#the squirrel didn't get hurt it just carried on its day like nothing happened

[thunders-warcats-stuff]

Burning Water Chapter Thirteen

TW for suicidal ideation. It’s kind of “blink and you miss is” because Fireheart does not intent to hurt himself, but it still happens.

The rain continued through the night and into the next morning but the clouds began to clear around sunhigh. A somber air hung over the clearing as the Clan waited for news of their leader. Fireheart crept out from the patch of brambles by the boundary wall, where he’d sheltered since dawn. He padded over to Bluestar’s den in the side of Highrock. There was no sound from inside. As he turned away, he ran into Willowpelt carrying food to the nursery. She tipped her head questioningly to one side. Fireheart knew she was hoping for news of Bluestar.

 “Nothing to report, I’m afraid.” He offered.

 Fireheart had given Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw a day’s rest from training. He could see them now, lounging outside their den, looking bored. Fireheart knew he had let them down, but he wanted to stay in camp while Bluestar was sick. At least Tigerclaw wasn’t here to criticize his decision. The great deputy had taken out the dawn patrol. Suddenly the lichen at Bluestar’s den twitched and Frostfur burst through. She raced across the clearing to Yellowfang’s den and reappeared within moments with the medicine cat behind her. Fireheart bounded over to Bluestar’s den just as Frostfur and Yellowfang pushed through the hanging lichen. He stopped outside and sat down, his heart racing. Frostfur peered out.

 “What’s wrong?” Fireheart asked, his voice trembling. Frostfur closed her eyes.

 “She has green-cough,” she told him bleakly.

 “Stand watch and make sure no one comes inside.” She ducked back inside. Fireheart sat motionless as dread flooded through him. Green-cough! Bluestar really was in danger of losing another life….

 A sharp yowl outside the camp made him turn and look toward the gorse tunnel. Dustpelt exploded into the clearing and skidded to a halt beside Fireheart.

 “I’ve come from Tigerclaw,” he hissed lowly. “I have a message for Bluestar.”

 “She’s sick,” Fireheart replied.

 “Alright, then I'll get someone else. But Fireheart… he was rather specific that it be Bluestar who come to the Thunderpath. Apparently ShadowClan has overstepped their bounds. Is there anything strange about this to you?”

 “Make sure all the apprentices stay in camp.” He insisted. “Have Sandstorm keep them close if you must, and guard Bluestar in my place. If this is what I think it is, then these instructions should make a difference.”

 “Alright. Whatever happens, be careful. Hopefully, StarClan will keep you in mind.”

 “I hope so too. Send someone if there's any news of Bluestar.”

 Fireheart dashed out of camp like his life depended on it; which, if this was the trap that Tigerclaw had set for Bluestar, then it certainly would.

 He made it to the Thunderpath right when a series of monsters passed through the otherwise quiet forest, and there was no sign of Tigerclaw.

 “Fireheart!”

 Nutleaf! What was his sister doing here?!

 “Dustpelt was going to send someone else, but Yellowfang needed catmint and I knew where to find some. In our old Twoleg gardens, remember?” She called as she padded over to the edge of the Thunderpath. Fireheart froze. He was now on the other side, searching for the ShadowClan scent and having no luck. But the forest was thick here, and the Thunderpath curved so sharply that a cat had almost no time to be aware…

 A monster sped past them and Nutleaf stepped back, alarmed. Fireheart sighed in relief and started to sniff again.

 Nutleaf's horrified yowl set his blood chilling, and he raced out on the Thunderpath just in time to throw his body over hers, squishing them both to the ground. Luckily for them, this monster was bigger than usual and it raced right over them without causing either harm. Hot, stenched pelts were all either cat got out of the experience, and Fireheart bundled his sister back onto ThunderClan's side of the Thunderpath.

 “Oh thank StarClan, I almost lost you!” He whispered, not caring that tears streamed down his cheeks. He buried his face into his sister's pelt and she let him remain still for a few heartbeats, breathing in her scent.

 “You are not allowed out of camp without someone else with you. A warrior or another queen. It can even be Bluestar or Yellowfang, but I need to know that you will be safe in paws that are not your own. Am I understood?” The ginger tom demanded.

 Nutleaf nodded, mute with terror.

 They headed back to camp, catmint clenched proudly in her teeth. All Fireheart could think was that she'd nearly died to prove herself worthy of this world, and nothing was equal to his sister's life.

 Not even a few moments after Yellowfang pried the catmint from Nutleaf's grasp, the brown and white she-cat went into labor.

 The queens whisked her into the den quicker than any cat could move, and Yellowfang followed after getting a few herbs from her store. Fireheart recognized raspberry and borage among them, and he sank to the ground.

