A/N: just some OC feels stuff originally posted on Amino.

May be gorey?

"And she breathes i frost and ash."

Nine times.

Nine times he'll lose her.

And the ninth time will be final.

She's his best friend in the whole wide world, but that doesn't mean he agrees with everything she does.

Fufflepaw is brilliant and chaotic, but also contained.

And, maybe, just a little bit airheaded.

"Get down!" Tigerpaw yowls up at her. His tabby face is scrunched in a worried expression, green eyes tracking her movements as she scrabbles for purchase on a wispy branch.

"Stop being such a fussy whiskers!" She grunts, pulling herself up. Her fluffy off-white pelt ruffles in the early summer breeze, and she takes a moment to close her old-yellow eyes. Her nose scrunched like she can catch the scent of spring.

Tigerpaw worries his lip with his fangs; it's not that he's afraid of heights, or that she's imbalanced, per se, but she's always been a bundle of energy and it's only a matter of time before she missteps and falls .

But she merely makes it to the uppermost branches, where a bird with a broken wing thrashes, then stills. Fufflepaw meets its eyes, and the smaller thing knows, that death by her is a mercy to rotting up here in the sun.

Tigerpaw watches as she nips and snaps its neck, carefully making her way down, readjusting her grip as it slips and she carries it by the unbroken wing. She trots up to him, and he can see scarlet in its plumage not made by blood.

Fufflepaw drops it in front of him, scrunching her nose teasingly. "Told you it was a red-winged blackbird."

Tigerpaw merely sighs, leaning his head into her shoulder. There's the unspoken, 'your favourite! ' after.

At the moment though, he's never been more greatful to have her before him. They only had one life after all, and he couldn't bear to lose her.

When Fufflepelt returned to camp as Fufflestar, Tigerstripe had never felt such joy for his friend.

And when she had named him deputy, he couldn't have felt more pride. It had always been the two of them, and he felt it always would be.

But when she lost her first life, he felt the real gravity of the situation sink in.

Nine lives.

Nine times.

Nine times she would d i e .

The first time had been on a patrol during winter, when the rain came in long and heavy.

It had been a border patrol, rather than hunting, but even as she climbed the tree ('for a better vantage point in this rain!' ), he couldn't help remember that long-ago fear as she got the broken blackbird for him.

'It's your favourite Tigerpaw!'

'I can't not get it for you, silly!'

Only this time the situation ended with her sodden pelt falling through the sky; the resounding smack! as her body pounded into the ground, hard enough to hear bones snap.

It had been awful, as he raced with rain streaming down his face and whiskers, to were she lie. Bone poked through her pelt where ribs had snapped through, and her lower half of her body twisted slightly, but ever so wrongly from the rest.

Tigerstripe couldn't hold back the mournful howl building within himself. It resonated in his bones even after Fufflestar had twitched; her body restitching itself until lastly her eyes glowed once more with life-light. She had gotten up and merely leaned against him, eyes hollow and terrified, as rain soaked their pelts and their fur tangled together in the embrace.

Was this what losing a life felt like? He wondered. Because if he had to lose his best friend eight more times, he'd need all the strength of a thousand lives to endure it.

Thankfully, the next two lives lost weren't until many moons later.

But, unfortunately, they were lost together.

They had been chasing Caveclan cats off of their land, and had had to chase them the long way round, to where the tiny trickling stream was deeper and broader. She had slipped, and gone under thrashing waters.

She had not resurfaced.

Tigerstripe was not a graceful, but he was a powerful swimmer, and as he struggled to go down through the water, it wasn't until agonizing moments later that he found her.

Somehow she had gotten trapped by her hind footpaw, and he could tell by the slack of her body swaying in the current that she was dead. She had been down here too long ( far too long ) and had drowned.

But he knew how long a life should take to rekindle, and he realized that she must have drowned not once, but twice .

Tigerstripe managed to wrench her hind paw out (a scar made by his teeth would be left behind), and he dragged her by the scruff up, up, until they burst forth from the stream.

He was coughing harshly by time they climbed up onto the bank, awareness beginning to flood through her as she retched and water came out.

Fufflestar weakly smiled at him, saying she knew he'd save her.

But when exhaustion took her to the realm of sleep, and the rest of the Clan helped bring her to the medicine den, all Tigerstripe felt was his heart cracking even further.

Her fourth life she lost alone, and she would not tell him what had occurred, even as she shook for moons afterwards.

