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The darkness wove through the night like a haze, weighing down objects with its gloomy demeanor. A heavy rain was falling from the moonless sky as a group of cats huddled together for warmth. No trees stood to soften the relentless downpour from drenching their fur completely. There was one cat, however, whose sorrow ran deeper than the others.
The dark tortoiseshell pushed the small bundle of ginger and white fur closer to her body in an attempt to shield him from the harsh weather. Her pelt was fully soaked, and the kit squealed out in hunger. She felt her heart lurch, for she had no milk for her kit; no one had had a decent meal in more then a moon. The kit wailed louder, and the she-cat delicately placed her muzzle upon his head in a pointless effort to soothe him.
If only his father were here. He had been killed when Shadowclan had driven them out of the forest, and life after the attack had been like living in a nightmare. The she-cat hadn't been particularly close to her mate, but it would have been a good influence for Gorsekit. She closed her eyes, knowing that she had to remain strong not only for herself, but for her kit. He was the only reason that she had managed to make it this far, and she swore by Starclan that she would not let anything bad to happen him.
The feline shuddered, her bones showing through her mangy pelt with sickening ease. The flame of life was beginning to die fro her, and she didn't think that she could stop it from diminishing. One of her fellow clanmates must have the answer to their problems, a solution to escape this miserable hell. Surely they were not destined to live life as ghosts, always on the verge of death. As the feline sent her silent prayers to Starclan, they were answered with an unexpected swiftness.
"Let's go!"
The tortoiseshell recognized the voice as Deadfoot's, Windclan's deputy. Struggling to her feet she gently bent down and grabbed the kit, whose squealing had gently died off. She didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.
"Come on! Were going back to the camp!"
Deadfoot's voice was raspy and dry, for no cat had spoken nearly a word for a moon. The effort to yell orders to his clanmates was obviously taking its toll on him, for he soon gave up speaking and simply made his way through the throng of cats, helping them to their paws and pushing them in the general direction of home.
The small she-cat shakily took a step forward, straining her eyes as she tried to discern what exactly was happening. It was almost pitch black, the twinkling stars going unnoticed. The feline slowly made her way to the sounds of other cats, the small bundle of fur swaying to and fro from her muzzle. The flame in her begain to kindle, and she felt herself brighten slightly
A sudden flash of orange in front of her nearly caused her to lose her footing. She quickly laid her kit onto the ground, and opened her mouth for a sharp comment to the cat that had nearly ran her over. Before she could utter a word the cat was back in front of her, seemingly as if he had never left.
"Are you okay? I didn't mean to startle you."
As she met his eyes she could feel the breathe inside of her slowly dissipate away. They were a glittering bright green, full of an actual caring that she had never truly seen before. She moved her mouth to speak, but she couldn't think of anything to say to the tom.
After a few long moments the tom sped off towards the shapes of shifting cats, casting one worried glance back, sending shivers down the tortoiseshell's spine. She took a swift step forwards, her front paw grazing against her forgotten kit. Blinking slowly, she bent her down and gently scooped up the ginger and white kit with a bit more of her normal tenderness. Maybe the journey home wouldn't be that bad.
Fireheart. That was his name, and he was a Thunderclan cat sent on a mission to return Windclan. Another cat was with him, but she paid no notice. She had kept her eyes solely on him since they had begun their trek home. He seemed like a Starclan cat among mortals, the way his muscles rippled and his pelt seemed to glow even without the moon shining. Perhaps she had been among cats that looked more dead than alive too long, but she didn't think that she had ever seen a tom that looked so…beautiful.
She suddenly felt back leg strike something hard, probably a rock, and she was soon in the air. Instinct took over, and she flipped mid-air so that her back faced the ground. She landed with a loud woosh her kit landing safely on her chest.
Under normal circumstances it would have appeared comical, but no cat would dare even break a smile. As she laid still, gasping for breath and gazing at the stars, ginger clouded her vision.
"Would you like it if I carried him for a while?"
The tom spoke simple words, and usually she would have snapped if someone had asked to take her kit from her. But he wasn't just anyone; he was the savior of Windclan, and of her. Careful to avoid his gaze, she gently stretched her neck up and gave him her love, her life. Her heart beat rapidly, and she could feel her chest flame with a tingling sensation.
His muzzle brushed hers, and she had to unsheathe her claws from wriggling in pleasure; his fur was like silk, and it seemed as if its very touch had lifted her spirits. She quickly got to her feet, giving her chest fur a few licks in an attempt to cool the burning inside it. It didn't affect her appearance much, but she could feel a large flame within her, sending warmth to the tip of her tail..
The tom gave her one more glance over to ensure her safety, and gently set the kit down. She met his eyes, and he spoke in a voice barely more than a whisper. She wondered if he spoke like that on purpose, in an effort to get her heart beating faster. To make the flame grow larger.
"What's your name?"
"Morningflower."
A few moons later
Morningflower watched Gorsepaw play with one of the other apprentices, rolling and tumbling to the ground. She heaved a sigh; she couldn't stop thinking of the flame colored warrior. Gorsepaw had been made an apprentice yesterday, and she had made up her mind that she would tell him about Fireheart and all that the tom had done for her. She liked to think that Gorsepaw even looked like him a little, his ginger splotches almost as vibrant as the object of her affection.
He could help her remind herself of Fireheart every time she saw him. Maybe one day she would even be able to let Gorsepaw meet him.
But until then, Gorsepaw would be her only reminder of the fire that had burned in her chest when she let him carry her kit.
Her small flame.