"Red."
Stick whispered her name again as he paced around his dank den, vainly trying to soothe his shot nerves. His daughter, Red, had disappeared suddenly after the battle with Dodge, his long-term enemy, over her original kidnapping by her so called mate, Harley. He had wooed her moons before, twisted her in his fantasies of love. He had found her again in the midst of the battle, and fought for her, and she had disappeared again, but, mysteriously, without her betrothed. SkyClan had helped him then, and there had been no clear winner since the announcement of her disappearance. SkyClan had come and passed again, and their visit reminded him of his daughter - she'd been gone for something like a couple moons now, but he couldn't tell. He barely had sense of time anymore. Finding his daughter was his first priority now.
"Shorty!" He called to the brown tom, sticking his head out of the suffocating den. "Lead out another lookout patrol. Take Rose, Lily, and Cora." He looked anxiously at his old friend as he gave his command, slinking back in the den to pace more.
Shorty drew in a deep breath and sighed as he poked his head in the den, in half annoyance and half sympathy, as if he'd gone through these motions many times before. "Stick." He murmured cautiously. "Red is dead."
"No!" His spine fur shot up, and he snarled, "She can't be dead! She's disappeared before, and she was safe then! I know she's a rat-brain every now and then, but she is my daughter and isn't daft enough to get herself killed! Who told you this? I'll have their pelt lining my nest!" A growl rose in his chest. He suddenly clambered into his own nest, aware of sudden drowsiness drenching his fur. Shorty dipped his head as he backed out of the den and called out to the cats Stick had wanted him to take.
Sleep didn't come easily. He shifted uncomfortably in his nest that was lined with fresh down, twisting his head this way and that, searching for a clue maybe Red had left him about her disappearance. He knew that he must find her, if it took until his last breath.
He must.
He murmured into his nest, making the feathers tickle his nose. "It's okay, Red. Don't be afraid. Papa's coming. I'm going to find you. I promise." His heart thudded in his chest.
Stick kept repeating these words until sleep finally came, pretending he could still smell Red amongst the feathers.
The warm green-leaf sky shone down on the camp as Stick returned from the routine hunting party. His, Cora's, and Coal's jaws lined with mice and rats. the whole gang would eat to their heart's content today. Prey was running like water throught the streets, and they took that their full advantage. Perfect for exploring. Stick felt the familiar flutter of anxiety for Red - she was barely two moons old, and she was a rather adventurous kit. But he knew she was with Lily, the only queen, mother to Percy, and Lily's sister Rose, who had the keenest eye in the gang.
He quickly dropped the fresh kill in a pile and headed toward the den where his daughter was contained. He dipped his head in, and, sure enough, there she was, curled up in a cute bundle of fur near Lily's stomach. Lily purred as he approached. "Stick, she's the sweetest thing I've ever set eyes on." Her eyes rounded with affection as she held her gaze on the kit. "I'm glad I get to bring her up."
Stick stiffened. "Yes, Lily, and I'm happy you have enough milk and love for her." He was sincere, Red would have died by now if there was no queen to suckle her. That thought made him shudder. But he couldn't help but wish it was Velvet suckling her kit, rather than Lily. He shook the thought away. That was part of his past, something he couldn't go back to, no matter how much he wanted it to be a reality.
Lily sensed his distress. Ever sense she kitted, she always sensed others' emotions. "Stick, I know you're grateful. But I also know you miss Velvet." Stick's tail drooped, there was no point in trying to hide from this she-cat. "I completely understand. But soon, you must stop thinking about her. You have Red to think about now. Your daughter needs you more than ever." She reached up and lapped him on the check, and he suddenly felt like a kit being comforted.
Stick sighed; he knew she was absolutely correct. He had no idea where all this wisdom had come from either, it was only yesterday, it seemed, that she was wriggling in her late mother's bosom. Stick had been her and Rose's adopted father all those moons ago, and he had been amused that they would return the favor with his precious daughter. "Thank you, Lily. You know, even though we're not blood kin, I'm so proud of you both. You've grown to be two fine she-cats. Feather would be very proud of you both."
