Another one-shot for the masses. ^^ I wrote this one whilst listening to the song Valentine's Day by Linkin Park and have written it in accordance to some of the lyrics. You won't get the full one-shot if you don't listen to that song while reading it. Please enjoy and review.
He stood there, face frozen in horror, claws locked into a ShadowClan cat's brown tabby pelt, when she fell. Her body made a sickening thud as it met the earth, echoing the sound of his strangled cry. Ambergaze, the new ShadowClan leader, stood a few fox-lengths away, looking almost pleased as he stared down at her torn brown furred body. He raised his head to StarClan and yowled victoriously, "ShadowClan, Shadow has been avenged! Retreat!"
As the mangy tyrants disappeared into the night, the gray tabby approached her body, face still frozen in the same expression as when she'd fallen. He nosed her fur, trying to make her get up. "No," he whispered, pain and horror coloring his voice. "This can't be your last life, it just can't!" His desperate cry deafening in the silence that gripped the cats of WindClan.
The clan medicine cat, Mothflight, slowly approached him, not allowing her emotions to blind her like the distraught deputy. "Let me take a look," she said softly as she padded to Wind's other side. She nosed the brown she-cat's throat, as tender as a mother with her kits. She kept it there for a few agonizing heartbeats, the memory stained forever in his mind. The fluffy white she-cat raised her head, shaking it back and forth, stormy green eyes pained.
"She's gone," she announced to the cats who had gathered around their leader's body. "It was her last life."
The thin gray tabby finally let the mournful shriek escape his jaws, being carried on the wind through every clan's territory. He felt himself fall next to her, pressing his nose numbly into her thin coarse fur, murmuring that he loved her. But she didn't stir; the breeze ruffling her fur, like it too wanted to say its farewell to the fallen WindClan leader.
Gorsefur felt a broken sob escape him, tears running down his cheeks, not caring that the entire clan could see him so weak.
He felt their presence next to him, the clan had gathered around their leader and deputy, silently allowing them to share one last night together.
The shattered deputy barely acknowledged them, his eyes dull with grief. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, was the only thought his mind could utter as clouds were blown across the sky, obscuring the stars and moon.
As the night blurred into day, Gorsefur still lay by his mate's side, in the same spot where he'd first fallen. His fur was still matted with his blood and that of his enemies, but the pain paled in comparison to the gaping wound to his heart.
Mothflight padded over to the deputy. "Gorsefur, it's time the elders buried her," she said to him softly. He looked up at her dully, like he didn't understand what she was saying.
She gently coaxed him to stand, like trying to get a kit to walk for the first time. As the elders supported her body, Gorsefur walked numbly by her side, not taking his eyes off his beloved mate. As they lay her body down in the cold dirt, with the worms and bugs that would devour her like fresh-kill, Gorsefur nearly threw himself in with her. Another bout of shivers wracked his body, making his legs give out, like he'd never have the strength to walk again. The ground was as cold as the heartless wind that blew across the moors.
Gorsefur went to the Moonstone that night, and received his nine lives. He returned, head held high, the new ruler of the moors. The clan proudly called his name, not seeing the empty, hollow look he'd acquired.
The gray tabby led WindClan fearlessly for moons, not hesitating to risk one of his lives in battle, or giving his fresh-kill to the elders when the clan didn't have enough food to go around. Or even when greencough swept through WindClan. No one suspected he did it selfishly. He ached inside, forced to spend nine lifetimes without her.
He finally died for the ninth time in a battle over borders with RiverClan, having it suffocated out of him when the warrior held him underwater too long.
His spirit looked over at his sodden body being carried back to camp by his warriors. A wonderfully familiar scent washed over him before he felt her coarse fur pressed into his and she twined their tails. The cold moor wind blew around them, making their scents mingle in the air. A purr escaped his throat as he pressed his muzzle to hers, whole again.