Chapter 6: Water and Wind
I hissed a string of insults, ill wishes, and swearwords at Scamper, positively fuming. Here he was, keeping us captive! Me! The best friend he'd ever had in his sorry little life! Ridge, Ridge, Ridge, it was all his fault, the insert several swears here-ing swearword! Those alley cats are only good for one thing—teaching me all these curses.
"Good, Scamper, very good," mewed Ridge smoothly. "Your loyalties are admirable."
Scamper smiled at him with his whole heart behind it. I felt hatred like fire burning inside me. What had he done to Storm? What was he doing? Why was he so committed to Ridge's view? Why was he brave enough to follow orders, but not brave enough to admit it and meet my eyes?
There had to be some remorse in there somewhere... Scamper wasn't all bad...
I hated myself for hoping it.
Quality of life that night reached an all-time low.
There being only one... 'nest,' for Storm, and one for any patients he'd have in the cave, Pebblepaw and I ended up huddled next to Storm's inert body, squashed together on the cold hard and unpleasantly wet cave floor around Storm himself, who, though motionless, was alive. So we gathered from his beating heart, anyhow. Ridge and Scamper courteously hogged the nests.
I stared at the misty sky outside, breathing in the salty air. It wasn't unpleasant out side of the stone floor I was being forced to sleep on... apart from that, it was quite nice. The night sky was dark, with little twinkling stars and a curve of silver moon behind a thin veil of typical seaside mist and the occasional cloud. The wind swept pleasantly through the cave entrance with a whistle, ruffling my cold (and rather damp) fur.
The way the wind blew, the sea stretched endlessly, stars glittered, and the mist sparkled like hundreds of tiny stars, it made me feel very... alive. Also cliché and rather poetic. (Inserting poetic/cliché aspects here) Like I could run a thousand miles, or swim across the ocean, or fly into those stars... That would be great. Flying. Soaring on the slightest air currents, spreading my wings out and just sailing above everyone, everything, into the moonlit night... (End clichés here). If I had one wish to be dispensed selfishly, it would be wings.
I glanced at Pebblepaw, wondering if he was feeling the same sense of openness-in-the-face-of-imminent-death type thing. He seemed to be simultaneously gritting his teeth with the overwhelming need for medical attention and admiring the expanse of tossing indigo sea. It was quite lovely, nothing close the night sky, of course, but pretty dang near it.
I won't bother you with more inspirational descriptions of the tossing waters, the foam-capped waves, the moonlit ripples, etc., etc.. He would've probably liked to describe it to you, but right then I wasn't thinking along those moonlit-tom lines.
"So..." I said grappling for a conversation starter. I was having unusual difficulty with it. "You... have any... riveting life stories you'd like to relate about here?"
He shook his head slowly, like it was really difficult, gazing out at the sea.
"So, that was some... erm... pretty on-your-feet-fast thinking back there, seriously brilliant stuff, you know..." His lack of visible reaction was unnerving and also making it difficult to say anything more than "um..." a few more times. As a matter of fact...
"Hey, Pebblepaw, you there? Earth to Pebblepaw, hellooo...?" I mewed, shifting leg away from him weight so I could wave my tail in front of his face. He didn't blink. Pebblepaw's eyes were glassy and blank. "Oh, no..." I said.
I looked down at my leg where I'd shifted it away from his. It was drenched in blood. His blood.
"Pebblepaw!" I gasped, but he didn't say anything.
He slumped to the ground and didn't move.
I don't know if you've ever met someone and felt that kinda weird automatic connection, because I never had, until I met Pebblepaw. It sounds cheesy, I know, but we got off pretty dang well for a pair of kits in a life-threatening situation for most of their time together. So, it came as a rather unpleasant jolt when he stopped breathing.
I did my best not to hyperventilate, but it's more difficult than you'd expect.
"Ridge..." I squeaked, getting shakily to my paws. "Ridge, Pebble—Pebble needs help... he's not... breathing, and there's blood everywhere, and please, I don't want him to die, could you help—"
His cold yellow eyes blinked open in the gloom. Suddenly I wished I'd just left the cave without asking Ridge first.
"Can you get—or me, I mean, you know—get help?" I squeaked, "So he doesn't die? Please? We haven't done anything! He's—" I broke off, deciding that my scared little kitty act wasn't really getting me anywhere. I opened my mouth for a sassy comment, but I stopped.
Another pair of eyes blinked awake next to Ridge's. Scamper's.
"Wha—" he began, then he caught sight of me. A groan echoed quietly around the cavern that didn't even approach forming any words.
"What's the matter, Scamper? Sad to see me still alive?" I snapped.
"No—what?" he said blankly. "What are you talking about?"
I glared at him. But he didn't meet my eyes. Neither did Ridge, who contented himself with staring incredulously at my... shoulder. I opened my mouth for a retort of some variety, then turned around to see what they were gaping at.
A pair of green eyes were hovering by my shoulder, glaring death, doom, and destruction at the two toms. It was Storm.
With a snarl that would've made me turn tail and run, he leapt at Ridge and Scamper, bowling them both over. Well whaddaya know. He can heal cats and fight! A regular clan-o-rama. Except that he's an alley cat. I think.
The thumps and snarls coming from the other side of the cavern made me pretty sure it was safe to drag Pebblepaw out and escape, so I obliged. Struggling across the pointy floor and probably giving him several more fatal injuries, we made it outside.
The salty air seemed to be like a stimulant for Pebblepaw. He breathed easier as soon as we were outside, and I had to admit the wind and fresh air made me feel about a hundred times better.
I dragged him by the scruff under one of the older, more decrepit docks, where we took shelter from the mist. There was plenty of driftwood in the way, and I scrabbled a nest under the coarse sand, down to the dirt and shoved Pebblepaw into it. Then I flopped down next to him. I. Was. Exhausted. My last thought before I fell asleep was I hoped that Storm was okay and that Ridge hadn't killed him, and that Scamper burned to death in a vat of acid.
But you knew him, said the other half of my brain, he isn't all bad, you know that. He was your friend. Just because he hurt Pebblepaw and Storm, that doesn't make him evil. He didn't hurt you. And you've known him for months.
You've only known them for one day.
Well, I thought to myself, it's been quite a day.