 He almost lost his sister once and now she'd have her kits…

 A warmth at his side made him close his eyes. Someone else was at his other side, he noticed.

 “I can't lose her.” He whimpered. “We just came back from the Thunderpath, we were so lucky that monster was bigger than usual, Stars, Sandstorm, had we been any further left we both would have been squished by its paws but we weren't… by the grace of StarClan, we made it back and now she's having her kits… why would our ancestors have her defy their will only to get another chance at having her join them?”

 “Oh Fireheart…” Willowpelt stopped in front of them, horrified by what she'd heard. “The Thunderpath? Is she okay?”

 “She was when we were on our way back to camp.” The ginger tom scowled. “But now… I don't care what Yellowfang has to do or what happens to those kits. If my sister doesn't make it through her kitting, I'm going to the Moonstone and StarClan can fight me themselves!” He snarled.

 “Most queens go through pain in their first kitting, but death is not common. Your sister should be fine.” Dustpelt insisted from his left.

 “Why don't we go hunting?” Sandstorm offered quietly. “Or check the borders? Something to take your mind off things.”

 “Can someone find Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw for me? I think it'd be a good idea for them to see a bit of sparring.”

 “I'll get Whitestorm and Runningwind if that's okay with you.” Willowpelt murmured.

 “Feel free.” Fireheart offered dully.

 At least his apprentice was alright, he thought with a sick dread.

 The terrible reminder had him racing into the forest before anyone could object. He stopped to throw up the squirrel he'd had earlier, before racing on without a care in the world.

 “Fireheart!” Willowpelt called after him, alarmed. “Fireheart, where are you going?!”

 He didn't stop until he was back on the edge of the Thunderpath.

 “Are you mouse-brained or fox-hearted?!” Whitestorm roared. White fur filled his vision before Fireheart had the wind knocked out of him, and he skidded toward the trees.

 “What are you doing, Fireheart? Why did you come here?” He demanded.

 “I…” Why      did     he come here? “I don't know.” He admitted.

 The ginger tom's obsession with the Thunderpath had never truly left him, but Fireheart had never felt the urge to go near it. Even the dread of remembering what happened to Cinderpaw hadn't burned the fire in his belly that had appeared just now. But facing the monster with his sister crouched underneath him… it had done something. Now all he wanted to do was stand in the middle of the dark, slick surface and yowl his heart out.

 He didn't even know where the feeling had come from. It was just…      there    .

 “Whitestorm…”

 “We should go to the training hollow. You promised your apprentices a fighting lesson. Hopefully, you can keep your claws sheathed.” The white warrior scowled.

 “I didn't…”

 “Know what you were about to do? Obviously not.” The cat he admired snapped. “Be glad that someone stopped you in time, Fireheart. I get the feeling that your dreams are taking you down a darker path than any cat can imagine. I pray that you are ready for it, because this, what you just did, does not bode well for you.”

 Nobody asked what happened upon his return, though Whitestorm whispered urgently to Willowpelt when they sat together. Brackenpaw and Cinderpaw sat with Brightpaw and Thornpaw, and Sandstorm was talking with Dustpelt about what moves to show them.

 “Okay, we've decided that Runningwind and Dustpelt will go first, and they're going to show you the belly rake.” Sandstorm announced.

 Huh… that move had taken moons for him to master, pure luck having gotten him the jump on Bluestar the day he told her about Tigerclaw. It was all about timing, that move.

 Fireheart let his thoughts turn to every move he remembered learning in both lives, and apparently that bleeds into his actions, because Whitestorm leapt for him and he allowed instinct to take over. The white tom was on his back after a series of moves apparently unknown to these cats.

 “What are those?!” Brightpaw chirped eagerly.

 “Nothing you'll be learning anytime soon. Those are moves Fireheart learned as he watched other cats fight.” Dustpelt informed them. “Why don't we head back to camp? I'm sure Nutleaf will want you to see her kits.” He addressed the last part to Fireheart, who hopped to his paws with an anxious nod.

 “Don't leave without us.” Whitestorm ordered. “For the next moon you'll not leave camp without another warrior at your back.” He insisted. Fireheart's eyes widened before he burst into laughter.

 “That's almost exactly what I told Nutleaf when we got off the Thunderpath!” He gasped, hysterical.

 “Acts of foolishness must run in the family, then.” The white warrior growled.

 “Indeed.” His former apprentice snickered.

 The first thing Fireheart did when the group returned to camp was head for the nursery. Goldenflower's welcoming purr greeted him, and all previous worries melted away as she led him to where his sister snuggled in her nest with her first litter.

