First, there was Him.
He, the young, handsome leader of ThunderClan, fur like the setting sun and eyes to match, wise and brave and cunning, with the experience of a cat three times his age.
They called him Lionstar.
Then, there was Her.
She, the young warrior, brave and confident and brilliant in battle yet scared and unsure of everything to do with love and romance and passion. Tall, long-limbed, not quite white and not quite gray, eyes the color of dew-drenched leaves, one ear cut deeply in two and a long scar splitting her face—the souvenir of a kit-hood fox attack, not at all like a she-cat should be.
They called her Cloudypool, and she dreamed of the fiery leader's caress, the brush of his fur against her own, the warm glow of his red-golden eyes. She craved him, wanted him, needed him like she needed air to breathe.
Loved him.
But who would look at her, who could, when She was around? She, with her lovely tabby fur, neither silver nor gold but both. She, with her eyes like water, clear and intelligent and impossibly blue. She, with her tragic past, both parents dead before she even opened her eyes. She, small, delicate, untouchable.
She, Morninglight, the object of every toms' affections.
Every tom but one, but how was Cloudypool to know?
It was common knowledge around camp that there was only one cat that Morninglight would accept to be her mate. It was also common knowledge that one day soon she would be moving into the nursery with his kits. After all, everything Morninglight wanted, Morninglight got, and she had wanted Lionstar ever since he first became deputy. And if she couldn't have him, StarClan help the she-cat that did.
And so Cloudypool had given up all hope of ever having Lionstar as her mate. She had long since settled for watching the fiery tom from afar, somehow always there and yet a million miles away. She watched her sidle up to him after a patrol, curling up close to him in the sunlight that turned his pelt to flame and hers to gold. She watched them eat together, she pressing her flank to his, twining their tails. She watched them sharing tongues, watched her rest her chin on his flank. And her heart would feel like it was being ripped in two.
It struck her as funny, sometimes, how she could rush into the fiercest battle without doubt or fear, yet this tom could reduce her to little more than a lovesick kit.
He was her only weakness.
What she didn't see was that he was always there, watching her, too. He would watch her curl up in a puddle of sunlight by the warrior's den after a patrol, letting the warmth soak into her tired muscles, the light seeming to bounce and shimmer off her pelt. He would watch her play with the kits outside the nursery, her movements graceful and languid, laughter sparkling in her eyes. He would watch her as she shared tongues with her littermates under the stars—how utterly at peace she seemed. And he would wonder, bitterness lacing his thoughts, why he couldn't tell her how he felt, why the words stuck in his throat whenever he tried to talk to her.
She was his only weakness, after all.
She wakes in a puddle of warm sunlight. She rises and stretches, a low purr escaping her. For a moment she wonders what woke her, gazing around the den. It was her turn to lead the sunhigh patrol, she realizes suddenly.
She pads into the sunshine-flooded camp. The deputy, a long-furred white tom named Whiteflame, flicks his tail to her as she approaches, telling her to gather cats for her patrol. She nods, she remembered.
For her patrol she selects Nightstream, a slender black she-cat with violet-colored eyes, Swansong, a white she-cat with black tear-marks twisting down her face, Lightningflash, a pale ginger tabby tom, his calico apprentice Lakepaw, and Duckheart, a dark ginger tom. The six of them plunge out of the barrier.
Cloudypool barely feels her paws skim past the leaf-covered ground. All she's aware of is the warm sunlight on her back, the cool breeze ruffling her fur, the rich, earthy scent of the forest.
A familiar scent hits her like a blow. She skids to a stop, narrowing her eyes. "ShadowClan," she hisses to her patrolmates, flattening herself to the ground. "Get down."
She peers through the ferns. There, nearly five tail-lengths inside the border, was the ShadowClan patrol. A patrol of seasoned fighters, including the deputy, Eelstripe, badly outnumbering the ThunderClan cats. She digs her claws into the soft earth. How dare they?
