[BlooRey DVD]

Three days.

Two nights, and three days.

That’s how long it had been.

Every inch of her body ached as though it had been just yesterday she’d gone through unimaginable agony. But she knew it had been longer than that, because she’d seen the moon rise twice since then.

Blue eyes burned in her exhaustion, yet sleep seemed impossible. She didn’t remember what it was like to sleep. It had avoided her since she’d been forcibly moved to the milk-scented nursery to care for the two sightless bundles of fur at her belly.

A wave of nausea crashed into her at the thought, and for a second she thought she would be sick. She’d been given so many different herbs to help this and that. But nothing could quell the unvoiced anxiety she felt every time she thought about... Well, about them. These two helpless beings that she was supposed to call her kits.

In the quiet nursery, with Sprucefur out on patrol, she let things get the best of her. She didn’t have to smile and pretend like she seemed off only because she was tired after the whole ordeal. She didn’t have to pretend to be something she was not. She didn’t need to pretend to be happy.

It wasn’t because she didn’t love Sprucefur. She loved him more than anything in the world. She desperately wanted to give him everything he desired, she wanted to give him everything she was. But the last thing she had expected to give him was kits. They hadn’t planned this. They hadn’t known. And Sprucefur didn’t know how incredibly terrified she was now that these things were here.

She wasn’t supposed to be a mother. Wasn’t meant to be a mother. What did she know about mothering? What example had she ever been shown about how to properly raise kits? She was destined to be a failure. Destined to be a disappointment. And nothing terrified her more than the possibility that she might disappoint Sprucefur. Especially after everything he had done for her in the moons since they first started speaking.

Her heart nearly jumped out her throat as one of the two kits rolled slightly and let out a rather pathetic mewl. Silver features twisted into a strange mix of confusion and discomfort as Feathercloud peered down uneasily at the sleeping kittens. The silver queen couldn’t believe how incredibly hopeless these creatures she was supposed to love made her feel. A telltale prickling in her eyes and shiver in her breath warned her she was dangerously close to another breakdown.

But it was about midday. She wasn’t protected by nightfall, where everyone was asleep and she could let herself fall apart quietly like she had the past two nights. Now, she had no way of knowing just when she might get a surprise visitor, coming to check in on her and TreeClan’s newest members.

What the silver warrioress couldn’t see from her spot in the darkest corner of the nursery, was the movement coming from the elder’s den. A white furred tom rose somewhat stiffly from his relaxed position, mismatched eyes drifting over the denizens of the elder’s den. Just yesterday, Skyfall had been one of those surprise visitors Feathercloud was so worried about. He’d been able to see that something wasn’t quite right with the usually headstrong and confident silver she-cat.

He’d seen how beyond exhausted she was.

And he’d also seen how miserable his den mate Gorsetail had been for some time now. Crafting some sort of plan in his head, the white furred tom padded over to the younger tom and offered a warm smile. “Good morning, Gorsetail. I hope you slept alright last night!” He greeted him, sweeping his tail around to tap his companion on the shoulder.

A tilt of his white head, and he continued. “I was going to go out for a bit myself, and wondered if you might want to make your way to the nursery and visit Feathercloud. You haven’t seen her since her kitting, right? It’s on my way, and I don’t mind walking with you until then.” He purred warmly.

When two shadows passed in front of the nursery, Feathercloud visibly jolted, her feathery tail sweeping forward to cover her face momentarily. By the time she peeked over it to see the familiar form of one of her longest running friends, she had somewhat controlled the storm threatening to break in her heart. But her eyes were too bright, the tears too close to the surface as she forced a smile and rasped in a shaky breath.

“O-Oh, Gorsetail. I thought... Thought you were S-Sprucefur for a heartbeat. Um... Feel free to settle anywhere if you’re... planning to stay a while?”

Her posture was stiff, the queen subconsciously leaning away from her own kits as though they might try and attack her at any moment. Despite her attempt at channeling Appleshade’s bubbly nature (because Appleshade had seemed to be a ‘proper’ queen not long ago), it wasn’t hard to tell that something was amiss in the way she seemed to look at everything but the sleeping kits next to her.

