Golden reeds waved back and forth in the gentle greenleaf breeze. Soft bird chatter came from every nearby tree, with leaves rustling as they took flight one-by-one. By some nearby bulrushes, a dark brown mouse clutched a fuzzy dandelion stem and nibbled the green tip, the dry stalk crackling in its grip. Its whiskers suddenly twitched, body erect and ears pricked. The head of the rodent swiveled to look for the creature who had just unwittingly snapped a twig, for the creature that was panting loudly and placing its paws on the ground with such heaviness.
And the huntress strikes!
A lithe, bright orange-ginger shape blazed through the tall slender-leaved plants to pursue her prey. Her svelte tail streamed behind her, white end acting like a flag of sorts. There was a long chase before the small mammal scurried out of sight, much to the predator's chagrin.
"Frog-dung!" Flarekit cursed and skidded to a halt as she reached the low river. "I nearly had it!" Her lungs ached for air after the run. The kit inhaled and exhaled, feeling adrenaline course through her body. Her head jerked up after hearing a crack and then a squeak, no doubt from the StarClan-forsaken mouse.
"And what do you think you're doing out here?" came a rough, surly voice. Flarekit flunched, stumbling backward as a pair of piercing yellow eyes seared through her fur. A white paw was planted on the limp body of the she-kit's prey. It was Darkwhisker, a tom known for his strict demeanor around kits, apprentices, and even young warriors if they were too cheeky for his taste.
"Hunting." The little cat squeezed out a word. Her throat suddenly felt dry.
"First of all, you are a kit. You are supposed to be in camp." Flarekit cringed as the warrior's disapproving gaze met her own fiery blue.
"Second, that was poorly stalked. You were breathing heavily, putting your paws down on the ground too hard, and—"
"—snapped a stupid stick. I k-kn-ow!" The last mew came out as a small, high-pitched squeak when Darkwhisker eyed Flarekit menacingly. The kit flattened her snow-white tipped ears and skittered rearwards once more.
"Third, we are RiverClan. We eat fish." The black-and-white tom's breath, smelling of mud and reeds and algae, proved his point. His muzzle was close to Flarekit's neck, as if he was about to deliver a killing blow. The five-moon-old shivered as Darkwhisker's wet, black nose brushed her scruff before he nimbly he grasped her in his jaws. Through Flarekit's short fur, Darkwhisker muttered:
"It's a drought. You might as well bring the prey to your family." Out of the corner of her eye, Flarekit saw Darkwhisker kick the mouse into some nearby reeds. Her stomach lurched as she realized that the reeds were near the entrance of RiverClan camp.
I'm gonna get in trouble again, the kit thought despondently as she swayed back and forth in Darkwhisker's grip. And then momma will keep me inside, and then I'll get another guard, and I'll probably be shamed in front of the whole Clan, and then...
The two cats quickly reached the spot where the fresh-kill had landed. Darkwhisker gave it another swipe, sending it into the camp, before delivering Flarekit into the nursery.
"Featherfur, your kit was caught out of camp again." He nodded to the queen and left the den to do whatever warriors did.
"Flarekit!" Her mother's angry meow drew Flarekit's eyes from the retreating Darkwhisker to the silver she-cat.
"Sorry...?" the kit offered, giving Featherfur her sweetest smile. The queen's expression didn't change a whisker.
"How many times have I told you to stay in the camp?" Featherfur asked, her voice close to a yowl. Flarekit winced and curled her tail around her legs, feeling the gazes of several intrigued warriors on her pelt.
"Well? How many?"
The orange kit shuffled her paws and stared at the ground, wishing a hole would open up and swallow her embarrassment. "Twenty-seven."
"Then why haven't you learned?"
Flarekit kept her gaze on the dusty ground. "'Cause I was hungry, momma," she mumbled. "I kinda got a mouse," she added for good measure. At this point, Flarekit's brother Owlkit had dragged the limp body inside. "See?" She flicked her tail at the kill.