Rose padded to Stick and purred as she nuzzled his muzzle. "Oh, Stick, you were always an old dramatic!" Amusement glittered in her slanting blue eyes. She flicked her tail on his nose. "I've really waited for the right moment to thank you for raising us. Our father was never half the tom you are." The littermate's father, Cricket, had ditched Feather when he realized she was expecting, leaving her starving with the two kits she was swollen with. Gorge, the old gang leader, had taken her in upon looking at her skeleton of a body. "Feather always told me as a kit that when you feel bad, the best way to move on was to think happy thoughts and the future." Her gaze flickered towards Red, still curled up, fast asleep. "You have both right in front of you, right here. Take advantage of the opportunity now." Lily nodded solemnly in agreement, green eyes reflecting Rose's words.
Stick stared at Red, and suddenly felt any trace of sadness leave him in that moment. Of course. He had been selfish. He had to raise this kit in his prime, for her and himself. And Velvet. Stick felt all the hostility for her drain out as well. He knew that he would do it for the she-cat he still loved.
He had to.
He dipped his head. "Thank you, both of you." He sniffed. "When did you grow up?"
Rose flicked him again. "Don't get mushy now! We know you love us without it!" She added, only half-joking. "What did we just go over about being strong for Red?"
As if on command, Red stirred from her sleep and fumbled to her paws. She looked around, dazed, until she caught Stick's eye. She gave a little jump and squealed as she raced for her father's paws. His heart swelled.
"Papa Stick! Let's go play!"
"Of course, dearest," he replied, and she shot out of the den. He shot the two she-cats a knowing look before he mouthed a warm thank you.
Stick padded out into the sunlight.
He woke with a jolt.
Stick was back in his den, curled in a tight ball. For the first time in moons, he felt well rested. Guilt pricked him where the shock had eased in his chest. I should be finding Red!
"Red." He mewed determinedly. That's always how he started his waking moments, to remind him of his duty. Standing up, he shook the remnants of sleep from his pelt and slid out of the den as the memories of his dream came back. Stick had never forgotten that moment when he had finally moved on from Velvet and focused his thoughts on Red. He was still thankful for his two almost-daughters every day.
He went to his normal perch, where he kept his daily watch for Red. He could see everything for many, many fox-lengths away. If Red came within range, he'd be the first to spot her.
He scanned the area slowly. He could see the Twoleg dens roll on the horizon like hills on the moorland, and he saw birds fly by, too small to make out clearly. He let his gaze slide to a certain Twoleg he always reminded him of Red. The only brick-red top to the den, it stood out among all the other gray or white tops. Velvet's den. He shuddered, mind flooding with memories of all he and Velvet had done; the moments shared with her were still fresh in his heart. The one he remembered the most, though, was the night she had forsaken him.
And when he first met Red. He let his mind flood back through that fateful day...
It was a full moon. Starlight bathed the Twoleg place, converting the dens' usual colors to a subdued silver-gray. Not able to recognize anything by sight, he parted his jaws and searched for his mate's scent instead. She had been expecting his kits, and he was growing anxious. He hurried down the Thunderpath, straining his eyes for anything familiar. Suddenly, her milky scent wafted down towards him and wrapped itself around his senses. Tantalized, he floated towards her direction. He finally made his way to Velvet's den, and looked up expectantly. Suddenly, her head appeared in the - what did she call it? Yes, a window- but as soon as she locked his gaze, she vanished. Before he could call out, she burst out of the flap the Twolegs used to let her out.
For a moment, he let himself be taken by her beauty. Her silver pelt shone luminously in the moonlight, and stars seemed to weave in and out of her paws. Her brilliant green gaze accented her beauteous form, and he felt himself shiver and found himself thanking his lucky stars she'd chosen him. He wrenched his gaze from her face and let it fall, until he spotted a dark ginger ball of sleek fur that was... mewling.
He looked in bewilderment at the scrap of fur he saw at her chest. What was that? It suddenly hit him what that was. His eyes brightened as he padded towards his mate.
'Velvet! You kitted! It's beautiful!' He rubbed his cheek against his mate's. It was true. The kit had the sleek fur of her mother, with the a darker color of Stick's fur. It wriggled helplessly in protest. She carefully set the kit down.
