Author's Note: Bonjour! I'm really upset that Warriors has ended, and now I've been writing fanfics to soothe my post-Warriors depression. Enjoy!
Cinderpelt looked over her shoulder.
Two figures were silhouetted against the glowing moon. Although far away, the medicine cat could clearly see the pair pressed against each other, and without looking, she knew who they were.
Fireheart and Sandstorm.
Cinderpelt also knew that she had caused this. She had been the one to tell Fireheart exactly how fond Sandstorm was of him. The words had come out of her mouth and no other. No cat had told her to open Fireheart's eyes; no cat had forced her to say anything.
But she had. She had opened her mouth and once the words were out, she couldn't take them back. The surprised look in Fireheart's eyes tore her apart even more; if he couldn't see how much Sandstorm cared for him, he'd always be oblivious to her own feelings.
Cinderpelt could tell the tom and she-cat were talking now, and she averted her eyes, not wanting to intrude, and not wanting to see proof of affection. It's your fault, she told herself, You can't blame anyone else this time.
Sometimes, she felt like everything was her fault. Her mentor had warned her not to go to the Thunderpath, and now here she was with a crippled leg and no chance of ever becoming a warrior. No matter how hard she tried, it would stay the same. Cinderpelt could believe all she wanted, but even StarClan couldn't do anything about her injury.
And then there was this. This pain that was worse than the agony she had experienced when the monster hit her. At least the physical pain from the monster stopped, eventually. The throbbing Cinderpelt felt now would never cease. She could feel her heart twinge every time Fireheart sent a glance toward Sandstorm, and whenever he left to be with his – she could hardly think the word – mate, Cinderpelt could feel her whole world shaking, turning, shifting beneath her feet.
She had been the cause of her own troubles. Cinderpelt couldn't bear to put the blame on Fireheart, nor could she pin it on Sandstorm. It wasn't Sandstorm's fault Cinderpelt had been an overexcited apprentice, eager to please her mentor and love of her life.
Now, nothing anyone could do could put the world right. Everything was twisted and mangled, just like her leg. And Cinderpelt's leg was the cause of it all. If she wasn't stuck being a perfect medicine cat, she could be running through the forest with Fireheart's orange pelt streaking beside her. She wouldn't need to be crammed in next to borage and yarrow. She wouldn't have to hide her feelings for anybody because of a stupid rule.
She wouldn't have needed to tell Fireheart about Sandstorm, because then Cinderpelt would have had a chance herself.
Cinderpelt settled herself down into the grass and put her head on her paws. The cool night breeze set the fronds moving, brushing up against her fur in silent support. Sometimes, the world was just too cruel.
She took one last glance over her shoulder and saw Fireheart brushing past his mate and padding toward the entrance to camp, not even noticing her. Sandstorm turned to follow him, then changed directions and headed toward Cinderpelt.
The medicine cat looked away, praying that StarClan would send a miracle to stop the ginger she-cat from reaching her. The swishing of nearby weeds Cinderpelt heard told her that StarClan had a different plan tonight.
Sandstorm crouched down and pushed her pelt against Cinderpelt's. The two cats breathed in the night air in silence for a while before the older one spoke.
"Thank you," whispered Sandstorm. "I know Fireheart would never have noticed me if someone hadn't told him. And he would believe no cat but you."
Cinderpelt looked at her in astonishment. The medicine cat thought the warrior had come to gloat. Instead, she was thanking her. To top that off, Sandstorm was saying that Fireheart trusted her above all others. The notion was simply unbelievable.
"Whatever happens, you were his first apprentice, and you are his medicine cat and an amazing friend to him," Sandstorm stated gently, placing the tip of her tail on Cinderpelt's shoulder. "I'm sorry it had to come down to a competition like this. I honestly don't want you to be unhappy." At this point, the she-cat looked up to the sky. "I truly wished you would have never gone to the Thunderpath, but StarClan has a destiny for us all."
She fell silent and pressed her muzzle to her friend's shoulder.
Cinderpelt stared back unblinkingly. Then, she whispered, "I know. That's why I told him. My destiny twisted away from him like a river. I can do nothing about it. Yours, however, was another story. You had a chance to make the love of my life happy, and his happiness is everything if I can't have my own joy."
"You are wrong. You're destiny does not twist away. In runs along a different path, yes, and one that you might not like, but I know that Fireheart has a special place in his heart for you. He always will." With that, Sandstorm stood up and glided into camp.
Cinderpelt pondered over her friend's words. She knew how much she meant to Fireheart, but no matter what anyone said, she would never be truly and completely happy. She could come close, though, and it seemed that close would be as good as it could get. Cinderpelt promised herself that she would keep her feelings locked up deep inside. It won't be good in the long run, she thought, but it should be fine for now.
She got to her feet, shaking out her pelt. She was a medicine cat now, and medicine cats weren't supposed to fall in love. Cinderpelt only wished that she had been told of her fate beforehand, so she wouldn't have made the mistake of melting in Fireheart's green gaze and shivering every time his pelt brushed hers.
She turned to go back to camp. The stars seemed to twinkle sadly, and the medicine cat wanted one last look at them.
Cinderpelt looked over her shoulder at the apologetic stars shining in the sky and felt that the black space between them was too much for her to bear. It consumed the tiny lights and overwhelmed her.
She decided to stop looking back, looking over her shoulder. Nothing good ever comes of it.