What about her is so alluring? Why will she not leave my mind, much as try? Is it the way she walks? A smooth ripple like the river, or the sun, or snow… blue and gold and cream…

She walks alone, among the rest of us all, proud and head high, but I see the pain when she looks at me, and it hurts to know I am the cause of her heartbreak.

My heart is torn in two between her, and the other she cat… The one who blazes at me, her eyes the colour of sun or flame, her pelt darker than the night sky.

Nightfire, or Goldleaf?

The choice is not an easy one to make. They both are, after all, winning my heart—and I feel like a terrible double crosser.

I've got to choose soon and I have no idea who to pick.

(***********)

She comes at me the next day, the one of night, raging about the cat of cream, gold, blue. How I love her. How wrong it is—"I thought you loved me,"—and I am angry.

"You've been seeing ThunderClan?" I yell, furious. "You've been seeing another tom! And you accuse me of infidelity?" I swallowed my rage. "Then we're no longer mates! Go to ThunderClan, full of darkhearts, where you belong!"

Soon after she has fled, after night has gone, the cat of cream-blue-gold, appears, tentative, her blue eyes concerned, and I don't know how I did not see it before—the obvious caring for my wounded heart, no matter what her feelings might be.

I sleep on it that night.

Troubling. That's what it is, simply.

But then, when I wake, I know the right thing to do. And something is unspoken but communicated all the same: it's love, love, love, I don't know how I overlooked it before.

She is soon swollen with a kitten. I am proud.

But then—anger, fear—war comes. We need all warriors—no matter the cost.

When I see her—bloodstained, dying—I feel like screaming in agony, like my own soul was ripped out and torn asunder.

When she dies, part of me dies with her.

When my son is born, part of me, is as well, born with him.

She has taught me the power of true love's endurance. She has taught me more than I could have ever learnt alone, and to know where love really lies.

I will raise my son as well as I can, and then it will be time for me to go. He is growing into a fine warrior—nobility like I, sensitivity like his mother.

And when I am finally called to the stars, maybe I'll be able to see her… And tell her what I never really did.

"I love you.'