'Yes, she is.' Her eyes rounded with affection towards the kit. 'I've named her Red. I actually kitted as soon as you left last time.' she added guiltily.
It was his turn for his eyes to go round. 'What? Why didn't you call for me?' His spine fur prickled. He hadn't visited for a moon.
'You were already out of sight, and my Twolegs would have beaten you off. I didn't want you or my kits to have been hurt.' She flickered her gaze towards the scrap of ginger fur. 'Red, meet your father, Stick.' She purred warmly.
Red stopped mewling and searched the night through narrowed eyes until she locked her gaze with her father's. 'Stick?' She squeaked. 'Velvet told me stories about you. Is it true that you're my father?' She tipped her head to the side.
At once, when she met his eyes with her amber gaze, he instantly felt nothing but warmth, protectiveness, and fierce devotion and love towards his daughter spread to his tail tip. His eyes impossibly rounded even more. 'Yes, Red,' he purred thickly, ducking down so he could be level with her. 'I am Stick, your father. And I love you.' Again, it was true. She was all he ever dreamed for and better. She was half her mother and half her father, with sleek pelt and dark ginger pelt, with blazing amber eyes that came from Stick's grandparents that contained the soft calculating glance of her mother. It didn't matter what she looked like to him, of course - he was just happy he had a kit. He closed his eyes gently as she mewled in delight, tugging at his shredded ear with her sharp, prickly teeth. His heart swelled.
'Oh, Velvet,' he whispered thickly, 'I've never been so happy in my life.' Once again, it was true, it was like a void he'd never felt before had been filled with the joy of being a father. He opened his eyes to blink at her and was surprised that his eyes were filling with moisture.
She looked back, her eyes filling with her own tears. 'Me too.' Her voice cracked. The kit yawned and pressed herself against her mother, hungry. Instinctively, she pulled her closer with her tail as she began to suckle. She pressed her head into his shoulder. She laid down next to him, and he followed suit, curling himself around the new family. With each passing blink, he found it harder for him to hold back the water in his eyes, no matter how hard he blinked it away, until he couldn't bear it any longer. With a sniff, he let his head press against his mate's head and let the tears fall. The salty water felt odd going down his cheeks, and the sobs were even more queer; he'd never felt this way before. He always knew he'd love his kits and mate, but Stick never thought it would feel like this. He couldn't put a claw on the feeling, but it felt good. He even had the best place for them; he and Velvet and Red would live happily in Stick's gang.
It was perfect.
Stick rasped his tongue over Velvet's ear as the tears eventually came to a halt. Between laps, he managed to purr, 'I love you, Velvet.' He pulled the sleepy kit from her mother's belly, who was done feeding.
Velvet fixed her green eyes with her green ones, though this time, it wasn't of joy or happiness, but of grief, and Stick felt his eyes widen. 'Stick, I...' She trailed off, turning her head away, staring at nothing in particular.
'What is, dear? You can tell me.' He purred against her chest comfortingly despite his own worry, and felt the beating of her heart.
She leaned in and whispered in his ear, 'We had another kit. A tom-kit. He... oh, Stick!' she finished with a wail.
'Shh, my love, you'll wake up our precious.' Though his voice was level, he felt panic flaring in his own chest. 'What happened?'
'He died!' She was shaking now, sending silver waves down her body. 'He fell asleep, and he wouldn't wake up or feed! He was so cold!' She shuddered in grief.
He felt his vision grow black for a second, then return. 'Oh, Velvet.' His mew was tight with grief. 'What was his name?'
She sniffed. 'I named him Leaf, because he had looked so much like you with your frame, but with my colors, and your eyes.' She shivered.
Stick closed his eyes. He could imagine him now, as perfect as his sister. 'Oh, Velvet.'
They stayed like that for some time.
Finally, Velvet tottered upwards. 'I better go home,' she mewed, and she began to hobble back to her den.
'Wait!' He called. He looked at their kit. 'What about Red? What about you? We should go back to my gang. I'll introduce you. They won't lay a claw on you or Red.'