Phoenix

[Phoenix]

For his entire life – and the past few years especially – he had always been of the opinion that there were never enough hours in the day. There were patrols to organize and apprentices to train and borders to guard and prey to catch and cats of all sorts of ranks and ages that he needed to talk to, and by the time he finally reached his nest at the end of the day, his mind had made note of five other tasks that he needed to complete the next day. Stressful though it was, he hadn’t realized how much he took it all for granted until it was taken away. As deputy and even as a warrior, he had always been doing something productive, always been working toward accomplishing one goal and then the next. There had been none of the listlessness and none of the laying around that now marked his days simply because there hadn’t been time for it. And so the days had flown by.

Being busy had felt good. He never would have guessed how much he would miss it.

With nothing to do but attempt painful small talk with his den mates and groom his fur and gather up the dirty bedding from the den to make one of the apprentices’ lives easier, his days now crawled by. Monotonous. Bleak. Occasionally one of his friends or a former apprentice or someone – a speck of color in a world of gray – would stop by with a piece of prey to check in on him, and they would talk as best he could and pretend everything was alright and then when it got to be too much, which seemed to happen sooner and sooner with every visit, he would retreat, claim that he was tired and wanted to rest, and then they would leave with a promise to visit soon. But as much as he didn’t want them to see him like this, they also never visited soon enough. He tried to bury the unfair resentment in rationality; they were warriors who had duties to attend to. They could not nor should they spend every waking moment entertaining him, especially not when he was perfectly capable of seeking out the company of others himself. And he’d thought about doing just that – finding other ways to occupy himself – he truly did, but everything took too much effort. Sleep became his primary activity and exhaustion his constant companion.

Sleep was a wonderful respite. He felt like he was clinging to the side of a cliff, trying desperately to hang onto the small footholds that he had found. But every time a loved one walked away and left him behind in the elder’s den, he slipped a little further. Life was carrying on without him, and though he was trying as hard as he could to not be swept away, it seemed inevitable that one day he would lose his grip and fall. Forgotten. Sleep let him forget, for a little while.

And so, despite the full night of sleep that he had gotten last night, the midday sun found him lightly dozing to pass the time until a pleasant voice and a gentle nudge on his shoulder roused him. Green eyes blinked up at Skyfall as the former deputy buried deep his envy at the warm happiness he saw glittering in those blue and green eyes. Skyfall hadn’t caused his early retirement – no one in TreeClan had – so there was no need for him to be so resentful toward him or any of his clan mates. It would be unfair.

Still, the smile that finally made its way to his face felt more than a little forced, even as he nodded and pushed himself to his paws. But perhaps no one could tell.

Little had changed about the nursery itself since the last time he had been inside many moons ago, but for the she-cat laying in the far corner, everything was different. She looked different, more haggard than he had ever seen her before. His heart lurched, and any excitement he had felt at the prospect of meeting the offspring of his two best friends evaporated. Focused as he was on her – was something wrong? – he barely noticed the white furred tom slipping away, instead moving painstakingly to settle down by her side with a glance at her to make sure that he wasn’t in the way. Concern flooded him. Feathercloud looked as bad as he felt, body held stiffly away from the tiny kits lying beside her, and her eyes belied sheer exhaustion tempered by none of the glowing happiness that he had seen in other new mothers.

Green eyes sought her gaze. For the first time since he had entered the den, he found himself trying to gather the words to ask the questions that danced on the tip of his tongue. Dragging the words from the depths of his mind felt like walking upstream against a powerful current, and he could feel them slipping away even as he tried to hold on to them. ”Everything… okay?” With his tail, he gestured to her, and then, painfully, ”…Happy?”

BlooRey DVD

Gorsetail

deputy of treeclan

[BlooRey DVD]

She was unsure just what it was that got to her then. She knew Gorsetail’s speech had been impaired since his tragedy. She knew that he fought a constant battle just to get even the most basic of words off the tip of his tongue. This was not the first time she had heard him speak since the whole of TreeClan had held their breaths, wondering if their deputy would ever wake up.