 “Five kits, can you believe it?!” Nutleaf purred. “One of them looks just like you and Dad, while another one looks just like me and Mom! The oldest one is pure white while the youngest one is black and white. Like Swiftpaw.”

 Or Smudge, Fireheart mused. He'd decided half a moon ago that he wouldn't ask who the father of her kits was. If he didn't know them there was no point to asking, and if he did then what would he do about it?

 “The smallest one was actually the third one to come out. She's ginger, black and white for some reason.”

 “Our parents are ginger. And one of her siblings is black and white. Why not?” Fireheart wondered. “They're beautiful kits, Nutleaf. Have you thought of names for them?”

 “A bit.” His sister offered. “But I'm not all that great, so I asked the other queens what they thought. The pure white one should be Cloudkit, the black and white one will be Patchkit, the ginger black and white one will be Splashkit-.”

 “Why's that?” Fireheart asked.

 “Because the ginger makes her different from her brother. It looks like splashes of color on her. Anyway, the full ginger will be Flamekit and the brown and white one I haven't decided for. I can't think of anything for him. Do you have any ideas?”

 Fireheart squeezed his eyes shut. He doubted that Nutleaf had any idea what she was asking him to do, and the truth was that he had no idea what the kit should be called either. So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

 “Lightkit.”

 Nutleaf purred, amused.

 “What made you say that?” She asked, eyes shining with mirth.

 “I have no idea.” He admitted. “It fits though.” He offered weakly.

 She snorted and kept the name.

 “Lightkit he is.” She declared. “Now go tell Sandstorm that you're terrible at naming kits.”

 Fireheart entered the warrior's den to find that Greystripe was back in his nest. Fireheart did not speak to him; his rage lingered like a dull bruise. He padded silently to his nest, circled once, and settled down to wash. Greystripe looked up.

 “You’re back, then.” The striped tom sounded edgy, as if he wanted to say more. Fireheart stopped licking his forepaw and glared at him.

 “You tried to warn Silverstream off,” Greystripe hissed furiously. Mousefur, who was dozing on the other side of the den, opened one eye, then closed it again. Greystripe lowered his voice. “Stay out of it, will you?” he spat. “I’m going to keep on seeing her, whatever you do or say.”

 Fireheart snorted and flashed a resentful glance at his friend. His talk with Silverstream seemed so long ago, he’d almost forgotten it. But he hadn’t forgotten that Greystripe had been missing when Fireheart had needed him. He laid his head angrily on his muddy forepaws and closed his eyes. Nutleaf had almost died on the Thunderpath and Bluestar was on her eighth life. As far as Fireheart was concerned, Greystripe could do what he liked.

 Greystripe had already left his nest when Fireheart awoke the next day. He could tell it was sunhigh by the light that glowed through the branches. He rose, his body still weary with shock, and pushed his head out of the den. Snow must have been falling all morning, for it lay thick on the ground and had drifted against the den. Fireheart found himself gazing out over a white wall that was as high as his shoulder. The usual bustle of the camp seemed muted. Fireheart could see Willowpelt and Halftail whispering on the far side of the clearing. Mousefur was picking her way laboriously toward the store of fresh-kill, a rabbit dangling from her jaws. She stopped and sneezed, then carried on. Fireheart lifted one paw and rested it on top of the snow. It felt hard at first, but when he pressed down, the thin covering of ice cracked and he gasped as his leg plunged into the drift. Fireheart snorted as he found himself up to his muzzle in snow. Shaking his head and lifting his chin, he leaped forward, only to sink into more deep snow. He struggled on, alarm rising in his chest. It was as if he were drowning in snow! Then, all of a sudden, there was solid ground under his paws. He had reached the edge of the clearing. The snow here was only a mouse-length deep, and Fireheart sat down with a soft crunch, relieved. He tensed when he saw Greystripe plowing toward him. The grey warrior seemed unbothered by it, protected from its damp chill by his thick pelt. His face was shadowed with sorrow.

 “Have you heard about Bluestar?” he asked as he neared. “She lost a life to green-cough.”

 Fireheart flicked his ears impatiently. He could have told his friend that last night.

 “I know,” He sneered. “I was with her.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” insisted the tabby, shocked.

 “You weren’t exactly in a friendly mood last night if you recall. Anyway, if you weren’t off breaking the warrior code, you might know what was going on in your own Clan,” Fireheart snapped.

 Greystripe’s ears twitched uncomfortably. “I’ve just seen Nutleaf,” he meowed. “Her kits are cute. Five is big, for a litter.”