Velvet stopped where she was, and her tail drooped, as if holding it up had been a great burden. 'I'm leaving her... with you, Stick. I cannot leave my Twolegs. I can't leave my life for you. Or my kit. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. But I know I can't. Not after Leaf.' Terror and grief cracked in her mew, as if astounded by her own words. 'Good-bye, Stick. Goodbye, Red.' Stonily, she padded back towards the Twoleg place.
Stick's mouth had dropped open, her words stung harder than if she had just torn his actual heart out. His pelt had bristled. An ominous red haze interrupted his vision. He couldn't tell what it was, but it ate at him like a fox picks at crow-food.
'Fox-hearted traitor! I knew it! You were always weak! But I didn't know you were cruel! This kit deserves two parents! A mother! She needs you - no, she deserves some cat who loves her! You-'
She whirled around, ears flattened. 'Don't make this harder than it has to be, Stick. I'd be a useless mother. I can't be any cat after Leaf.'
'The death of our kit shouldn't change your loyalty to me and our daughter! In fact, It should strengthen our bond as a family! Please don't go,' he added, suddenly not feeling very brave. 'I need you.'
'No, your kit needs you. I have to go. Please forgive me.'
He blinked at her, a look of disgust crossing his face. 'My kit? She's not even yours anymore? Never!' He spat. 'If I ever see you again, I will personally rip your fur off, Twolegs or none! Coward!'
'It's not cowardly to accept your faults and act upon it!' She countered, hurt throbbing in her meow. 'Next time I see you, I'll rip your fur off if the Twolegs don't do it first!'
'I hate you!'
She didn't respond. Instead, she turned around, and headed down towards the Twoleg den. Just before she went in that awful flap, she turned around, eyes brimming with tears. 'I love you.' Her voice cracked. 'I'm sorry. I would be awful, I couldn't save Leaf; I would just hurt your daughter. You'd be more mad at me if I hurt her.' She dipped her head. Velvet turned and disappeared under the flap.
It was dawn by the time the spat was over. Miraculously, Red was still asleep at his paws. Stick's throat was ripped sore. An early morning drizzle promised a heavy rainstorm later that day. He cast one final glare at the Twoleg den, and picked Red up, who squeaked in alarm. 'Hungry!' She wailed. 'Where's Velvet?'
Scruff in his jaws, he couldn't answer. He led his only family, heartbroken, into the distance. Away from Twoleg place.
Away from Velvet, his former mate. His betrayer. Away from all of his dreams of being a family.
Red was all he had left.
Stick was yanked away from his shadowed past by a patter of steps that came up from behind, and a soft grunt as light paws touched the ledge he was on.
"Cora," he meowed without turning. He memorized all the sounds his gang made by themselves, and it had definitely saved him a gray hair or two in the past.
"Hello, Stick." Cora licked her chest fur self-consciously. "You look like you might use some company, and I haven't spoken with you for too long."
Turning around, he saw the sunlight glitter in her pelt, and tried not to squint. He beckoned her with his tail and made room for her to sit. "Okay, Cora, what's really the problem?"
Cora twitched her ear irritably. "I could never hide from you, could I?" She sighed and leaned in to him. "Stick, I know this is going to sound like a heap of rat-dung, but I'm scared for you. You've been acting off ever since Red's... disappearance."
Stick huffed impatiently and kneaded his claws into the wood below him. "Why does every cat think she's dead?" he mewed crossly. "There was never a body found. No body, no death." He looked at Cora anxiously, who returned it uneasily. "Oh, no, Cora, don't tell me that you're in on this, too? She can't be dead, Cora. Can't be..." he trailed off and gazed sightlessly at the sun.
"See? This is exactly what I was talking about!" she hissed, snapping Stick back to reality. "You've been at this moping act for a moon in half since Red's death, and you still can't accept it!" She pulled away sharply, making Stick stagger. "This gang needs a leader, Stick, and you're not playing the part."
A familiar red haze hung itself over his vision like the night. "Red... isn't... dead!" He threw all he had in that last word, and he was dimly aware of the wood meeting his face, and the rasp of a tongue over his ear, and what sounded like Shorty hobbling up the perch.