She seemed scared.

Life five was lost when she caught Redcough.

Fufflestar had demanded him out of her den (they shared on and off, despite not being mates. But the Clan understood and never questioned nor judged) but he had refused her, standing his ground.

But she had broken down, her voice choking as she begged him not to leave her to live her remaining four lives alone.

He remained just outside of the den, watching as she let go of the last iron-tinted oxygen in her body.

Six was lost in battle, as the deputy of Mistclan gouged his claws through her throat.

Tigerstripe allowed the red cloying her fur to fog his vision, and the pain of losing her yet again to push through his own injuries.

At least his apprentice had killed Mistclan's wicked leader - even if accidentally.

Seven was a freak accident when she reacted violently to an herb, and her throat closed, cutting off her breathing.

Nightshade didn't try to give her that herb again, and Tigerstripe wondered if her mentor had known, and why he hadn't told her.

(and, he wondered, glancing at a bundle of gleaming red berries while leaving the den, if he'd really have to let her lose her last life alone.)

(. . . He wondered . . .)

On the eighth, he is unusually numb.

Tigerstripe sits on the edge of the Thunderpath, the breeze tousling his tabby fur.

He looks down the more quiet road, green eyes watching the pale, subtle red sunset. It's gentle like down, if soft could be the texture of sky.

A Monster had veered off the path as they patrolled ( explored - 'let's go have some fun fussy whiskers!' ) and hit her with a glancing blow. Blood trickled from her parted mouth and her forehead looked strange.

Tigerstripe looked away from the corpse, letting his green eyes and mind wander; Fufflestar was tied to him through heart and soul, yet they were as different as could be.

He was told he spoke like a susurrus through the trees, or the stillness of rocks. He was lilting like birdsong, with adventure and high-spirit, but dropped off heavily into standards of right versus wrong.

He was the solidness in her life; the one who swayed her from the wayward path, but had just as much joy in his heart to indulge her once in a while.

And she?

she breathed in frost and ash; settling over with a finality that only seasons could match. She spoke in old ways with her odd accent, leaving behind legacy of deeds with every word from her mouth like the impact after a fire.

She was a refreshment to himself; challenging him to change and try and face.

She was everything he wasn't.

And he was everything she could wish for.

That's why they were such close friends, he supposed. A ferocity and stability, not complete opposites by any means, but complementing differences.

He didn't flinch out of his thoughts and she passed over and sat next to him, watching as twilight began and ended all at once, without a word.

Fufflestar watches her oldest, dearest ( and honestly, the only one she considers as one ) friend as he organizes patrols, his back straight and tall.

It's been moons since her last death; the longest between any except perhaps her first from birth to leadership. She sees how he has eased over time, his fur less unkempt and his ears were raised and flickering easily once more. She sighed, smiling fondly with a gentle shake of her head.

But that smile faded slowly away as she felt her age once more.

The tricky things about granted lives was that they only lasted so long.

A cat would live much, much longer than they should per life, but although their body was healed, it only gained so much extra time.

If a cat were to lose each and every life only to age, each gap between lives would get quickly smaller, and smaller, and smaller .

And she knew her life - her last life - was reaching its end. Her body had a limit, and it was ticking towards its end.

But what scared Fufflestar most wasn't her mortality. No, it was fear for how it would affect Tigerstripe. She saw the agony each and every one of her deaths caused him. The heartache and anguish.

It really was unusual, their bond; most leaders treated their lost lives nonchalantly. Merely a sacrifice or a gift given in duty for their Clan. Clanmates felt a jolt of pain, surely, but it didn't quite hit home, as they knew their leader would be up and about with them in mere moments.

But for her and Tigerstripe. . .

It was infinitely different.

He felt each death, as though it were his own. And she wondered . . .

. . . did a part of him die along with her?

And, would this final break, shatter him completely?

She knew she would have to talk to him. She knew how he would take it - pain first, short lasting, then denial, then insufferable aching pain. He would want to give up his position; let age do him in.

(maybe even worse.)

So Fufflestar knows - she knows - that he is needed. He must not die yet. He had so much left; so much life to live! He would be the strong tree the Clan needed to support it, before another leader burned their own star brightly. It wasn't the time for War heroes. It was the time for a Leader of Peace.

And, if she could, she would do her best to convince him of that.

But it would also be his own choice.

'Just stay - please. One more moon; one more moon to tie up loose ends.'

Just one more moon.