Haze
One Thousand Heartbeats — 2
to Coqui's Song
and
WarriorCat99
The grey she-cat padded across the clearing, the intoxicating scent of catmint still wafting around her, having picked the fresh silvery-green leaves, careful to leave the younger shoots unharmed. Leafbare would be coming soon, and, like every leafbare, she could sense that there would be an outbreak of greencough; at the very least, whitecough.
She stopped by the fresh-kill pile, numbly reaching down and plucking a thrush from the pile, distaste curling on her muzzle as the feathers tickled the soft fur on her face. She retreated into the cool darkness of the medicine den, breathing in the calming scent of herbs, a scent that she loved, a scent that told her what to do. If she couldn't remember a herb, she'd close her eyes, and, very briefly, a memory would flash before her eyes — Yellowfang, brilliant yellow eyes ablaze, assessing her on how well she knew the herbs.
Then, there were the other times when she'd single out a scent and name it, playing a solitary game with herself. Every day, the den was flooded with cats — kits, queens, elders, warriors, apprentices — and she'd talk to them, and chat to them, but that was never enough. Whenever she remembered having that company, as a kit, as an apprentice, a smile would work its way onto her face.
Brackenkit, Brightkit and Thornkit were her constant source of company in the nursery, as well as her mother, Frostfur. When she became an apprentice, there was Fireheart, and there were her brothers and sister, becoming warriors with her. Then she broke her leg, and she became the medicine cat apprentice — and then, there was Yellowfang.
But then the mentor she knew and loved died, putting another's life before hers. And she was left alone in this world; and though most would not call her alone, they didn't know the meaning.
Did any warrior, any apprentice, any elder, know what it meant to go without another warrior, another elder, another apprentice by their side? If an elder didn't have another elder, there were the senior warriors. If an apprentice didn't have another apprentice, they had their mentor. A warrior was never alone — there was always another warrior to keep them company.
The life of a medicine cat was different; once your mentor was gone, you wished for an apprentice. And if that didn't come, then you would withdraw slightly from the world, alone and separated by an invisible boundary, until the time came.
"Cinderpelt?"
The grey she-cat jumped, her blue eyes flickering to a sandy ginger she-cat with light green eyes, airy, soft, and ever-so-slightly filled with concern. She smiled, fleetingly, and walked over to join the medicine cat, uninvited and silently not wanted — yet Cinderpelt was the medicine cat, and she could never reject the company of anyone. Her job was to nurture the Clan.
"What's wrong, Sandstorm?" the grey cat managed to spit out, without letting a note of hostility invade her tone.
"Oh, um..." the other she-cat glanced at her paws, "I just wanted to talk."
Frowning in concern, Cinderpelt took a bite from her thrush and pushed it aside, patting the ground next to her as an indication for the warrior to sit down. The ginger she-cat collapsed gratefully onto the smooth ground, sending a puff of sand into the air. Her eyes flickered to and fro, looking out at the Camp before her.
Following the warrior's gaze, the medicine cat realised for what seemed to be the first time that from here, all of the Camp was visible; from the kits tussling by the nursery, to the Highrock, where elders were gathering to gossip. The Camp was fairly peaceful today — although what Tigerclaw was plotting, hidden away somewhere in a world of rogues, she could only guess.
It seemed ironic, really, that the Camp be so peaceful when outside, the forest was in turmoil. At the Gathering only days ago, she'd heard fresh gossip spilling from the mouths of warriors and elders alike; dark tales, made up of rumours and superstitions, lies and truth. No-one knew which from which — and so they guessed, indirectly creating new rumours.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Cinderpelt broke the silence.
"I don't think it's much, and I really don't think this is your area, but I really need guidance in...love," Sandstorm finished weakly, flushing beneath her ginger fur and not daring to look at the medicine cat.
Cinderpelt's breath caught in her throat as she noticed the sandy she-cat's eyes trailing after a certain ginger tom. Fireheart. The brave, strong, loyal cat she loved. Her Fireheart.
"And...?" she managed to choke out.
"He sees me as a friend, and only that," Sandstorm whispered, her voice barely audible. "He doesn't even give me a sideways glance in...that way. And I don't want that to be the way he always sees me."