She looks back over her shoulder. Duckheart is bristling with fear, Swansong was lashing her tail, Nightstream was glaring at the enemy patrol, Lightningflash had his head bent near Lakepaw's ear, whispering quick instructions to her. The poor apprentice looked terrified. "Lakepaw!" Cloudypool hisses under her breath. "Go get Lionstar. Tell him to send help." The calico apprentice turns tail and flees. "Nightstream, Duckheart, go around the side. Lightningflash, Swansong, you get the other side. Attack on my signal." The warriors obey. Cloudypool crouches low, flicking her tail once.
The warriors explode out of the bushes. The first thing Cloudypool sees is the fear in the dark tabby deputy's blue gaze, quickly darkening to hostility. Her claws meet his face, scarlet splatters fall to the vibrant green earth like rain. The tom screams as blood wells along the ragged wounds. She bowls him over easily, digging her teeth into his ear. He screams in agony, struggling to break free. "Take that, fox-heart!" she growls, deep in her throat.
It came out of nowhere. Suddenly she's knocked aside, a warm slash of pain welling along her flank. A pure white she-cat was standing above her, golden eyes blazing. She feels teeth dig into her throat, feels the warm stickiness of blood matting in her chest. She struggles madly against the crushing weight, gasping madly trying to get air into her chest, but she couldn't, she was suffocating, dark spots flashed before her eyes…
But suddenly the crushing weight vanished, and sweet air flowed into her chest, her vision cleared. She scrambled to her paws.
It was Lionstar. The fiery tom was rearing onto his hind paws, slashing at the snow-white she-cat, pure fury darkening his gaze to the color of blood. "Not her!" he hissed, dropping back onto all four paws and leaping at the she-cat with claws outstretched until she shrieks with horror and flees back into the safety of her own territory.
Cloudypool wants to cheer. She struggles onto her paws but they won't support her and crumples back to the ground, gasping for breath that won't come. She could see the sticky scarlet tide steadily growing around her, soaking into the earth, tinting it bright red. She gags, and more blood spills from her mouth, metallic and sickly smelling.
And suddenly he is beside her, his nose pressed into her fur, his voice cracking, begging her to stay awake. "Cloudypool, please don't do this to me, please, stay with me, please, Cloudypool, I love you…"
She is in shock. Did she just hear what she thought she heard? She is floating in a cloud of pink mist, and he is the only real thing in the world, and there is only their bright future stretching ahead of them…
Except…
Except for the fact that she wouldn't be there to share it.
But that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy it while she could.
"Oh, Lionstar," she whispered, "I love you too."
Lionstar, too, was in shock. Strange, he thought bitterly, how the only way to find the courage to tell the one he loved how he felt was when said she-cat was dying on the ground right in front of him. He didn't reply, only pushed his muzzle into her sweet smelling pelt and let the tears fall where they may.
The battle was dispersing around them. Quite a few ThunderClan cats had noticed Cloudypool's wounds and were crowding around them, letting out small whimpers and shocked cries.
Lionstar hardly noticed them.
It was a peculiar sensation, this, thought Cloudypool idly. So this was what it felt like to die. It didn't hurt nearly as much as she thought it would. It simultaneously reminded her of digging her claws into a piece of warm prey, sharing tongues with her siblings, and falling into her warm, welcoming nest after a long patrol.
It was strange what went through your mind as your lifeblood was bleeding onto the ground around you.
And Lionstar was conscious of Cloudypool's breathing slowing, her heartbeat thudding weaker and weaker beneath her pelt. And suddenly it stopped, and her eyes grew glassy, her muscles limp, her last breath left her like the barest hint of a breeze. He didn't move, didn't react, didn't betray the breaking he felt inside him.
So this was what it felt like to have a broken heart.
He straightened to face his Clanmates. "Come on," he intoned, his voice strange and flat and oddly empty. "Let's go home." He picked up Cloudypool's still-warm scruff in his jaws and motioned for his warriors to follow him home. He only looked back at the clearing once, and his gaze was filled with an unfathomable sorrow.
Blood-streaked and filled with golden light, it was an oddly peaceful place to die.