 “How is she?” The queen’s brother demanded.

 “She looks alright to me,” replied Greystripe.

 Fireheart stared anxiously across the clearing and stood up. He wanted to see his sister for himself.

 “She’s asleep now,” Greystripe informed his friend. “Brindleface is with her, and Yellowfang doesn’t want anyone else disturbing her.”

 Fireheart flinched involuntarily. He'd vowed to keep an eye on her, but him not paying attention had almost gotten them killed! Instinctively, Fireheart turned to Greystripe, seeking reassurance, but the grey tabby was trudging across the snowy clearing toward the nursery.

     Off to see Silverstream    , Fireheart guessed resentfully, sheathing and unsheathing his claws as he watched his friend disappear from sight.

     I swear if it weren't for Stormfur and Feathertail…  

  Fireheart hardly noticed that Speckletail was right in front of him.

 “Is Tigerclaw inside?” she asked, pointing with her nose to the warriors’ den. Fireheart shook his head.

 “There’s green-cough in the nursery.” She informed him. “Two of Brindleface’s kits are sick.”

 “Green-cough!” Fireheart snapped. Another thing he couldn't do much against. “How far along is it? You said these are kits?!” At Speckletail's gentle nod, he went on. “Will they die?” He asked frantically, thinking of Nutleaf's newborn litter.

 “Yellowfang will do what she can,” answered Speckletail. “But in the end, it’s up to StarClan.” A flash of fury flared in Fireheart’s belly as Speckletail turned away and padded back to the nursery. He jumped up and raced blindly across the snowy clearing, through the gorse tunnel and out into the forest. At the moment, it was all he could do to put as much distance as possible between himself and the camp. He finally stopped beneath Tallpines, his sides heaving with the effort of running through the snow. There was stillness here that calmed him. Even the birds had stopped singing. Fireheart felt as if he were the only creature in the world. He didn’t know where he was going; he just padded on, letting the woods soothe him. As he walked, his mind cleared. He could do nothing to help Nutleaf cope with the Thunderpath, and Greystripe was out of reach, but he was well able to help Yellowfang fight greencough. Catmint was something the Clan would always have need of. Fireheart turned his steps toward his old kittypet home, weaving through the brambles in the oak woods that backed onto Twolegplace. He leaped to the top of the fence, nudging a ridge of snow into the garden below. It fell with a soft clump. Fireheart peered down into the garden. He could see tracks, smaller than a cat’s. A squirrel had been out hunting for its store of nuts. It didn’t take Fireheart long to pluck a generous mouthful of leaves from the catnip bush. He wanted to take as much as he could. Its soft leaves might not survive this weather; this could be his last chance to gather it.

 The idea of Twolegplace had him racing back to ThunderClan, desperately fighting the urge to cram every last leaf he'd picked down Nutleaf's throat.

     She's not going to die. The kits will be okay. StarClan will see them through.    

 StarClan… he hadn't heard from Redtail or Spottedleaf since the battle against Brokenstar, and Fireheart worried. Had they decided he's had one too many chances? Would they forsake him altogether?

 Fireheart shook himself out. The half-moon would arrive soon. He'd ask Bluestar if he could go to Highstones with Yellowfang. For now, he had a Clan to keep healthy.

 “I do recall telling you not to leave camp without someone with you.”

 Whitestorm saw him return, jaws crammed with catmint. “Though it was wise of you to get herbs while they're available.”

 Fireheart dipped his head in thanks and headed toward Yellowfang’s den. Tigerclaw appeared at his side.

 “More catnip?” observed the great tabby, eyes suspicious. “I wondered where you’d gone. Brackenpaw can take that to Yellowfang.”

 The brown tom was helping to clear away snow nearby.

 “Come and take this catnip to Yellowfang,” Tigerclaw ordered the apprentice. Brackenpaw nodded and bounded over, taking the leaves from Fireheart.

 “I wanted to visit Nutleaf,” he meowed to Tigerclaw.

 “Not just yet,” insisted the deputy. He waited while Brackenpaw picked up the catnip and carried it off to Yellowfang’s den. Then he turned back to Fireheart.

 “I want to know where Greystripe has been going.” Fireheart felt the heat rising under his fur.

 “I have no clue,” he scowled, holding Tigerclaw’s gaze. Tigerclaw stared back at him, his eyes cold and hostile.

 “When you see him,” The deputy hissed. “tell him he’s confined to the fallen oak.”

 “Yellowfang’s old den?” Fireheart glanced at the tangled branches where the medicine cat had lived when she first came into the ThunderClan camp, when she was still considered a ShadowClan outcast. Swiftpaw was there, lying beside Speckletail’s dark tabby kit.