Anger stirred in Cinderpelt's chest, her heartbeat accelerating. How can I give another cat advice on how to become the mate of the cat that I love? she wondered. Then, it struck her: destroy Sandstorm's chances of ever capturing Fireheart's attention. She would have to do it subtly; but that was the easy part, and the grey she-cat knew exactly how.
"Are you sure that your emotions aren't confused?" Cinderpelt mused. "Maybe this is just a crush — maybe this is something that you'll get over eventually."
"No!" Sandstorm exclaimed vehemently, causing the medicine cat to flinch. "No," she repeated, more quietly this time. "He's blind to me, Cinderpelt. All he sees in me is a friend, as if there's a haze over his eyes, a mist, a fog, I don't know, just something! I need that haze to be cleared, otherwise...someone else might come along."
And that someone else would be me, Cinderpelt swore silently. There was no chance that this she-cat would steal her chance of being happy away from her. I may be a medicine cat, but I never wanted to be a medicine cat. If I break my oath...she paused, not sure whether to add the rest...so be it. At least I'll be happy, at least I'll be able to feel like I'm not crippled, maybe even if it were just for a moment.
"Sandstorm," she took a deep breath, "as your medicine cat, I advise you the best I can. I think you should step out of the past, and move on; there is another tom that yearns for your attention, and you're blind to him. Don't you see? Haven't you seen how Dustpelt looks at you?"
The warrior stared at her in amazement, pale eyes widening.
"Then I would be living in the past," she insisted. "I used to love Dustpelt, I really did, and then Fireheart came...I hated him at first, but then I realised that it wasn't hate, it was love. I want him to see it, but I just don't know how to show it."
Cinderpelt stiffened momentarily, her blue eyes clothing, as if in thought. Really, she was calming the storm that raged in her heart and her mind, stopping the string of insults before they poured out of her mouth in an unstoppable and unquenchable torrent of words.
But Sandstorm did have a point — Fireheart was oblivious to everything that was happening around him. He couldn't see how devoted she was to him, how much she yearned to be the she-cat he fell in love with, how much she was in love with him. There was something that hovered between him and she-cats, as if put there by StarClan's doing, to stop him seeing things clearly.
She rose to her paws abruptly, her thrush now lying forgotten, her blue eyes fixing upon her rival. She forced a smile onto her face, singling out the soothing scent of thyme to calm herself.
"That is all the counsel I have to offer," she meowed to the warrior, "as you said, it's not really my area."
With that, she limped out of the den, barely registering Sandstorm's words of thanks as she stalked unevenly across the clearing, only stopping when a ginger tom blocked her path.
"Fireheart..." she breathed, and hastily dipped her head.
"I need to talk to you," he meowed, giving her a strange sense of déjà vu, "it's about Sandstorm."
Her blue eyes widened and she searched desperately in her mind for the scent of chervil, trying to stop her claws from unsheathing and raking the dirt in her anger and frustration. He was so, so, so unbelievably blind. How could he not see that she loved him so devotedly, with all her heart? In her mind, she heard Sandstorm's words — as if there's a haze over his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Cinderpelt replied bluntly, trying to stop the tears from falling. "I can't help you."
And as she walked away from Camp, tears making tracks down her face, she wondered why the tom she idolised had such a haze over his eyes whenever it came to love.
Author's Note: It's been a long time since I've written anything...a bad case of Writer's Block, I'm afraid. Then, I got inspired (don't ask me how, because I have no idea) and this one-shot just seemed to flow so easily. Especially the latter part. I'm still finding it hard to write The Abyss, but hopefully I'll break that barrier soon and write a new chapter — I always find starting afresh helps me write better.
Well, yeah, that's it. I hope you liked it. I don't mind Cinder/Fire, but I got two requests for it, so that's why I wrote it. I always liked Sandstorm and hated Firestar, so I thought she deserved someone better, but...oh well. Okay, so the next one-shot I'm writing I'm using the prompt Mirror, a request submitted by Automnfall. I think I have an idea for it, but it's still being developed. So, send in your phrases, pairing requests, words, whatever, to give me inspiration! Oh, and, I dedicate the chapter to the people that gave me the idea...this time, it was a combined one, because two people wanted the pairing.
Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers — Coqui's Song, Automnfall, WarriorCat99, R.L. Sisters & Jasmine Wanderer
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