Feathercloud had even started sneaking lessons and refreshers from Thornheart and Silentsong, wondering if maybe Gorsetail could learn Silentsong’s language with a little help and patience. Even just as a back up, because StarClan knew she would miss the sound of his steady voice if he forewent speaking forever.

He was still Gorsetail in her eyes. Still her closest friend. A tom she had shared countless memories with. The closest thing she had to a sibling in this forest. And to have him sitting before her, as battered and changed as he was, asking her if she was okay.

The last fragment of control she had been desperately clinging to shattered. It was as though the ground ripped open beneath her paws to swallow her whole into a dark pit of despair. Pretty silver features twisted in something akin to sorrow as she stifled what would have been a whimper.

What was wrong with her, that she couldn’t even pretend to be okay? For Gorsetail’s sake. For Sprucefur’s sake.

Something in the back of her mind told her neither of those two toms would want her to pretend. But that stubborn part of her looked down upon herself with unfiltered disappointment as she crumbled to pieces before her tabby coated companion.

“I can’t... I can’t do this, Gorsetail.” She rasped, fighting through the lump that had formed in her throat as her tears finally spilled over. “What... What kind of cat can’t even look at her kits? I want to.. to pretend they aren’t mine.” A laugh tinted with bitterness and confusion bubbled to the surface then, claws curling into the nest material as a shiver rocked her frame.

When she spoke again, it was with no more strength than a tiny kit, though her maw twisted into an expression reflecting the emotional pain tearing through her. “Everyone asks what their names are. I... I can’t bring myself to name them. Naming them... Makes them more real. And... And how... How can I make s-something that terrifies me more real?”

Putting her fears to words was perhaps the most difficult thing. How could she express why the prospect of having kits shattered her the way it did? Surely she would only come across as mad. Insane. Pathetic. And maybe she was. She didn’t know anymore.

“What... What if they turn out like Fernkit? What if one, or both, don’t make it because of me? Because there’s something wrong with my family? I can’t... Can’t bear to think about... About what Sprucefur would think. How he would look at me. I can’t... Can’t be like Dawnheart. I can’t break like that, and be responsible for... For breaking someone else like Dawnheart broke Stormclaw and... And me.”

She could still feel the tiny kits writhing at her belly, bringing forth that familiar seizing feeling. “I think I’m going to be sick. I should be happy, right? Should be like... Like all the other mothers, shouldn’t I? But all I feel is... Terror. Helplessness. Like I can’t... Can’t breathe or think straight. Stars, I’m a terrible cat, aren’t I? It’s like there’s a... A huge fallen log between me and these kits I’m supposed to call mine. That log... It’s blocking any love I should feel, because... Because what if I can’t do this? Can’t be a good mother? What would Sprucefur think?”

She choked at the thought, instinctively pulling her limbs close to herself like she could hide in a tight ball if she tried hard enough. Hold herself together if she held her breath just right.

“I... I can’t lose him, Gorsetail. I can’t.” She mewed hoarsely, fighting for every word through her tears. “He is my whole world. My breath. My heart. And the thought that I... That I might fail him like this, it... It’s tearing me apart. I don’t... Don’t know how to do this. How to be a mom to these kits. How to... To be the mate Sprucefur deserves. I thought I could do that. Thought I was being that mate. And now I... Nothing makes sense, like everything has been turned upside down. All I feel is doubt. What if he deserves better? And... And what if he realizes that?”

She sounded delusional, she was absolutely sure of it. Feathercloud was starting to make little sense to herself; how could Gorsetail possibly understand why she felt so scared from that horrible jumble of words? Yet... The silver warrioress couldn’t find any other way to voice that cold claw of fear that gripped her heart and flipped her stomach with every breath she took.

For a moment, she wondered if she should just... Give up. It showed in the flattening of her ears, and the way she tucked her chin to her chest, her usually ice blue eyes dulled to a stormy grey. She was lost, and she didn’t know which way would bring her home.