Stick heard a confused mumbling, and his vision sharpened slowly, revealing Cora and Shorty meowing anxiously to each other. "Where's Red?" He slurred, making Shorty sigh and turn to him.
"Come on, let's get up," he meowed gruffly, placing himself under Stick and hoisting him up. Cora got the idea, and supported his other side, steadying the gang leader.
"How are your kits?" Stick mewed dreamily, momentarily forgetting the issue. Cora had kitted Shorty's kits two moons ago, and they always milled and tussled about the camp, tripping every cat from time to time.
Cora purred loudly, obviously relieved at changing the subject. "They're wonderful," she drawled affectionately. "Just tiny little balls of fur and energy!" She shot Shorty from the other side a smile, and Shorty grinned back, chest puffed out proudly. "They will be great attributes to the gang," he concluded primly. "They will fight like no other!"
Stick felt his heart thud dangerously once against his chest, and he felt like the world was ending, pain everywhere -
The notion stopped as soon as it began, and he had to pant to catch his breath. Cora and Shorty exchanged a glance, then pressed against him as if to carry him.
"No!" he snapped. "Put me down - I have to look for Red."
"She's not there, Stick," Shorty grunted as he lifted him up. "I asked SkyClan about it - remember that they passed by? - Red wasn't at Harley's camp."
"Harley's camp?" Stick bristled at the mention of that tom, the one who'd taken Red away from him. "It's Dodge's camp, last time I checked." He spat the name, that stupid, arrogant, prey stealing, territory mongering -
"Dodge is dead."
The response sent chills down Stick's spine. "Dead?" He replied, shocked. "What - how -"
"SkyClan killed him," Cora explained rapidly. "Harley is now leader of the group." Something in her voice told Stick she'd already told him this, more than once.
"Where is SkyClan?" he asked hopefully as they set him down in his nest - maybe they could help him find Red!
"They left at least two moons ago," Shorty responded shortly. "One of their younger cats killed him, and they took off after Harley ordered me and them off their land."
"Wait," Stick started as the cats set him down. "You mean to tell me that you went over to their territory?" He snapped irritably. "Why did-"
"You told him to look for Red," Cora came to her mate's defense. "So he went. And before you ask again, yes, Harley did issue and order to one of our group."
Stick felt his rage peak. "That stupid, daughter-stealing fox-heart!" he snarled, flexing his claws in the moss. "Why can't he keep his own nose out of my business? He needs to - "
"He hasn't done anything to provoke us, and he said he'd respect boundaries," Shorty pointed out quickly. "So far, he's kept that promise," he repeated, as if expecting Stick to outburst.
Stick did just that, to the short tom's dismay. "And you believe that load if rotten rat?" He asked distastefully, flicking his tail indignantly as the two cats set him down in his nest. "I'm going to look for him right now!"
Cora and Shorty exchanged worried glances. "Are you sure?" Cora asked. "You haven't eaten, and - "
"I'm fine!" Did every cat think he was worthless? "I'm going, and no one can stop me."
"Stick, this isn't wise," Shorty put in. "They'll see this as an all out war - "
"With one cat demanding to talk to their leader?" He bristled. "How mouse-brained are you?"
"Not one cat, Stick. I'm going, too." He puffed out his chest, as if daring Stick to challenge him.
Stick couldn't help but hesitate at Shorty's dominant tone - but he soon came back at him.
"Why would you - "
"Stick." It was obvious that Shorty was struggling to contain his temper. "Let's be honest - when you're angry, you do stupid things. Me being there will help you out - if you rage, I can hold you back."
Stick bristled indignantly. How dare he? But the younger tom had made sense, and he knew that he was right. "Come on then," he mewed gruffly, flicking his tail for him to follow. Shorty said a quick good-bye to Cora.
"Does he not remember anything?" she mewed, but Stick didn't hear her. Shorty shook his head. "He's been getting worse - not accepting her death when she died was dangerous - now he's insane." Shorty trotted to catch up with Stick.