"We are RiverClan. We eat fish." Flarekit barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. There it was again. I am RiverClan. You are RiverClan. We eat fish... stupid fish.
"Based on the circumstances, RiverClan doesn't eat just fish," intercepted a mottled brown queen from the other side of the nursery. Flarekit realized she had been holding her breath and exhaled.
"I know that, Mallowfoot," Featherfur meowed with a sigh. "But we can't make a habit of it. Mouse just doesn't taste as good."
"I think it tastes fine," Owlkit offered. He was a little tabby tom, with the markings of his mother and the brown fur color from some ancestor way back in time.
"That's because you haven't tasted real fish, sweet," the silver tabby replied. She licked the stray tuft of fur standing up on her kit's head. "Just wait until you eat carp."
Flarekit watched, amused, as her littermate screwed up his face while Featherfur lapped at it. However, the she-kit was not quite as happy when her mother pulled her in as well for a grooming.
"I suppose we can't let the mouse go to waste," Featherfur murmured between licks. "Flarekit, promise me —albeit for the twenty-seventh time— that you won't go out again."
The words, for the twenty-seventh time, rang in Flarekit's ears and dug claws of guilt in her belly. "I can't make a promise that I won't keep," she mewed, sounding more meek she'd intended. In fact, she had been planning to sneak out again that very night.
Her mother growled, staring hard at her daughter. "Promise me."
Flarekit closed her eyes and said the empty words. "I promise."
"Good. I'll tell Darkwhisker to watch you nevertheless." Featherfur deftly sliced the mouse into three parts, staining the family's reedy nest crimson with blood. She slid one towards Owlkit and the other to Flarekit.
After a few moments of staring at her share of mouse —isn't it lucky that I got the head, she thought wryly— the kit took a bite of the prey. She instinctively expected her sharp teeth to sink into juicy, grassy meat. Instead, she got a mouthful of ragged fur and spat it across the nursery, gagging. Flarekit watched the other cats eat; Owlkit was tearing the clumps of fur off with his claws, taking clumps of perfectly good food with it, while Featherfur calmly stripped the skin off and laid it to the side.
The red she-kit buried her muzzle into the rodent, feeling for the soft meat. Once her fangs were firmly planted in the body, Flarekit tore off a chunk and swallowed. The fresh-kill tasted amazing, despite the scrawniness, when compared to the usual bony minnows.
But like everyone says, I'm a RiverClan cat, Flarekit thought with a prick of worry. How can I enjoy forest prey more than food from the river?
She quickly gulped up the rest of her meal —if it could be called a meal— and looked around. Featherfur was still chewing, and Owlkit was toying with the scraps of fur from the mouse. The sun was high in the sky, and Flarekit had to squint to look up at it. The impatient kit sighed and laid her head on her paws, boredom already getting a hold of her and the memory of her earlier escapade rapidly fading in its vividity.
Tonight. I'll sneak past Darkwhisker and go out tonight.
xXxOoXoOxXx
The sky gradually darkened, last feeble rays of sunlight receding as the stars rose to take its place. A dark silhouette, no doubt that of Darkwhisker, blocked the nursery entrance, but Flarekit knew she could easily slip away through a hidden hole she herself had made in the corner of the nursery. Flarekit analyzed the piece of firmament she could see past Darkwhisker's shadow and decided it was the perfect night.
No moon. Few stars. Chance of rain, after all this dryness. The fireflies are sure to be out.
Flarekit had heard many tales from the elders about fireflies; they were insects that came out at night, usually before and after rain, and gave a beautiful glow. But she didn't want stories; she wanted to see them for real, to see their light. To see the firelight.
Quietly, the kit padded to the escape hole. Flarekit was still painfully aware of how her pawsteps had alerted the mouse earlier that day, and she wasn't making the same stupid mistake again with a cat. She walked lightly across the dirt.
After Flarekit had gotten out of the nursery, wind started billowing her short fur. The ginger kit paused to shiver and ponder her motives.
Is this really a good idea?
Of course! You'll never get another chance like it!
