paths. He’d done his best to give the older warrior space, which was difficult when they shared a den.

Anticipating the glare to turn on him, Fireheart prepared to look away and find something else to engage with. He was saved by the camp entrance rustling to reveal the pale brown tortoiseshell Speckletail leading a patrol in. As her followers trotted to the prey-pile, she approached Darkstripe and said something to him Fireheart didn’t catch. Darkstripe didn’t respond beyond a twitch of his lip, getting to his feet and stalking out of camp. Speckletail watched him go, huffed and shook her head before joining the rest of the patrol.

After the loss of the prior deputy—the one that trial had been all about—Speckletail had been selected to replace him. She hadn’t been the expected choice, but she had accepted the role and immediately went about keeping the Clan busy and organized for the first month of her tenure. Fireheart suspected that this was a tactical decision; giving everyone something to do kept them from stewing in their own thoughts over the events of the past fall. Things had finally slowed down, with the warmer weather gifting the Clan with more prey than Fireheart had been told showed up in the end seasons. This was one of the first nights in quite a while that Fireheart had gotten to stay home and just enjoy the peace of camp.

“Good evening,” he said to Speckletail as she walked past him with a woodrat.

She nodded to him, putting down her prey for a moment. “Any word while I was gone?”

Fireheart shook his head, ears going back sadly. “I haven’t spoken to her since a few days ago.”

Speckletail sighed through her nose. Her eyes were tired. “I’ll talk with her once I’ve eaten.” She picked up her prey again and continued on her way, sitting down with Willowpelt on the far side of camp.

Fireheart’s eyes drifted to the wall of briar that surrounded the sandy clearing. Though he couldn’t see it, his gaze landed on the area where the leader’s den was situated on the outside.

Where Bluestar was undoubtedly sleeping.

The trial and the near-murder preceding it had hurt everyone, but it had broken something in the Clan’s leader. Only a few days after the deputy’s execution, Bluestar had become a rare sight. She now walked alone in the forest or holed up in her den, only coming out to order patrols or respond to something Speckletail asked her about. It had been part of the quiet conversation for some time now, but no one dared to broach the topic to Bluestar—even Fireheart, her former apprentice, or Whitecloud, her nephew.

It wasn’t fair, Fireheart wanted to shout to the stars. Of all the cats suffering, why did their leader have to struggle the hardest? The pain and suspicion and fear clouded her eyes and silenced her voice. It had been her throat the deputy’s teeth nearly crushed, her friends and Clanmates he crippled and murdered to get to her. Now, whenever she looked at her charges, it seemed like she was gauging their intentions, how well they could be trusted. Even Fireheart had been under scrutiny more than once.

She really would benefit from being able to talk about this whole thing…

“Cloudkit, please!”

Fireheart blinked and was back in camp. He turned his head to see his nephew marching for the fallen log that was the elder’s den. The elders were already out—lanky and grey One-eye, dark brown Halftail, and black-and-white Patchpelt—but they were talking among themselves, completely unaware of the kit making his way towards them, his siblings trailing behind with curious looks on their faces. Brindleface was padding after them, calling for Cloudkit.

“Let them be—” she started, but Cloudkit broke into a clumsy imitation of a run and continued on. Just as he reached Patchpelt, he tried to slow down, only succeeding in crashing right into the elder and stumbling backwards, plopping into a sitting position.

Patchpelt coughed (as he had been lately) in surprise and looked round to see the kit. His faded eyes brightened. “Well, now! I don’t remember this one.”

“I’m Cloudkit.” The furball blinked up at him. “My sister is Aspenkit and my brother is Ashkit.”

Halftail tilted his head, eyes narrowed analytically.

“You’ve got some ginger on your face, little ant,” croaked One-eye, peering with her single eye at the kit. “Or you’ve been playing in the sand.”

“No, he’s supposed to look like that.” Brindleface hurried up to them. “I’m sorry he disturbed you.”

