I See Fire [Oneshot/Open]

The shecat had been following Brambenose. Ever since he left the camp. Ever since he left the den. Although a large and sturdy creature, her paws steps were like that of her inner nature, light and gentle. Not hiding or stealthy, oh no, that was far beyond what a mere queen with no training could manage, but neither were her steps hard and heavy, pulsing against the forest floor. They were simply there, gentle, persistent, and patient as the seasons.

Deep blue eyes watched the tom Bramblenose from the safety of the treeline as he went out to stand over the thundering falls that would make any cat's heart quicken. You did not have to be afraid of heights to be afraid of falling, especially with a roaring whirlpool to greet you at the bottom. A moment passed, then two. It almost seemed as if the Warrior's Shadow had finally met the limits of her willingness to follow.

And then Swanstrike took that first pawstep out onto the bridge.

The shecat's steps were more pronounced now, as she hesitantly, slowly, painstakingly, picked her way over to Bramblenose's side. It seemed almost as if she was afraid each individual board could break and fall out from under her at any moment. The queen was not a brave or fearless cat by any means, but she was a loving and curious one -both of which prodded her forward now, one heartstopping step at a time.

Finally - Stars Bless, Finally!- she made it. She settled down just a taillength or so away from where the tom brooded, staring into the swirling vortex of foam and water as if searching for answers. Swanstrike bit her lip, not wanting to disturb him. She looked down into the falls with a thoughtful frown on her face, clearly trying to imagine what it was he saw.

Eugh. She had to look away. It was making her dizzy just watching. The queen shuddered, but still the tom was thoughtful. She did not want to bother him. She tried to think of other ways to occupy her time until he was less busy with his thoughts. She twitched her tail. She flicked a bit of spray off her whiskers. Another tail flick. She looked over at the Marsh Clan border. The large, powerful looking queen shrank down fearfully into a low crouch as she watched the empty marshes. She hoped no one would come by. She did not want to cause any trouble. She had heard about poor Patchpaw. Upon meeting Marsh Clan's Patchpaw, Swanstrike was quite sure not all Marsh Clan cats were bad, but upon meeting Patchpaw's angry leader, Duskblaze, she was quite sure not all of them were good either.

But Bramblenose knew what he was doing, right?

Deep blue eyes fell on the tom now. He was smaller than her, although that did not mean much. Almost all cats were. He fur was short, a nice tabby pattern that reminded her of Hawkkit, but the eyes were wrong. Completely wrong. Those eyes were too tired, too old and worn to belong to a kit, and Swanstrike hoped she would never see those eyes passed on to Hawkkit either, although she knew there was nothing she could do about that. Kits grew up. It was a fact of life. She had long ago accepted that every kit she took into her heart would grow up soon enough and have need of her no more. Some kept up the bond, letting her love for them bloom and grow all the more, but most grew out of their childhood Warden. Most, Swanstrike would have but a paltry few moons with, before they were loosed out into the big, fierce world where she could not protect them. The queen knew this. She accepted it, although on cold, lonely days she still pined for all those that she had lost.

And now she was getting lost in her own thoughts while staring at the tom. Swanstrike blinked. Her stare must have attracted his notice by now, even if she had only been daydreaming. Now was as good a time to talk as any.

"I saw your class," she mewed finally. "You are a good teacher." She was not sure where to start, but that seemed as good a spot as any.

The tom did not answer, merely cut to the chase. Swanstrike had, of course, run into cats similar to this in her time. More often than not, their conversations did not go well and repeats could not be expected to fair much better. The gentle queen was quiet and meandering with her speech, sometimes talking for minutes on end before reaching her point, and sometimes she forgot it entirely and was forced to try again. Short and quick was difficult for her, unnatural in the most basic level. Still, she had followed him all the way out here, and while the shecat might be fearful cat, she was not a coward. Besides, this had been bubbling inside her for too long. Agitating. Scratching and clawing under her fur. She had to get it out, accept it, for she feared she would go mad.

"To talk," she mewed, looking down at her paws sheepishly. There. That was short. Concise. 

The queen waited, but it seemed she had been too short because now the tom was not saying anything. Well... She flicker her tail towards the falls.

"What were you thinking about?" she asked, trying to get conversation going.

Past experience said this was a bad plan when dealing with cut-and-dry cats like Bramblenose seemed to be, and she winced internally even as she said it, but she was more than a bit nervous and not at all sure how to go about this. She had never had this problem before. She did not know how Clan Cats dealt with it. She was not sure how she should deal with it. She was scared, and nervous, and timid. She needed something to distract her, even if it was only slightly, before she took the plunge.

The tom's response made the soft white queen's lips curl into a knowing smile, her eyes flicking to meet his with remembered pains lurking in their blue depths.

"In my experiences, the 'unimportant' pasts are usually the most so, we just wish that they weren't, -and that we could forget."

Then her dark eyes were flicking away again, back to her paws in a sheepish manner. "Although, as a Warrior, perhaps you have never faced such a thing," she mewed softly.

Silence. The gentle shecat was not sure what to do. She did not know where to go with this. She was not even sure she could go through with it! If Bramblenose thought she was going too far... An image flashed in Swanstrike's mind of her being evicted from the Nursery, of never teaching kits again, of losing everything she had spent half a year building. It felt like a claw digging sharply into her chest, and for a moment she could not breathe for the pain of it. In the next moment though, she saw Rosekit and Mistlekit, happy and smiling, curled save around her side to sleep, and the queen's big, fat heart broke. How could she choose? Oh, but she knew who would win. Those two... they were special. Incredible. Mistlepaw was so smart, so clever and caring. Rosepaw, now he was quieter, but you get him talking and he would go. Once you found his interest, his deep golden eyes would light up with an inner fire that made the old queen's heart soar with pride and love. 

"Were you part of the old clans?" the shecat asked.

She had heard Starlingfur's kits babbling about them. Apparently there had been clans before this. Clans that failed. It did not sit well with the queen. The Tribe was stable. Safe and Ancient as the stars. By comparison, these clans were still in their infancy. Hearing that they had already fallen to ruin and war once, hardly instilled confidence in their ideals. Swanstrike was not looking to cause trouble, just to get Bramblenose talking, maybe he would slip up and let some glimmer of Mistlepaw's wellfair trickle down to her, but she could not deny in her heart that as she said the words she sought... comfort.

The massive queen did not expect such a thing, mind, as she looked out over the frothing falls, but it was painful when she thought back to her Tribe. On the dark nights when she looked wistfully up through the trees and imagined what it would feel like to see their frosted peaks once more. Back there, back then, she had been surrounded by Tribesmen all full of love and caring and comfort when life was uncertain. Here she was surrounded by clanmates and, while she had the beginnings of a relationship with many, she felt a true connection with few. She longed for the familial bonds the Tribe had shared, and the peace their presence had given one another. -But not always.

An image of Stone, huge and towering, his face contorted with fury as his eyes spat burning fire in a rage that would leave her struggling to stay conscious on the den floor flashed in the shecat's mind and she could not contain the terrified flinch that jerked through her. 

No. The Tribe had not been perfect, but were these Clans better? If Swanstrike had never met Stone, had never touch that one evil cat, could she honestly say she felt the same way about her old home? She hardly knew.