Phoenix

[Phoenix]

At his hesitant words, her eyes took on the desperation of someone who had seen the inevitable floodwaters in the distance and was trying in vain to cling to the tree that she had scaled. He could see it in his mind’s eye, the clan’s best climber had making a last ditch attempt to avoid being washed away, her silver fur recognizable even from a distance as she pulled herself up from one branch to the next. Water raged below, approaching like a great beast, flattening tree after tree in its rush to reach her. She fought to live, to hold on, but they knew that the battle was already lost; it was only a matter of time. The waters were rising.

“I can’t… I can’t do this, Gorsetail.”

The tree and the silver she-cat clinging to it finally fell, and words followed first in a trickle and then in a flood. Knowing all too well how hard it was, even on the best of days (of which this most certainly was not), to stop the stubborn she-cat when the dam had been broken, the tabby tom sat back with a flicker of fond satisfaction and did what he had always done best: listened. She needed this. His heart ached as the words washed over him, her fear scent and uncharacteristically disorganized speech – as if the jumble of thoughts were racing over each other to be the first to finally tumble out of her mouth – hurting him more than anything she could ever say. StarClan, she was terrified. Terrified of making her parents’ mistakes. Terrified of losing Sprucefur. Terrified of being wholly inadequate in every single way.

Now more than ever, he found himself longing for the days of the past, where words rolled just as easily off his tongue as they did hers. How could he hope to properly tell her that she need not worry about any of those things when he could barely piece together a sentence? And terror – terror, panic, fear – were nasty monsters, insidious in the way that they initially manifested as a tiny seed of doubt that grew and flourished and planted more seeds… Breaking through that cycle required the best of words, ones that were instead stuck uselessly in his head.

He had no way of reassuring her that she was not her mother and that there was no possible way she could make her mother’s mistakes because she was so strong. Her mother had been mica, but Feathercloud was steel. Unbending. Unbreaking.

He had no way of reassuring her that Sprucefur would never leave her side because he had nearly lost her once already and he would never do so again. Feathercloud never saw the way his eyes lit up and he stood just a little taller whenever she was around, but Gorsetail? Gorsetail did. He saw the tension disappear from those pale-furred shoulders, saw how the reserved tom could not seem to help but smile the moment his yellow-green eyes landed upon the silver she-cat. Sprucefur adored her. She held more of Sprucefur’s heart than perhaps any of them realized; losing him, disappointing him – they were fears that he knew in his heart of hearts would never come to pass.

Even as he did his best to understand the terrors that raced through Feathercloud’s heart, the fear of parenthood and the love of – and fear of losing – a romantic partner were unfamiliar to him, feelings he could imagine but had never experienced himself. But the fear of inadequacy? That was an old friend. Unbidden, a memory flickered through his mind, drawn up from the recesses of times he pointedly was not thinking about. Lionstar had just given him an offer that turned his whole world upside down, and he had given him the day to think it over. ”I don’t know what to do. I’m not good enough. I’m not cut out to be—to be—“ (He couldn’t even think the word now. He was so pathetic.) The pale-furred warrior who was at the center of both their thoughts had appeared and known exactly what to say to help ease his doubt.

To the best of his ability, he found himself repeating those words now, ones that he had known to tell Gorsetail because Feathercloud had told him. ”Lionstar… ask… ask… deputy,” He started, slowly, painfully. ”Sprucefur… told…” Here he took a deep breath, pausing and seeking her defeated gaze, willing the words to come out right. But they never did, these days. ”…Good enough…” He pointed with her at his tail again. ”Now.”

The words were inadequate. The irony did not escape him, that his attempt to reassure her fell itself so pathetically short of the mark, and he nearly let out a bitter laugh. She was so afraid of being inadequate, but she had nothing to fear. Next to him, she would always shine. Gone were his days of eloquence. Gone was his ability to match the words that he could hear echoing in his head, teasing him by lingering there, constantly just out of reach:

”If you’re worried you can’t live up to Lionstar’s expectations, stop. I’ll tell you what Feathercloud told me. You’re good enough exactly as you are. We don’t need you to be Lionstar. We just need you to be you.”

Inadequate, that’s what he was now. Feathercloud had nothing to fear. There was a sour taste in his mouth.