“You know we love being disturbed,” Patchpelt said fondly, looking at the grey kits as they approached. “Ah, and this must be Ashkit and Aspenkit.”

The tom kit nodded firmly, standing as tall as he could, while the molly lowered her nose and shyly regarded the ground. Cloudkit, meanwhile, was meeting One-eye’s gaze, looking completely unbothered by the marred face that every kit and new apprentice was a little taken aback by. Fireheart noted with pride that he didn’t broach the topic of One-eye’s accident, only chirping, “You’re tall.”

One-eye chortled. “And old, on top of that. Do you know what my name is?”

Cloudkit shook his head.

“I’m One-eye, unsurprisingly.” The pale molly nodded to her denmates. “That’s Halftail and Patchpelt. Can you guess which is which?”

“Um…” Cloudkit scrunched up his little face before answering slowly. “Patchpelt’s got patches, and Halftail’s brown, right?”

“Very good.” Patchpelt purred. “We have easy names to remember.”

Cloudkit brightened up and wagged his short little tail. “I did it!”

“Yes, you did it,” Brindleface said, touching her nose to her adopted son’s head, adding to the elders, “I can distract him if he starts to bother you.”

“Oh, he’s not a bother at all.” One-eye tilted her head comically at Cloudkit, who trilled in response. “I haven’t had a kit not flinch at my face since I became an elder.”

Fireheart watched on as Cloudkit made his way around to Halftail, who eyed him suspiciously but said nothing. An anxiety he didn’t know was in his stomach settled at the warm looks on the elders’ faces when Cloudkit loudly announced, “Fireheart’s my uncle!” and puffed out his little chest.

He’s bold, Fireheart thought affectionately, watching his nephew respond to Patchpelt’s kindly questions about life in the nursery. Rosy, whether or not you get to see him again, I know you’ll be proud.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter one #book three #arc one #charred legacy

40 notes · View notes

redux-iterum · 6 days

Text

Charred Legacy: Chapter Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Yeesh.”

“Yeah.”

Greystripe shuddered and squinted in the direction of the distant Fourtrees, like he could see the dogs coming already. “One thing after another, huh? You think they’ll show up here?”

“I hope not, but…” Ravenwing shook some soil off his paw. “I don’t trust our luck. Nor do I trust those dogs.”

Fireheart stretched out, the early evening warmth still permeating the ground under him, which he knew to appreciate before he lost it by the time the moon was fully up. Greystripe had been asleep when the Gathering party had returned home last night, and Fireheart had insisted on not waking him up with such grave news as the leaders had given. Ravenwing had complied, but roused his friends early this evening for a “hunting patrol”, which was really an excuse to walk in the woods while they still had that freedom. Whatever Bluestar was thinking about the warning from Rookstar, she hadn’t said, but by the time everyone turned in for sleep, common opinion was near-certain she would restrict wandering about in the forest alone or in a small group. Just for safety, obviously, not that the reason made it any more fun.

“It’s the fact that we don’t have any information at all that bugs me,” Ravenwing continued. “There’s more than one, and that’s it. That’s all we know.”

“That’s at least something, isn’t it?” Fireheart asked, trying to sound hopeful and probably not doing a good job. “We know to watch out for several dogs.”

Ravenwing shook his head. “I mean, sure, but we’ll live with the uncertainty that, if one or more go away for whatever reason, we don’t know if all of them left, or just some. Two could leave, but then another one from the pack shows up when we don’t expect it, and we’re feather-plucked.”

“One thing at a time.” Greystripe lifted a paw and lowered it in a “settle down” gesture. “They’re probably still near WindClan territory. ThunderClan just needs to form a plan while we can.” He paused. “Whatever that plan may be.”

“And maybe humans will catch them first,” Fireheart added. “Anything could happen.”

Ravenwing, sitting up while the others were reclining, kneaded the ground and grimaced at the marks his claws were making, muttering, “We still ought to err on the side of pessimism.”

