Flames flashed before her eyes.
They stretched, reached, and grasped at her,
licking the tips of her fur and singeing them off.
Her whiskers were gone already, and the fire kept coming.
Gold, red, orange.
The furniture was burning, the walls were glowing,
and smoke plumed from everywhere. The doors were locked,
and even in the cracks of each, colors shone beyond.
Bright, beautiful, deadly.
Gold, red, orange.
The heat singed her pelt and stung her eyes. Desperately, she clawed at the wood.
It was smoldering and sizzling, but it still held up. The flames kept burning.
Gold, red, orange.
Smoke choked her, writhing about her body like a sly cobra.
It came in different shades of gray, making her vision swim
with what seemed to be a thousand hazy adders. The fire raced on.
Gold, red, orange.
Her eyes watered, and yet the salty tears evaporated
before ever having the chance to race down her cheeks. Yet, the salt remained,
causing her eyes to burn with the intensity of a wildfire.
Gold, red, orange.
She wanted to scream, but she couldn't.
Her kitten stopped her.
The kit swung from her jaws, swaying back and forth with every frantic move she made. The others were already out. Waiting. Waiting for her, and the last kitten. Or, at least, she thought they were out. She had lost them a long, long time ago, when the first wall began to burn. Dashing to the windows, she desperately peered outside. Though smoke wafted about the clear glass, she could vaguely make out the forest beyond. Even there, there was no escape from the color of fire. The trees burned with vibrant color, and the sky was darkening, causing the house and forest to glow even brighter. A beam fell from the ceiling and crashed to the floor beside her, causing sparks to fly and spray her face. She whipped around quickly; to protect the precious bundle she was carrying. The sizzling, dizzying ashes hit her flank and she wanted to wail with agony. She writhed on the floor, desperately trying to put out the tiny flames that threatened to consume her entire pelt. Once she had finally put herself out, there was no inch of the room that was not full of smoke. She began coughing, gagging, on fur and ash. She could barely see through the thick, black cloud that hung in the room.
Flames shot through and penetrated it at random, like geysers erupting. Piles of white ashes and gray cinders littered the ground, puffing up in great plumes whenever she stepped in them. They flew up her nose and made her sneeze violently, threatening to drop the kit with every one. The pads of her paws burned with every step, and a cinder shot out of a fallen beam, landing on her cheek and causing her to rear up in shock and pain. When she came crashing down, her forepaws landed on a blackened, charred, sizzling section of the right wall. The one with the window. The moment her paws touched it, the charred wood gave way and crumbled. The window that had perched above it fell, and the glass shattered, flying everywhere. She felt shards stab at her legs, paws and pelt as the window broke. A few lodged in her ear, and, now, with the smoke, she smelled blood and singed fur. The kitten mewled and squirmed weakly in her jaws. If she didn't get out soon, they would both be lost. Braving the pain, she lept through and over the broken glass, the wall of fire, the remains of her shelter.
She ran, and ran, and ran until her lungs screamed for air and her wounds stung like flying sparks. She collapsed on the ground, lifting her head only the slightest bit to gently place the kit beside her. Then, she gasped for air. Her breaths were raspy and thin, and she wheezed, coughing up wisps of smoke and powdery cinders. Her eyes stung and her body burned like the fire was still raging around her. Ignoring this, and having her air supply fresh and refilled, she gazed at the small, fluffy shape beside her head. Though it was still very young, the kit was, in her eyes, lovely. Her pelt was a rich cream, with her face, ears, legs, and tail a dark chocolate brown. Within those chocolate points there were splotches of cream and white, slight tortie speckles and dapples. Her chin was half white, half brown, with a striking cream stripe up half of her nose. Her fur was long, tangled, and soft. She had small mats on her chest, and for this, the she-cat's heart sank. She hadn't kept quite as good care of her kits as she should have, and now there was only one. The she-cat herself was quite stunning despite the patches of damaged fur that now covered her body. Her pelt was long, soft and shiny, a black and orange tortie color. She, too, had a stripe along her nose, though it was ginger, not cream. Her eyes were big and green. This kitten, though. Her eyes were blue. The most shimmering, deep, crystalline blue the she-cat had ever seen. They were…well, they could only be summed up with one word. They were bright. Bright as the stars, the moon, the snow. They gleamed and glittered and shone with such light, the she-cat couldn't believe it. Sure, the kitten was skinny, bedraggled, hungry and singed, but she was lovely to the she-cat. And that was why she couldn't keep her.
I can't take care of this kit. She thought. She is mine, and yet she is not. If I could just barely save her from the fire, what will I do now? When I have to raise her? Now that I have no home, no mate, no steady food source? I could give her to the twolegs…but then I might never see her again. She would never truly know me, or her father if he's even still alive. Of course, I wouldn't want her to know me, if I have to give her up. I can't just abandon her, but it's not like I can take her with me on our journey. My journey. That leaves just one option. My sister. The she-cat knew her sister was safe. That she had a family, shelter, and a steady supply of prey. Yes, she lived in conditions that the she-cat was suspicious of, but her sister was all this kit had left. She remembered when her sister had visited her. The last time.