But he couldn’t afford to spiral into sullen resentment now, not when his best friend was in front of him and so clearly hurting, so he cut off that train of thought with a harsh silent rebuke. He dug his claws into the side of the cliff that he was so desperately clinging to and pulled himself up, mentally trying to hold himself together while refusing to acknowledge that he was trying to patch up gaping wounds with cobwebs. Feathercloud needed him. He could be there for Feathercloud now, and then he could go fall apart later.

Concentrate, Gorsetail. Pull yourself together. This is for Feathercloud.

”Can.” He said earnestly, doing his best to ignore the sour taste of bitter inadequacy that lingered in his mouth. ”Not… Dawnheart. Feathercloud.” With every thought that did not come out right, he could feel himself slipping a little more. ”Strength… More…” How could he ever hope to make her see that she was far stronger than her mother? That she would never be her mother, would never be weak enough to do to anyone what her mother had done to her?

He pointed at her with his tail again. ”Best… Parent…” Leaning forward and pretending that his own exhausted muscles were not wanting to let him fall from that mental cliff, he touched his nose to her cheek, trying to silently offer her even a fraction of the massive well of confidence he had in both hers and Sprucefur’s abilities to be wonderful parents. The sour taste remained.


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Gorsetail

deputy of treeclan

[BlooRey DVD]

Storms.

They were seemingly always followed by a strange calm. An uneasy hesitancy where the world looked first right, and then left, as if expecting the next onslaught. The calm after the storm, when you couldn’t quite breathe that sigh of relief until the clouds revealed the crystal blue sky above. If her despair was the storm, then Gorsetail’s words, as stilted as they may have been, were the first ray of sunlight to pierce the dense cloud cover and illuminate the previously monochromatic world below.

At first, he said little more than seven or eight words. Fragments of a sentence that should have been, strewn about in an attempt to communicate. But even in her storm-battered mind, as focused as she was on Sprucefur and everything they’d been through together, Gorsetail’s words triggered something in her. It was a seed in the back of her mind, something that told her she had heard the words he was trying to say. That she had spoken those words.

He continued, struggling through another sentence for her sake, before she could put a paw on the thought trying to push through the fog of despair in her mind. Somewhere, she knew Gorsetail must be in unimaginable pain himself. After all, he had been forced to retired early. Knowing him as she did, the sliver of rational thought she had left told her he must be drowning in feelings of inadequacy. Swallowed up by a river as remorseless as the storm that brewed in her.

What kind of friend was she, that she has left him to swim upstream alone?

Some might argue that she hadn’t been herself the last few moons. That her energy had been sapped by growing the two kits now at her belly. She would argue that was no reason she still couldn’t have made more of an effort than she had. That she couldn’t have done for him what he was doing now.

Scaling the mountain of his own problems, just to be there for her when she needed him most.

The all-too-familiar sting of tears leapt to her eyes again, three words standing out among the fractured sentences he was offering her.

“Not Dawnheart. Feathercloud.”

It was that shaft of light again. Fighting so valiantly against the cloud strewn skies of her bleak world. It was like a breath of fresh air on a Greenleaf morning. And it struck a chord right to her core. Blue eyes closed when his nose pressed to her cheek, the silver she-cat immediately leaning into the touch to bury her own nose in his fur.

She shivered with her inhale, dragging herself forward just so (and earning a rather displeased mewl from the two bundles of fur she disturbed in the process) so that she could properly push her face into Gorsetail’s chest. When the familiar weight of his head on hers pressed into her gently, she let herself go. Let the tears fall undisturbed, unashamed.

It felt... Good to cry. Cathartic in a way she couldn’t explain. There were few cats with which she would shatter her guards like she felt comfortable doing with Gorsetail, for she knew he would never judge her. Never think differently of her just because she slipped down a slope every now and again.

She wasn’t sure how long she cried. But eventually, she returned to her senses. As the rapid sobs slowed to the occasionally soft and shaking whimpers, the muscles in her tense body began to unwind. When finally she could take a breath without succumbing to another tremble, she became aware of the small patch of blue sky surrounding the single beam of sunlight poking through the storm clouds.

I just need you to be you.