Neither Greystripe nor Fireheart responded to this. Fireheart instead swiveled his ears this way and that, keen on any small noise he could detect, just in case pessimism was warranted. All he got was a familiar, rushing rumble on the edge of his hearing.

“Hey, you can hear the river from here,” he remarked cheerfully. “It really got filled up from all that rain, didn’t it? Even though it’s been so dry this month, it’s still loud.”

Ravenwing slowly lifted his head and mimicked Fireheart’s ears, pulling himself out of his dour mood. “Huh. You can.”

Fireheart looked over at Greystripe, who had his ears turned as well, but more bittersweetly back than curiously pivoted towards the direction of the distant river. His eyes were half-shut with grieving affection.

“You know…” he said after a moment. “She never found a nickname for me.”

Ravenwing’s tail went stiff. Fireheart sadly sighed under his breath.

“Just a little bit of a bummer.” Greystripe’s head turned round to where the river sang. “It’d be nice to have at least that, you know? Something tangible to remember her by.” He made an attempt at an amused snort that came out more as a limp huff. “I mean, something tangible in this Clan.”

Fireheart didn’t say anything, but his mind soared over the river and went straight into whatever RiverClan had as a nursery, where a litter of grey kits nursed at a belly that wasn’t their mother’s. How much did they look like Greystripe now?

Ravenwing sank onto his belly, looking a bit queasy. He murmured something, seemingly to himself.

“What?” Fireheart tilted his head.

“Nevermind,” Ravenwing said, jerking his head up. “Just. Thinking.”

A memory shouldered its way into the forefront of Fireheart’s mind. In a bid to change the mood, he said to Ravenwing, “Well, at least you never had to learn that lesson the hard way, right?”

The mood changed indeed—Ravenwing flinched and stammered, “Are yo– don’t bring up that whole thing! It’s not the same!”

Greystripe looked back at them, frowning. “What’s not the same?”

Fireheart almost leapt to his feet, instantly eager at this chance of merriment. “Oh, it’s—” He looked at Ravenwing, who was burying his face in his paws. “Can I tell him?”

“Go ahead,” Ravenwing grumbled.

Immediately, Fireheart turned back to Greystripe, tail dancing in delight. “Ravenwing likes Wrenwhisker, and he overheard us talking about it at that one Gathering while we were still fighting, and he winked at Ravenwing and walked off.”

“You—” Greystripe almost coughed out a halting chuff of disbelief. “Excuse me? You—”

“It’s not him specifically!” Ravenwing blurted in protest. Then his voice dropped to a mumble. “It’s all WindClan toms.”

Greystripe’s face was unsure whether to be outraged or highly amused. “And you yelled at me!”

“That’s what I said!” Fireheart near-trilled.

Greystripe shook his head, his eyes bright and amazed. “I cannot believe the hypocrisy.”

“I didn’t go after anyone, Greystripe,” Ravenwing said hotly. “I can appreciate from a distance! Wasn’t I just appreciating, Fireheart?”

Fireheart’s eyes were almost squeezed shut as he beamed at Ravenwing, putting on an airy voice. “You certainly could have done the exact same thing as Greystripe instead, I suppose.”

“Okay—” Greystripe lifted his tail for silence, visibly struggling to decide what thing to dunk on Ravenwing for first. “For one—for one—you have the audacity to fancy an entire Clan of toms and then get mad at me for picking one molly across the river. For two…” He tilted his head and squinted at Ravenwing, snorting. “WindClan? Are you serious? Have you seen those cats?”

“Yes!” Ravenwing glared at him with no severity. “Have you?”

“Look, I could get, like, RiverClan—”

“Yeah, you could,” Ravenwing muttered.

“Shut up,” said Greystripe. “I could get RiverClan, but WindClan is literally the least attractive set of cats in the territories. Their faces are weird—”

“They have handsome faces!”

“With those dog-eyes and long noses?!”

“Yes!”

“How in—” Greystripe shook his head again. “You are out of your mind.”

“They’ve got a unique beauty to them!” Ravenwing looked to Fireheart now. “Come on. Aren’t they handsome?”