Her mind continued to argue immaturely as Flarekit pushed her way through the weeds. She needed to go near the WindClan border, she knew that; fireflies liked lots and lots of grass. She also knew that WindClan smelled like rabbits. Flarekit opened her mouth in the way she'd seen so many warriors did, tasting the air. Was that a faint trace of the musky, mossy-smelling moor-cat heather? It had to be. Flarekit trudged on, pleased with her ability to smell and sense of direction; she had often bragged about it to Owlkit, and this was her proof.
The hard ground started to slope down and turned grassier. With a new sense of jubilantly, the she-kit bounded towards the turf and jumped, the lush narrow blades softening her fall. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but Flarekit paid it no heed. Rain would be good after this long drought.
Flarekit narrowed her eyes, feeling a another small flicker of doubt. What if the fireflies don't come? The kit pushed the thought away. Of course they'll be there.
As if to prove her point, two twin bioluminescent sparks rose from the grass and chased each other around the meadow. More and more yellow and green lights came up from the ground and flitted around. Flarekit moved underneath a nearby tree, her head swaying in the rapid movements of the little insects. These were the fireflies. Her opened her jaws in an "ooh" of kit-like wonder.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" A gruff mew made Flarekit jump. Darkwhisker! The bi-colored cat came to sit beside her, eyeing her shocked expression. His face was partially shaded by a willow tree that hung over the meadow like some kind of guardian angel.
"Did you really think I couldn't hear you trampling around?" he asked. Flarekit narrowed her eyes; was that a gleam of amusement in the tom's yellow gaze?
"Well, I did," Darkwhisker continued. "This is the twenty-eighth time, I hear," he said casually. "But it's the middle of the night. We'll deal with your ...misbehavior... tomorrow."
Flarekit's pelt pricked with surprise. Tomorrow? Darkwhisker usually dealt punishment right there and then.
"I used to watch the fireflies, too, when I was younger." The black-and-white tom's whisper was barely audible. "It was... calming, in a way. And then something happened." His meow was filled with bitterness, a faraway look in his eyes. Flarekit remained silent. She already knew it would be insensitive to pry, and her ears would likely get snapped off even if she didn't care about Darkwhisker's feelings.
The senior warrior looked down at the kit. "Enjoy life while you can. There's not much time left." The she-kit stared up at the huge warrior, trying to comprehend the meaning behind his last sentence. Suddenly, there was a white flash, then a pile of dried leaves burst into colorful flames.
"Lightning!" Flarekit squeaked, alarmed. Darkwhisker's fur was standing on end, his eyes wide with horror. He stood up.
"Flarekit. Listen to me. Run back to the camp and tell everyone that there's a wildfire. And don't stop to look back!" His voice was brisk, his tone unsteady. Flarekit hesitated for half a heartbeat and burst off at full speed, fear getting the better of her. Her life had turned from calm and peaceful to wild and scary in mere seconds.
Run. Don't look back. Run. Don't look back. The mantra pounded in Flarekit's head, matching the rhythm of her paws as they hit the ground. Don't look back.
Blood pounded in Flarekit's ears. She shot up the incline, hearing the crackle of the fire.
And she looked back.
Darkwhisker was running as well. "What are you waiting for?" he yowled over the loud rumble of the fire. "Run, for StarClan's sake! I told you not to look back!"
Flarekit tripped over her paws in the attempt to get away. She felt teeth grab the fur on the back of her neck and toss her away from the fire.
"Darkwhisker?"
No reply. The rusty kit's heart pounded in her chest.
"Darkwhisker!"
Nothing. Flarekit knew she had to get home, and she pushed away the little niggling voice that said her savior was dead. The tom was alive, —he had to be, this was all her fault, not his— but she couldn't wait for him. A rush of adrenaline shot through the kit's body. Run. Run. Run.
After what seemed like moons, she reached the camp. Cats were out of their dens, mouths open to catch the soft rain that was falling. To them, it was a miracle. To Flarekit, it was a curse that had taken Darkwh— No. He can't be dead!