"So, what's all this about, may I ask?" Shorty inquired curiously as he padded alongside him.
"I'm going to get my daughter, one way or another," Stick meowed tersely, not looking over to him as Shorty had done.
Shorty sighed sadly, but kept his pace and didn't attempt to persuade him to go back to camp.
Stick, as he was walking, subconsciously turned on auto-mode and sunk into the depths of his mind. Usually, when he went in this trance-like state he thought of Red, and all the memories he'd shared with her, the good, the bad, and the ugly. This time, it was the bad memories that came to his mind. It was one of their worse arguments before she disappeared for the first time.
"Don't you trust me? I'm not a kit anymore! Don't you think I can look after myself?" Red meowed, pelt prickling indignantly.
"Wait! I didn't mean..." Stick trailed off, unable to complete his sentence; he knew that's exactly what he meant by what he'd said before.
"I know exactly what you mean," she snapped, turning away with a whisk of her tail.
"No, you don't! I'm trying to help you!" Stick called out angrily. Why couldn't she see that he was only trying to keep her from harm's way?
"I don't need help," she retorted. "I'm not stupid; I know how to stay away from Dodge. And if I do run into him or his cats, I can fight as well as the rest of you. Won't you see that?" Her eyes glittered with annoyance.
Stick felt the fight drain out of him all at once. "I do see it, but..." He took a shuddering breath in. "Everything would be easier if Velvet was still here."
Red bristled. "Don't you dare blame my mother!" She snarled suddenly. "I know what's wrong. You wish I'd never been born! I'm obviously too much of a burden for you." With that, she bounded away down the clearing.
Stick shook his head warily, as if to dispel the heart-aching memory. That had been his last words to his daughter while she was in his camp, before she'd left for his. As they approached Dodge's - Harley's camp, he straightened up and puffed out his chest as he walked. As they came around a bend, they were greeted by a pair of cats - one an orange tabby and the other all brown. As they spotted the small patrol, their pelts bushed out, making them look more than their size.
"What do you want?" The brown tom growled, unsheathing his claws. "You're not welcome here."
Stick blinked. He'd never seen this tom or the tabby next to him before. "I'm here for my daughter, whom your leaded had taken prisoner!" he spat, fur starting to bristle. "Give her to me! You-"
"Stick would like to request to speak with your leader," Shorty interrupted evenly, smoothing Stick's fur down with his tail as he stepped in front of him. "Would you take us to Harley, please?" Stick snorted contemptuously at how calm he seemed to be when denmate was in trouble, not to mention the fact that she was the leader's daughter. Stick supposed that he didn't know what fear of losing his kit felt like yet'; he'd learn soon enough, he thought darkly.
The tabby behind the brown tom spoke up. "Harley doesn't speak to anyone unless it's to your leader, about something official," she informed the two, flitting her gaze in between each one of the cats in front of her. "This doesn't seem to be important enough to - "
"My daughter is in that camp! Give-"
"Stick is the leader of our cats," Shorty mewed carefully, ignoring the glare shot to him from Stick. "He requests to speak to your leader, Harley, over important matters regarding the location of a missing cat." He eyed the tabby gravely. His mew with edged with concern as he added, "It's important."
The tabby blinked and tilted her head, thoughtful for a moment. "Okay, but as long as your leader doesn't put any cat in danger," she told Shorty, flicking her tail in Stick's general direction. "One wrong move, and - "
"You can't be serious!" the brown tom cried. "We can't just take them into our camp. What about the kits?"
"Really, Gerald? Harry and Kestrel's kits? They aren't due for a moon," The tabby mewed sternly. "We take them." The brown tom moaned as Frankie whisked her tail around, beckoning the Stick and Shorty.
Stick padded alongside Shorty, unable to keep a few anxious growls from escaping his throat as they neared their destination. When they finally entered the decrepit Twoleg den they called camp, many pairs of eyes swiveled their direction, some immediately hostile, some more curious or friendly. Stick immediately searched the clearing for Harley among the rubble. He wasn't in sight, and Stick flicked his tail impatiently, Sticignoring the mixed signals being thrown at him and Shorty.
