A single silencing hiss followed the crunch of a leaf under Cinderwhisker's paw, and he flashed the rest of the patrol a sheepish, apologetic look before taking a trail away from them. Leaf-fall had slowly begun growing colder, harboring longer nights as the days passed. Cloudstar made sure that their deputy, Willowfern, was increasing the rate of hunting patrols before leaf-bare was fully upon the Clan. Then, every piece of prey would be precious, and every mouth needed to be fed. Their medicine cat, Cherrynose, accepted all and any help she could receive to gather herbs, especially after the outbreak of greencough that took so many lives the previous leaf-bare.
Cinderwhisker hadn't eaten much after that terrible time, after losing both his littermates and father, following his mother's murder a moon before, and his weight dropped severely before Cherrynose could finally goad him to eat now and then. He was still skinny and prone to avoid eating for a day or even two in his worse moments, but it was better than before. He could do his warrior duties now, at least, and the guilt had lessened.
The scent of squirrel licked the roof of his mouth, pulling Cinderwhisker away from his thoughts. It was coming from in the bushes in front of him, no doubt carried by the breeze, and very much fresh. Ignoring the shiver climbing his spine, Cinderwhisker lowered himself and crept forward. Though he had been very careful this time to avoid disturbing the brittle leaves decorating the forest floor, he winced when his tail faltered and swept away a small pile.
Surprisingly, however, there was no answering rustle of a squirrel escaping, nor the waver of a fading scent. Was it deaf? Cinderwhisker frowned, padding up to the bush with much less care than before, and stuck his head into it. He didn't know what he expected when he peeked into the small, protected space the bush offered, but it certainly wasn't this.
The squirrel he had scented was dead, torn from belly to throat. A kit, maybe a bit under a moon old, was curled tightly into a ball, fast asleep, and drenched in the squirrel's blood. His muscles stiff with shock, Cinderwhisker could only stare. Then, a gruesome but likely true solution popped into his mind: they were left to die. To be eaten by a hungry fox when leaf-bare came. A tight, suffocating sensation seized his chest as he continued to look down at the little kit with horror, completely at a lost. Then, common sense finally took over and he bent to wash the blood soaking the kit's fur. His mind was blank as they stirred under his rasping tongue, and when he found wide, round amber eyes staring up at him, he didn't say a thing. Only when he pulled away to check for anything he missed did he notice the kit's jaws were loosened slightly, as if trying but unable to speak.
"You'll be fine," Cinderwhisker answered quietly, though the question had never come. The kit's mouth snapped shut and they continued to stare, until a tiny, squeaky voice escaped from them. "Where's mother?" Cinderwhisker blinked once, twice, then shook his head. "She's gone, little one." That was a good nickname for them. "But I'm bringing you back with me, okay? I don't want you to die." The kit seemed to consider his words for a moment before mewing, "Mother said I shouldn't talk to strangers." Cinderwhisker had to bite back a bark of laughter that threatened to push past his lips. How cruel. "While your mother was right about that, I don't want to hurt you," he meowed simply, taking the kit's scruff between his teeth. They wriggled a bit, churning their tiny paws in the air, but eventually hung limply in acceptance.
Cinderwhisker stepped back to round the corner, he had to return to the patrol, but when he managed to turn around, he was met by a wide-eyed Cloverdusk. Moments passed and not a word was spoken between them, until the pale ginger tabby shook her head in disbelief. "Cinderwhisker," she began slowly. "Please tell me that isn't a kit you're carrying and I'm just seeing things." She sighed heavily as Cinderwhisker bowed his head in confirmation to her fears. "Cloudstar is going to have a field day with this," Cloverdusk muttered, then padded forward to nudge the gray tom away from the bush. "You found her here right?" Cinderwhisker, though admittedly slightly startled at how quickly the tabby she-cat figured out the kit's gender, flicked an ear.
From where he stood, he could only barely pick up Cloverdusk's murmur of, "How terrible" before she bent her head and resurfaced with the squirrel in her mouth. "The blood scent will be there for a while, let's just hope it won't attract any mangy foxes," she mewed, muffled by the fur between her teeth. This time, Cloverdusk allowed Cinderwhisker to take the lead, the twisting undergrowth by their feet smoothing into a dusty path. He could almost feel the hollow spaces left by countless paws treading through this trail, and that was what brought him the little courage it took to raise his head when he pushed through the barrier that guarded the camp.