Fireheart rolled a shoulder. “Well, I think everyone’s got their own flavor of beauty, no matter where they come from.”

“Why are you asking him?” Greystripe said to Ravenwing with a chortle. “You know he’s never looked twice at any cat at all, much less appraised their appearance.”

“He can still have standards,” Ravenwing sniffed.

“My standards are that everyone’s got something,” Fireheart said when the bigger toms looked at him. “I mean, we all look good to someone, right? Isn’t that how it goes?”

“I will catch you every single mole in this forest if you can point out a cat that thinks Yellowfang looks good,” Greystripe said.

“Or Darkstripe,” Ravenwing added sourly.

“Darkstripe’s ugly is from the inside, it just came out in his face.” Greystripe squinted in amusement. “Honestly, I don’t know how anyone born from Patchpelt could have that hideous of a personality.”

Fireheart blinked. “Wait, he’s Patchpelt’s son?” He looked at Ravenwing. “Your grandpa? Then he’s…”

“My uncle,” Ravenwing finished. He scowled. “I try not to think about it.”

“Wow.” Fireheart nearly cuffed his own ear in admonishment. “How did I never find this out? I’ve been here for, like, over a year now, and I never knew!”

Greystripe leaned a little his way, speaking in a conspiratorial voice that was poorly hiding its humor. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Darkstripe is kind of a slitprick.”

“Greystripe!” Fireheart mimed cuffing his friend’s too-far-away ear instead. “That’s not nice!”

All he got was a chuff in response. “Neither is Darkstripe. Would you want to acknowledge that you’re related to him?”

“Not in thlain* years,” Ravenwing said, still scowling. “And if he doesn’t want to acknowledge us, that’s fine by me. I have pampam** and that’s all I need.”

“Well…” Fireheart mulled over this for a moment. “It’s still sad for family not to feel like family.”

“Not with that piece of—” Ravenwing started, and abruptly jerked his head back and scrubbed at his muzzle like there was dirt on it. “Nevermind.”

Greystripe leaned forward with an expression similar to Yellowfang’s frog-like grin. “No, no, go on. What is he a piece of?”

“Forget it.” Ravenwing tucked his paws under his body. “Fireheart’s here.”

“Are you afraid to sully his innocent ears?”

“No, but he’ll scold me.” The black tom narrowed his eyes. “I’ve got a worse name for him than you do.”

Fireheart regarded Ravenwing with amazement. “You are just full of surprises today. Are you going to tell me you secretly have crow-wings next?”

Ravenwing swiped dust at Fireheart with his long tail. Fireheart sneezed a chuff, and the trio fell into a comfortable silence as the moon’s rising slowly reclaimed the warmth of the ground.

---

They couldn’t stay out forever; eventually the cold ground got to them and they rose, returning home with a couple mice they had caught along the way. Whitecloud was leaving Bluestar’s den when they reached the entrance of camp and greeted them with a nod.

“It isn’t much,” Ravenwing said, his mouse dangling from his mouth by its tail, forcing him to talk through clenched teeth. “We just went out for a walk.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Whitecloud said with a slow blink. “We’ll be alright for a night. Perhaps bring that to Brindleface, she was hungry earlier.”

Something in his usually-warm yellow eyes seemed to be… missing. Fireheart, not carrying any prey, paused in his walking just before reaching the tunnel. Greystripe looked back at him questioningly and Fireheart silently nodded for him to keep going. Obediently, the hulking grey tom turned forward again and followed Ravenwing.

Whitecloud was watching Greystripe and his former apprentice disappear. It took a long moment for him to realize Fireheart was watching him. He turned and looked down at him, eyes falsely creased. “How can I help you?”

Fireheart tilted his head, concerned. “Are you okay?”

The tall tom, just for an instant, seemed to shrink at the question, before recovering quickly and purring. “I’m fine, Fireheart. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Liar, Fireheart thought, but he played it carefully; he glanced at the lichen in front of the leader’s den, just past Whitecloud, and then back to him. He lowered his voice. “Is Bluestar okay, then?”