Before it burnt down, the house was a lovely place, abandoned and old, but not drafty. It was cozy and comfortable, with a sure stream of mice from and crack or crevice. It had been perfect. The twolegs who had lived there before did not take everything when they left. In the house, when they had found it, were blankets and springy, broken mattresses. There were large wooden bowls and old cans sitting in the cupboards. Faded, worn stuffed animals littered the ground, and yellowing books rested on shelves. Perfect. The she-cat and her mate had moved in, and, in not so much as a moon, were expecting kits. It was their first litter. Her sister had visited three moons after the she-cat had realized she was pregnant, and, by happy coincidence, was pregnant as well. They realized they were to give birth at almost the same exact time. The she-cat had invited her sister and her sister's mate to share their home, but they had one. They said they lived within a group of cats in the forest, that they guarded their territory, caught their own prey, and battled other groups. Her sister had sounded proud when she said that their kits would be "warriors". The she-cat was suspicious, and did not believe in their way of life. She said that she respected her sister's decision. The she-cat's sister left, and they never saw her again.
Now, the she-cat had to find her. She groomed herself a little, and plucked shards of glass from her body, smoothing what was left of her black and ginger pelt. Ginger. Like the flames. She shuddered. After nursing her paws for a little while, and feeding her daughter, she set off. From what her sister had said, their camp laid a ways away from the twoleg place and near the opposite road. She picked up her daughter carefully, and began at a sprint.
This sprint soon became a run.
This run became a jog.
This jog became a walk.
And this walk became a stumble.
Her paws were heavy, her neck tired, and breathing labored. She was exhausted. With every shuffling step, the fibers of her body groaned with resistance. Finally, she collapsed, again, beneath a great sycamore tree. Curling up tightly around her kit, the she-cat drifted off to sleep, resisting the brisk chill of the autumn night air. Leaves floated around her sleeping body, and the stars gleamed above. Fire ran through her dreams that night. Dreams of gold, red, and orange.
Dawn approached quickly, and with it came the aches and pains of the day before, along with a gnawing hunger. But she pressed on. She scooped up the kitten, and followed the thick cat scent that lay about the entire area. The winding paths the scent took led her to a thick clump of brambles. She could hear the shuffling, quiet movements of waking cats and she could smell the musky prey. Poking around for a moment or two, she found a small opening, a tunnel through the brambles, made of gorse. She stepped in cautiously, as if preparing herself for an ambush. But she met no resistance. Instead, she continued through. She reached a sandy clearing. It was lined by…some sort of assortment of dens. There was a clump of ferns, a thick patch of even more brambles, a fallen tree, and a woven den. A large rock protruded in one corner. A small brown tabby cat was stretching in the clearing, and saw her. It yowled an alarm, yellow eyes wide, and instantly others came bursting out of the dens. One face in particular stood out from the others. It was a sleek, smooth, streamlined face the poked through the bramble den. It was a deep, chocolate brown with shining green eyes. The ears were brown as well. When the full cat emerged, she was cream in color, with brown legs and tail. She looked more like the kit than its mother did.
"Sister." The she-cat spoke, voice muffled from the kitten. She placed it between her front paws protectively and gazed at the other she-cat, green eyes on green. They were the exact same shade. She noticed, out of the corner of her vision, that the other cats in the hollow were watching her, almost as suspicious of her as she was of them. They took in her scraggly appearance and lack of whiskers, and, most of all, the kit at her paws.
"I never thought you would come," The queen across from her murmured, eyes bright, "And now you're here! Oh, I knew you would join us!" The she-cat's sister dashed out to greet her, rubbing her chocolate muzzle against the tortie one. But the she-cat shied away.
"Join you? I think not." She disagreed with a shake of her head, "I am here to give you my daughter." The other pair of green eyes widened with shock. Whispers and low voices sounded among the others assembled as the she-cat pushed the tiny, mewling kit towards her sister with a soft pink nose.
"Y-your…daughter? But why? Why won't you stay? Why give her away?" The sister gasped, voicing the others' concerns.
"I can't take care of her." She mewed sadly, "My home is destroyed, my mate and other kits gone. I want you to take care of her. She's…she's my only baby." The she-cat couldn't bear to look at her only kitten left.
"I understand. I'll take of her as best I can, I promise. It will be good for Blazekit to have a sibling." The sister meowed, glancing back towards the bramble den where a small ginger tom-kit stared out. His gaze was as green as his mother's. "What is her name?" The queen asked, bending down to nuzzle the tiny thing.
"Her-her name?" The she-cat stammered. In truth, she had never thought about it. Gazing down at her daughter, one word came to her mind as blue met green. "It is Bright. Her name is Bright." The queen nodded in agreement, taking in the clearness, the beauty of the kitten's eyes.
"Brightkit." The sister whispered. "Welcome to Thunderclan, little one." She picked up the kit, and walked toward the bramble den, where the little tom waited. But Brightkit stared after her mother, blue eyes wide. She reached out a paw, straining to touch her mother one last time, but instead she was brought into the bramble den, where both kittens disappeared. The first she-cat turned around and started out the tunnel. With a final swish of her tortoiseshell tail, it was like she was never there.
Fiona was gone.