"He'll be in the back," the brown tom meowed curtly, as if he was as uncomfortable as any cat. "Won't be long."
Stick breathed out in anticipation as the brown tom led the way, feeling the gazes of each cat burn its way on his back, and he guessed that Shorty felt the same way, too. Swerving around old, long rotted Towleg pelts and soft rocks, Stick spotted Harley grooming himself on his lonesome, and it took Stick all of his willpower not to leap onto Harley and kill him that instant. There are no Clan cats to stop me now, he thought triumphantly; tonight, Harley died if Red wasn't in her father's camp where she belonged by moon-high.
"Harley!" Stick spat, feeling all of the pent up emotions after losing Red rise up. "Where's my daughter?"
Stiffening, the smoke-gray tom looked up from his grooming and fixed at hard glance toward Stick. "Why are you here?" he asked, voice neither friendly nor unfriendly. He shifted "Frankie? Report."
"We found them on the border, and this brown cat claims to be the leader," Frankie, the tabby she-cat, quickly explained. "He needed to talk to you, as I quote by his companion, 'matters regarding the location of a missing cat.'"
Harley eyed Frankie grouchily, but straightened himself up. "Dismissed. Both of you, Cocoa," he added when Cocoa, the brown tom, didn't budge. "If you're going to be a part of this group, you have to obey my orders." Cocoa huffed, but said no more, and departed them to be alone.
"What's this about?" Harley hissed. "Why are you on my land? We had an agreement."
"An agreement you've violated!" Stick hissed back, unflinching. "Where's Red? Where's my daughter? Where'd you put her? Where?" He swiveled his head to and fro, as if red would appear on command. "Where?"
Harley shot him an exasperated look. "What?" he asked as if surprised, shrugging angrily. "Red's dead. She has been for moons." His voice contained grief, as if it was an old wound that had been reopened.
Stick glowered holes into Harley's eyes. "She's not dead," he insisted. "Liar. Why does every cat think she's dead? All of my camp thinks she's dead, you think she's - wait," he interrupted himself, and epiphany dawning over him. "You're a liar, and you said she wasn't dead..." He turned slowly to Shorty. "Then you're a liar, too! So's every cat in camp!" He bristled, sliding out his claws. "Where's Red?" He repeated, looming threateningly over Shorty, who braced himself. "Why are you keeping her from me?" There was something old, ugly, and broken in his voice, and his heart thudded massively against his chest, sending him swooning, eyes blurring momentarily.
Harley's gaze flitted from the two toms before he spoke up. "What in the stars is going on?" he demanded, looking to Shorty, obviously having given up on Stick. "Shorty-"
"You shut up!" Stick roared, and before he could stop himself, he flew towards Harley in a blind rage, claws outstretched. Harley wasn't ready, and Stick plunged into something soft that sprayed blood all over him, sending pleasure down his spine, a cat, a -
Not Harley.
"Shorty!"
Stick felt dread hollow his belly, retracting his claws from his friend's neck. But Shorty lay still, blood pumping from his neck where Stick had punctured him. His gaze dragged from Harley, whose eyes were stretched wide in shock, and to Stick, who was mouthing things he couldn't hear himself. Finally, Shorty jerked spasmodically, and lay still, a final breath escaping his body as his eyes glazed over, leaving them lifeless and dull.
Stick stared down at his friend - his campmate - his denmate - practically his littermate. "No... no..." he whispered hoarsely, staring down at his paws. "No..."
Suddenly, he was in a different spot in Harley's camp. Stick was bristling in rage.
"What are you doing?" Red shrieked, standing over her father.
Without relaxing his grip on Dodge, Stick looked up; it took him a moment to focus on his daughter.
"Freeing you!" he snarled.
"But I'm not a prisoner!"
All around them the other cats stopped fighting, as if they recognized that this was the heart of the battle.
Stick and Dodge broke apart; Stick rose to his paws and faced his daughter, while Dodge sat up and started to lick his wounds, glaring resentfully at the cats who had attacked his camp.
"What's your problem?" Red challenged her father.