 “Cats with white-cough are confined there until they are well again.”

 “I thought Greystripe only had a cold?” Fireheart protested.

 “A cold is bad enough. He’ll stay at the fallen oak!” Tigerclaw repeated. “Cats with green-cough are to nest with Yellowfang. We must stop this sickness from spreading.”

 The deputy’s eyes flashed. Fireheart wondered if he thought of illness as a sign of weakness.

 “I’ll tell Greystripe.”

 “And keep away from Bluestar,” the deputy warned.

 “She no longer has greencough,” Fireheart objected.

 “I am aware of that, but her den still reeks of the sickness. I can’t afford to have any of my warriors falling ill. Whitestorm tells me that RiverClan warriors have been scented even closer to the camp. He also told me he had to train your apprentices today. Either find Greystripe and make him take responsibility or keep training both apprentices with the help of your denmates. Whichever happens, those two better not suffer for it.”

 “They won't, Tigerclaw.” Fireheart breathed, shocked. The dark brown tabby actually sounded like he      cared    …

 Fireheart met Brackenpaw in the middle of the clearing.

 “Yellowfang was very grateful for the catmint,” Brackenpaw informed him.

 “Good,” answered Fireheart. “By the way, I’m teaching you and Cinderpaw how to catch birds tomorrow. I hope you’re ready for a bit of tree climbing.” Brackenpaw’s whiskers twitched excitedly.

 “Definitely! Cinderpaw’ll never get to sleep now! She'll be so excited!”

 Fireheart nodded and carried on to Yellowfang’s den. He spotted Brindleface’s poor kits straightaway. They lay coughing in a bracken nest, their noses and eyes streaming. Yellowfang greeted him, relieved.

 “Thanks for the catmint; we’re going to need it. Patchpelt has greencough now.” She gestured with her nose toward another nest in the bracken. Inside, Fireheart could see the old tom’s matted black-and-white fur.

 “Have you seen Nutleaf today?” he asked, looking back at the medicine cat. Yellowfang nodded with a dark sigh.

 “She was awake earlier, but not for long. She doesn't have greencough, but one of her kits has a cold, and something strange must have happened on the Thunderpath, because she's not producing enough milk. StarClan knows, I’ve tried everything, but she must fight this one herself.”

 Fireheart shuddered; he couldn't afford to imagine what would happen if he lost his sister. He turned back to Yellowfang, looking for words of encouragement, but the medicine cat sat with her head low, completely.

 “Do you think Spottedleaf would have been able to save these cats?” She meowed unexpectedly, raising her head to meet his gaze. Fireheart shook his head. He could still sense Spottedleaf’s presence here in the clearing. He remembered how efficiently she’d tended to Ravenpaw’s shoulder wound after the battle with RiverClan, and how carefully she’d advised him about caring for Yellowfang when the old she-cat had first come to the ThunderClan camp.

 “I’m sure there’s nothing Spottedleaf would have done differently,” he told her. One of the kits cried out and Yellowfang sprang up. As she passed, Fireheart leaned forward and gently stroked the old cat’s side with his muzzle. She twitched her shoulder gratefully at him. Then, filled with sadness, he turned and padded toward the fern tunnel.

 Greystripe was back, munching a vole beside the nettle clump. Fireheart padded over to him.

 “Tigerclaw says you’ve got to move to the fallen oak, with the white-cough cats.” he meowed. With a prickle of resentment, he remembered how the deputy had questioned him about his friend.

 “That won’t be necessary,” replied Greystripe cheerfully. “I’m better now. Yellowfang gave me the all-clear this morning.”

 Fireheart looked closely at Greystripe. His eyes were certainly bright again, and his runny nose had dried to an unappealing crust. At any other time, Fireheart would have teased him about how much he looked like Runningnose, the ShadowClan medicine cat.

 Now he spat crossly,  “Tigerclaw has noticed your disappearances. You should be more careful.”

 Greystripe stopped chewing and stared angrily back at Fireheart.

 “And why can’t you mind your own business?”

 Fireheart closed his eyes and snorted with frustration. Would he ever get through to this tom?!! Then he wondered if he even cared anymore. After all, Greystripe hadn’t asked about Nutleaf.

 Fireheart’s stomach growled to tell him he was hungry. He might as well eat. He took a sparrow from the pile of fresh-kill and carried it away to a deserted corner of the camp to eat alone. As he settled down, he thought of the nursery, full of kits. Five of them were related to him. He wondered how many kits would be affected this leafbare… StarClan willing, no nursery would be stricken by the disease.