For the first time since he found the kit, a flicker of anxiety clawed at his chest. How was he going to explain his desire to keep the little one? It was then that Cloverdusk pressed against him reassuringly, unspoken words shared quickly as she bumped muzzles with him to switch hold of the kit and squirrel. Now carrying the tiny she-kit gently by the scruff, the pale tabby lifted her chin and met her Clanmates' hostile gazes defiantly. She made her way to the boulder pile that served as both the Highrock and Cloudstar's den. The thick-furred tom, who had been sharing tongues with his mate, Swiftclaw, was now sitting up expectantly as Cloverdusk approached him. His eyes followed her movement of dropping the mewling kit at his paws, and though his gaze was strict and questioning, there was an edge of softness when the kit made a cooing noise. "Where do you find this?" he asked quietly, reluctant to tear his gaze away from the tiny she-kit.
Cloverdusk shook her head, signaling for Cinderwhisker to step forward with a flick of her tail. He did so hesitantly, dropping the squirrel, and spoke up when Swiftclaw's stare became unnerving. "I found her in a bush, drenched in squirrel blood with the creature itself lying close by. It seems that her mother intended a terrible death for the little one," he meowed, his voice shaking slightly towards the end. It was then that Cloudstar's gaze rose.
Cinderwhisker was startled by the conflicting emotions flashing in his leader's eyes, but before he could even begin to question the phenomenon, they cleared with a certain peace. "You'll be responsible for her, then, Cinderwhisker," Cloudstar rumbled, already rising to his paws. The gray tom choked on his next breath, the fur along his spine prickling almost painfully. "Y-You can't be serious?" he tried, but the leader was retreating into his den, Swiftclaw trailing close behind. Cinderwhisker searched for some sort of pity, anything, from his leader's mate, but the brown tom only spared him a curious glance before disappearing behind the stone.
Moons had passed since Cinderwhisker found the little she-kit, and they had both grown in that time. Now named Berrykit, she was no longer small and skinny, but rather a nice, healthy weight and quite tall for a kit of 5 moons. Cinderwhisker's mentality had stabilized along with his physical health, and he proudly claimed Berrykit as his daughter.
"Berrykit? You in there, little one?" Cinderwhisker called as he ducked into the low-roofed nursery, and was almost immediately knocked back by a bundle of fur. He rolled with the extra weight, soon finding himself on his back at the nursery entrance with a very smug Berrykit sitting triumphantly on his chest. "I win!" she announced, puffing out her chest, and Cinderwhisker had the mind to wonder we were playing a game? before he gave into her haughty claims. "Oh, of course!" he drawled in a defeated tone. "I could never stand up to such a strong warrior!" Berrykit beamed, sliding off her foster father to nuzzle into his neck, purring. Cinderwhisker returned the caress with a purr of his own, deep and strong. It had been a long since he purred that powerfully, but Berrykit brought out the pleasant things in him, he supposed. She was good for him.
A heavy stone dropped into his stomach, a feeling he hadn't felt since then, when a call ran loud and clear from the other side of the clearing: "Attack!" Suddenly, cats of all colors poured from the voice's source, caterwauling as they began charging, claws flashing in the pale sunlight, at his Clanmates. His muscles were tense with shock for a heartbeat, then he rolled onto his paws and snatched Berrykit by the scruff and practically threw her into the nursery. "Stay in Sedgefoot's sight!" he called, unable to smooth the shakiness in his voice. "I'll be back." Cinderwhisker didn't move until he saw a black paw shoot out to pull the confused kit deeper into the den. Shortly after, he leaped at a skinny white cat who had Bramblefang by the neck, shoving them off and scoring his claws through their fur until they wailed to be released. He did so, he wasn't cruel, and watched with satisfaction as they sped away into the tangle of writhing bodies in the heart of the battle.
Cinderwhisker peered around for any other of his Clanmates that may need help getting out of a tricky situation, but was distracted by a shriek that sent his blood running cold. He spun around, quickly spotting what he feared though wished he heard wrong. A small cat, an apprentice by the looks of it, was digging their claws into Berrykit's flanks as they forced their weight onto her, preventing any means of escape. His heart pounded, thousands of question like how did she escape and how stupid is this apprentice to mistake a kit for another apprentice rushing through his mind. Fear for losing her kept him stiff in place, forced to watch helplessly as she sobbed for him until Sedgefoot threw the apprentice off her, taking Berrykit into the nursery in a rush, looking positively rattled. Heart thundering, he couldn't feel a flicker of gratitude for the queen. He felt empty.
Oh.
I'm useless.
Cinderwhisker thought he was getting better, that he could finally protect his loved ones without shock gripping him.
I was wrong.
That much was obvious.
Blood roaring in his ears, Cinderwhisker threw himself into the battle, slashing every patch of fur presented to him. Emptiness numbed him from the inside, as if slowly choking him, and he felt like he was drowning.
How am I supposed to take care of you when I can't even help myself?