"Fire on the turf!" Flarekit shrieked as she went through the entrance. Her spinning head worked quickly to made up a lie. "I couldn't sleep and I was going to get a drink from the river, but then I saw Darkwhisker and he was going somewhere, and I followed him and then there was a fire, a-and then..."
A ginger tail swept across her mouth, silencing Flarekit's run-on, tumbling sentence. Yellowstar! The leader paused to look down sympathetically at her before opening her mouth.
"All cats go to the river," he called. "There has been a report of a fire near WindClan territory. Even kits and elders," Yellowstar added when an old ragged she-cat opened her mouth to speak.
Flarekit tried to swallow the lump building up in her throat. Darkwhisker should be here by now! Why was he so slow?
Face it. He's dead.
As the words sank deeper into the young auburn she-kit's mind, she felt herself trembling. She ignored Featherfur's muzzle nosing her into the river. She ignored Owlkit batting at her tail. Only two thoughts ran through her head, over and over again.
Darkwhisker is dead.
I'm a murderer.
~T.h.e. .M.o.o.n.s. .P.a.s.s~
"I'm so sorry, Flarefall!"
Those words. They might as well have meant the end of the world to the orange she-cat. She stared into the lifeless amber eyes of Owltalon. Brother... wake up! Please wake up!
But he did not. And it was her fault. No matter how many pitying gazes landed on her, no matter how many feeble meows there were trying to comfort her, she knew it was her fault. All her fault.
So Flarefall ran. Voices yowled after her, telling her to come back, that it was the mangy dog's doing. But they were wrong. She should have scented the dog.
Murderer murderer murderer
Her thoughts were no more than a torrent of the same word, over and over again.
Murderer murderer murderer
She ran away from the medicine cat den, stirring up dust and splashing through the river with ease. She knew there was only one place to go, only one place to be.
Flarefall ran to the meadow.
A bird twittered cheerfully in the old willow tree, singing the same three-note rhythm over and over again. Flarefall's whiskers twitched at the irony; three notes.
Mur-der-er! Mur-der-er!
Even the birds knew it.
No-thing-left. No-thing-left.
I don't belong here.
The sentence was a thorn in her heart. She had no one. She had nothing. Flarefall stared up at the clear blue sky. It had now been twelve moons since Darkwhisker had died saving her. And now Owltalon had gone to StarClan as well, following their mother. Featherfur had died in leaf-bare from a greencough epidemic, as well as Yellowstar and the medicine cat apprentice Rosepaw.
She had no reason to stay.
Numbly, Flarefall padded to the root of the tree. The bird stopped its annoying chirps and flew away.
Lucky bird, it could fly away from all its troubles.
The she-cat scratched at the ground below the tree. She dug through the dirt until she hit something round, red, and soft. There.
Flarefall unsheathed a claw and hooked the berry on the sharp point. She had buried them as an apprentice after her mother had died, but Owltalon —Owlpaw, then— had kept her from eating them. But now, nothing could stop her. It was time to go to StarClan, or perhaps the Dark Forest.
After all, she was a murderer.
And then without a second thought, the berry went into Flarefall's mouth. She crunched down on it and let the stunningly saccharine juice frolic on her tongue for a moment before swallowing it all, both harmless flesh and deathly seed.
The effect was not instantaneous, but Flarefall collapsed on the ground anyway. She felt weak now, the burden of her life finally breaking her shoulders. At least she would die here, next to the willow tree, in the meadow where she had watched the fireflies so many moons ago. And then, true to her name, Flarefall fell... into a forever darkness.
That was where RiverClan found her hours later; a limp carcass, heart stopped, right by the tree. They didn't understand; sure, Owltalon had died, but why would the warrior end her life —full of promise, full of oppurtunities— like that? They didn't know how much the piece of grassland had meant to the she-cat. They didn't even realize why her dead eyes, open and staring at the sky, seemed alive.
For in that sightless blue gaze was the reflection of the flames that Flarefall had seen in her kithood. And in her eyes the firelight danced, a forever memory that remained even after her spirit had lifted to join the stars.