To his relief, Whitecloud didn’t brush this off. He, too, looked back at Bluestar’s den, sighed and lowered his angular head to speak quietly to Fireheart.

“Physically, yes, she’s okay,” he murmured. He paused. “Mentally… mentally, I’m not so sure.”

Something in Fireheart’s mind iced over, but he stayed calm. “Everything that happened really did get to her, didn’t it?”

“It did.” Whitecloud sighed. “But I worry that it affected her in a different way. Has she… has she sounded alright, to you? No slurred words or strange things she’s said?”

Fireheart blinked, confused. “She’s been fine. Maybe a little terse, but that’s about it. Why would she…?”

He trailed off at the sight of something invisible lifting itself off of Whitecloud’s back, settling his spine into a slouch. “Good. Good. It’s just that…” He drew in a breath and held it for a long moment before exhaling his next sentence. “I don’t know if she ever told you about Gooseleaf. Her uncle.”

Fireheart shook his head.

“He was unwell,” Whitecloud said quietly. “Hallucinated, had mood-swings. He was lucky enough to make it to the seer position, where StarClan could take care of him and speak to him in a way he’d understand. But he was paranoid and easily frightened, and he saw things that StarClan certainly didn’t send to him. I don’t remember much of him beyond being told not to say anything that could set him off.”

Fireheart felt his face fall. “That’s sad. Poor tom.”

Whitecloud shut his eyes. “Indeed. But he wasn’t the only one in our family that had struggles only found in their head. Bluestar’s grandmother, I was told, lived a long time, and when her mate died, she slowly became confused and distressed, asking where cats were that had died before she was an apprentice. She was made an elder early to keep her safe, because she wandered into the forest alone and approached a badger cub thinking it was one of her kits. The real mother nearly killed her.”

Fireheart nodded for him to continue, the ice reaching his stomach.

“I just…” Whitecloud looked back to the leader’s den, his eyes foggy. “I see Bluestar now: hiding, tired, scared. I worry that… everything… is going to affect her mentally. Make things worse for her. She’s hardly even telling me anything, and I’m the only family she has left. She’s never kept secrets from me.”

Ice in his toes now. Fireheart tried to clench his teeth, but his thoughts escaped him anyway. “If we were allowed to talk about ‘everything’, I think it would help her get some of that out. It could make her feel better. Make all of us feel better.”

As he could have predicted, Whitecloud started, “We can’t run the risk of bringing his soul back—”

“Horoa’s hunters must have caught him by now,” Fireheart said, surprised at the sternness in his own voice. “And just pretending that nothing happened, while it doesn’t leave our heads—he’s haunting our hearts anyway. Talking about it could help us move on.”

Whitecloud looked a little surprised, too. He recovered and gazed down at Fireheart with a mixture of affection and sadness. “…Maybe so.”

Fireheart caught himself with a breath, and with that his calmness returned. “I mean, I could at least try to talk to Bluestar myself. I am her apprentice. If she won’t tell you, maybe she’ll tell me.”

“And you are very good at getting people to talk,” Whitecloud purred. He nodded and turned for the tunnel. “Very well, then. I trust that you can be easy on her. Whenever you feel like it, try.” He stopped and looked back, his eyes serious. “But if you see her acting oddly at all, tell me immediately. It’s much more important than I can emphasize.”

Fireheart dipped his head in respect and agreement, and the senior warrior retreated into camp. Fireheart did not follow him immediately. Instead, he regarded Bluestar’s den, his stomach twisting into knots that were still quite cold.

She’ll be okay, he thought. She has to be. We need her.

*”Thlain”: A thousand, a million, infinity, or some other humongous, uncountable number.

**”Pampam”: Affectionate form of “pamarpam”, meaning “grandfather”. Similar to saying “gramps”.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter three #book three #arc one #charred legacy

28 notes · View notes