"These cats have done nothing but steal since they arrived," Stick spat back at her. "This was our home first! They have taken our prey, our dens, and now you!" Red opened her jaws to reply, but Harley padded up close to her side before she could speak.
"No cat stole Red," the gray-black tom growled. "Do you think so little of her? She came of her own accord."
"No," Red meowed, turning her head to gaze at Harley. "I came because of you - because I love you. No cat can make me leave."
Anger turned Stick's eyes into black pools. "This isn't love! You tricked her!" he roared as he sprang at Harley with claws outstretched.
Swift as a snake, Red threw herself in Stick's way.
His claws plunged deep into her throat; at once he tried to throw his weight back, but it was too late.
Red crumpled to the ground at his paws, blood welling from the wound he had opened up. Stick stared down in disbelief, at the blood on his own claws and the gashes in his daughter's throat. "No . . . no . . ." he whispered.
Stick snapped back to reality, dazed. Harley was there now, bristling in rage. "You killed him!" He snapped. "Your own campmate! What kind of cat are you? First you kill your own daughter, and know this?" He kicked Shorty's corpse distastefully.
Stick hardly registered the insult to injury on Shorty's body, but was lost in a haze of torment. Every fragment of the past zeroed in on him, an icy thorn piercing his heart.. "I killed her," he said, as if becoming increasingly clearer. "I killed Red. I killed her. I killed my daughter! Red!" Panic flooded him, and he turned to run, but he collapsed, legs giving out from beneath him.
He squirmed to get back up, but an unknown weight pushed him down. Flipping around, he saw Harley on top of him, his claws flying in every direction. Fighting terror, barely winning by a small margin, Stick attempted to fight back, but Harely was both stronger and more prepared this time, his claw sunk and dragged through his skin, blood welled everywhere, pain, agony -
His heart violently shook.
Letting out a screech of pain, Stick finally managed to flip Harley off, who landed on a soft pair of Twoleg pelts with an oomph. Stick pulled himself to his paws, but fell again, aware of pain in his stomach. Curling in on himself, he realized, with a jolt, that Harley had split his stomach, from the bottom of his diaphragm to the end of his flank, a jagged, diagonal slash that poured out blood.
He was dimly aware of some cat rushing to his aid. "Don't," snapped Harley, who had recovered to his paws. "He'll just cause more damage. He's a lost cause."
But Stick hardly heard the gang boss's voice, nor registered the other cat hesitate or stalk angrily away, but was only sharply aware of something else.
A scent; cat scent. Floral, but dirty, as if the cat had been hard working. Not the blood he should be smelling.
It was hard to place, and it wreathed around his nostrils, but he couldn't yet identify the scent. He was aware of a sharp pang on his side - Harley probably had kicked him, or bit him, it didn't matter - he was too focused on the scent. Suddenly, to his horror, he saw his blood pooling around him fade, and dark spots dance at the edge of his blurred vision.
Through the haze, however, he could only smell that scent, that wonderful, beautiful scent. With a pang he realized that he'd smelled this scent before - what did it go to?
The scent faded away, and his brain floated to the pain that was wracking his body back and forth, but he took note that the pain had eased.
I'm dying.
The thought struck him in multiple ways - in a way, he was horrified, what about the cats back at camp? - but on the other paw, it was a relief; he could be with Red again. his precious daughter whom he loved so much. But what if she hated him still? The thought made his body shudder amidst the pain, and he stuggled to live on, but he knew it was useless. Stick was dying.
As he accepted this, without much struggle, his vision faded to almost nothing, and, clinging on to the last moments of his life, the scent came back, stronger than before, and it nagged in the back of his head; what was it?
A pair of lights appeared in his darkening vision, contrasting the deep. Squinting his eyes - as little good as that did - he saw that they weren't light at all, but rather eyes.
Six eyes now; two green, two yellow, and...
Two amber. Achingly familiar amber eyes. The scent he'd been smelling connected with the cat's eyes, and it all hit him like a monster charging down the Thunderpath. His heart shook again, and he felt it give out.
As his body convulsed for the last time, and he let out a shuddering, moist breath before his eyes sickeningly fluttered closed.
On the breath, a single, tangible syllable.
"Red."