The words bloomed into existence from within her clearing mind, bringing forth a warmth she’d nearly forgotten was possible. That was what he had been trying to tell her. Trying to remind her. She had told Sprucefur just that to knock him out of his stupor all those moons ago. Now Gorsetail was telling her that Sprucefur just needed her to be herself. Was reminding her that she was not her mother. That she was stronger than her mother. That maybe she could be a mother.

Everything wasn’t suddenly fixed in the blink of an eye. She still felt that fear gnawing at her, she still felt doubt poking around. But it didn’t feel quite so... Overwhelming. And for the first time, she felt like, just maybe with support from cats like Gorsetail and Sprucefur, maybe she could do this. Maybe, eventually, it would be okay.

Slowly, she pulled her head out from underneath his, sniffing softly but offering him a tired smile that was more... Genuine than anything she had shown in the last few days. A dark, feathery tail shifted around to tap him first on the shoulder, and then on the chest.

“Best friend. Best heart.” She rasped.

She had no way of knowing if she could live up to the expectation of best parent, as Gorsetail had called her. What she did know was Gorsetail had already lived up to, and far surpassed, the mantle of a best friend. To both she and Sprucefur.

“Thank you.” She whispered, blue eyes dragging to the tiny forms of her kits for the first time.

“I still... Still don’t know what I’m supposed to do... But I’m starting to feel like... Maybe I can figure things out eventually. I... I guess I should talk to Sprucefur next..?” She rasped, glancing up at Gorsetail for some sort of reassurance. A slight inclination of his head served to confirm her suspicion, and she made a soft sound.

“I’ll do that. Tell him... Tell him what’s been bothering me. I promise. But I... Not right now..? I just want to... To stay here with you a bit longer, if that’s okay.”

When he showed no indication that he was in a rush to leave, the exhausted queen managed another tiny smile. “I’m... Really, really glad.” Pushing herself to her paws stiffly, she peered down at the kits as they complained at the sudden loss of her body heat. The usually headstrong and stubborn she-cat regarded them as though she were considering the most difficult puzzle her mind had ever encountered. A frown that was less angry, and more genuine confusion tugged at her features, the leggy warrioress stepping over them so she could reposition herself next to Gorsetail. Every now and again as she moved, her gaze flashed over to the tabby tom, as though wondering if what she was doing was okay.

When she lowered herself back down, it was against the curve of Gorsetail’s frame. In her moments of weakness, her best friend was one of the few that made her feel safe. Grounded. And so she leaned against him slightly, just to feel his coat against hers. After a slight hesitation, she shifted to pick up one kit, and then the other, placing them each closer to her belly than where she had left them rather stranded when she moved. Almost miraculously, they quieted down when she set them next to her. An uncertain flick of her ear betrayed her lingering fears, but she forced herself to relax and curve her tail around their kneading forms.

Shifting slightly so she could glance up at her companion, she studied him briefly, before asking hoarsely. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited recently. It’s... Not an excuse, but I guess I wasn’t fully myself. How are you doing..?”

She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to ask. But she wanted to be there like he was for her. She’d failed at being a good friend in recent moons. But she could do better. She would do better.

...Right?

Phoenix

[Phoenix]

Silence. At best, it was the lack of obligation of speech, brought on by solitude or by late nights and sleeping den mates. At worst, it was forced upon him, found in the painful gaps between words or even longer pauses between sentences as his lost words were swallowed by oblivion. A quiet cat by nature, he had always enjoyed silence, so it had been strange to find himself hating it sometimes, too. But for the shaky breathing of his friend and the occasional mewls of her kits, the den was utterly quiet as he lay there, with his head resting gently on hers as her tears seeped into his fur. Sometimes silence was horrible. Sometimes it was pleasant. Other times it simply was.

Even if he had had the proper words to say, he wouldn’t have said them. They weren’t necessary. The silent companionship, the quiet reminder that she was not as alone as she felt, was enough.

He closed his eyes and breathed in her familiar scent. She would be an amazing mother, once she stopped doubting herself. Sprucefur would make an amazing father. They were good and kind and loved so deeply – he felt so lucky to be in their lives, and he wondered suddenly if he had ever stopped to tell them that. Did they know how much he cared for them, how much he loved Feathercloud’s indomitable spirit and Sprucefur’s wise insights? He didn’t think so; he couldn’t remember. And now, now they would never truly understand, for limited as he was, he could never hope to properly express himself. The sour taste in his mouth took on a sadness, a tinge of regret. He never knew how much he took being able to speak his mind for granted until he lost it, never realized how many important sentiments he had left unsaid until he could no longer say them.

What he would give to be able to go back— But no, he could not, and such wistful thinking brought nothing but pain and anger. And even if he could, he knew that he wouldn’t change a thing. He might have been miserable, but he much preferred his claws digging into the side of that cliff than Brackenstride’s. This was not a life he would wish upon anyone. Better that he took the fall, he who was older and more capable of shouldering the consequences, than a young tom who had yet to figure out who he was… even if it rendered him as useless as a kit.

A gentle motion had him opening his eyes to catch sight of a tired smile, and he felt the corners of his own lips turning slightly upward in response. A tap on the shoulder. A tap on his chest. And then words that had his heart stuttering. Best heart. Did she really think that? No, you’re wrong, he wanted to protest. She couldn’t see the resentment coiled shoved deep into the darkest corners of his heart. She couldn’t see how even as he told himself, promised himself that he wouldn’t have done anything differently, there was still that sour bitterness that had him wishing he had hesitated and let the other tom take the fall. The catalyst had been Brackenstride’s words after all, so it was hardly fair that Gorsetail be stuck in this miserable half-existence for a fight he hadn’t even started.

He hated this. They thought he was some hero with a heart of gold, but he wasn’t. A hero wouldn’t let that insidious regret and that dangerous resentment continue to poison his heart.

But then she carried on and thanked him – he who had done nothing but stumble through a few pathetically broken sentences with the finesse of a newborn – and all he could do was acknowledge her misplaced gratitude with a faint nod, trying to swallow down the sour taste in his mouth. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely useless, he reminded himself, fighting to ignore the desperation underscoring his thoughts. He had helped Feathercloud feel better. He could still be good company. But silent almost-pleas did little against the oppressive exhaustion that lingered in his bones.

He was fine. He was holding himself together, clinging tenaciously to that cliff, and as long as no one looked too closely to see how his legs were shaking, he could continue to be fine. But then she asked, and suddenly he was slipping.

How was he doing?

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. The question was absurd in its simplicity, in its assumption that he could ever figure out how to communicate even the first of the jumble of thoughts and emotions that crashed through his head. How was he doing.

Well, he wanted to say, he could no longer string five words together, and he had been summarily stripped of a position and responsibilities that he had come to love. He did nothing but spend his mornings, afternoons, evenings, and nights laying around in the company of cats much older than him, which would have been fine except for the fact that they all looked at him with a pity that he pretended to ignore. He hated their pity, but he hated their silence more. They never knew what to say to him – no one did – and he couldn’t even blame them, because he had no idea what to even do with himself anymore. There he was, able in mind but not in body, laying there while life passed relentlessly by. Useless. Friends came and went, but still he remained ever the same. And resentment grew, unfair, unpleasant, but there all the same. He hated that they could carry on with their lives, and he was stuck, stuck trying to find words that would never come, stuck trying to find the energy to do something other than sleep the days and nights away and hating himself a little more every time he failed to do so. And that resentment. That resentment grew, and he turned it on himself, because how dare he ever begrudge his loved ones for doing what they ought to be doing – for living their lives – because it wasn’t as though they asked for this to happen (but neither had he!) so it wasn’t fair of him to nurse such bitterness toward those who only wanted the best for him. The world did not revolve around him.

How was he doing? He hated. Deep in the darkest corner of his heart, he hated. He hated himself for hating them. He hated their pity. He hated their silence and their determination to place him, he who silently hated them, on a pedestal for something he secretly regretted. He hated that this had happened to him. He hated how the simple action of talking had become so utterly impossible. He hated that Lionstar had replaced him so easily with Pumafang. He hated that Feathercloud could just let words roll off her tongue so easily when he struggled to piece together a single sentence. He hated that he could feel his claws slipping down that cliff wall and had no idea how to save himself from the inevitable fall, because his muscles were exhausted and his claws hurt and soon enough something would give.

He was so very, very tired.

A heavy, rattling sigh as he tried to collect himself. Guilt, a constant companion to that sour resentment, settled in his heart, weighing it down and chasing away any of the relief he had felt at helping his dear friend find some peace of mind. She didn’t deserve his hate; none of them did. Green eyes glanced away. She deserved an answer, an honest one, and he wanted to give one, but he just felt too tired. The thought of trying to find the proper words and then trying to string them together in some sort of comprehensible way had him wanting to retreat for the first time since he had entered the nursery. StarClan, he didn’t even know how he would explain everything even if he could – “I hate you but I don’t really hate you?” That would go over well. So he settled, settled for the easy but honest answer. He was used to being the shoulder to cry on, not needing the shoulder himself.

Another rattling sigh. He was so… ”…Sleep.” The word slipped out, and immediately he knew it was incorrect. Close, but not correct. Frustration spiked, and he hissed, tail slashing through the air, ”Foxdung! Hate... Words…” Hate everything.



BlooRey DVD

Gorsetail

deputy of treeclan

[BlooRey DVD]

His sudden hiss tore through the quiet nursery, startling not only the silver queen but also the two nursing she-kits nestled at her belly. High pitched mewls of protest rose from one of the two, while the second burrowed as if trying to hide beneath Feathercloud’s silver coat. With an uncertain gritting of her teeth and an uncomfortable shift of her weight, the new mother wrapped her feathery tail more tightly to the small bundles of fur.

It seemed to work somehow, the mewling diminishing to soft whimpers before eventually dying out as the kit returned to nursing. Blue eyes were wide in her unease, studying the kits and hoping to the stars that something she was doing was even remotely right. Releasing a soft breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, Feathercloud turned her attention back to her best friend and the words he had tried to speak.

It took a moment, but she did end up understanding what it was he had intended to say when he first blurted out ‘sleep’. A silver ear flicked in understanding, before she shifted to push her nose against his cheek in what she hoped was reassurance. “Hey... I know that I’m not always... Spot on with what I say when. I think we both know that my tongue has landed me in trouble more than once in my life. But try not to get too frustrated. It might take me a second or two, but know that I’m trying. Just like I know you are.”

Slowly crossing her forepaws over one another, she focused her blue gaze on the silver fur there before continuing. “You’re tired, that’s what you meant, right? I can’t imagine what it must be like, but I bet it’s exhausting. And... If I am overstepping, you can ignore me but... Have you considered learning an alternative way of communication? What I mean is-”

She fell silent a moment, shutting her eyes and breathing to steady herself. “When you were first brought back, and no one was sure whether... Whether you would even wake up... I was so scared. It was like... Like the moon had suddenly fallen from the sky. I was more terrified than I was when both my parents were sick. You are more family to me than my real family ever was and the thought that I might not-” The words died on her tongue and she swallowed, unable to put the thoughts to words. When she began again, her voice was thickened by emotion.

“When.. When you did wake up, and we began to figure out the lasting effects, I... I started taking lessons. With Silentsong and her family. I don’t ... I don’t know whether you think that’s stupid or not, I just thought.. Silentsong has never once used words, but... But she still talks. She still has so much to say. And... Maybe if we go together, then... Then you can find your own way of... Of talking, you know? What I’m trying to say is... I care about- No, I love you as fiercely and unconditionally as... As any cat loves their sibling. Their best friend. Their other half. I know it... It can get hard to remember that when the world seems impossibly dark. But I want to help, Gorsetail. I don’t know how, but I want to help. To walk with you through this and... And find some light. I... I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

She commented, glancing down to the kits that had once again quieted down. “So... I’m not going to leave you to walk through anything alone either. Even if I annoy you so much you wish I was in the Dark Forest.” Her voice was quieter at the end, the silvery she-cat evidently also puzzled by her own words. Had she made any sense? Was she being supportive? Or was she being insensitive? She didn’t know anymore, and it was getting a little exhausting.

Phoenix