Shandril Weilder of Spellfire: I shall accept that as a complement. ;)

Yes, in this early stage of the story, I have already killed off one of the characters. Don't feel too sad for Burningkit yet… just you wait until later on!

EDIT (12/13/08): Thanks, Shellheart, for letting me know about the spelling errors. I hopefully found them all...

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Chapter Eight: An Idea

"Where is he?" Burningkit snarled. For a young cat approaching six moons of age, he was starting to be even bigger than Cloverpaw. He stood up, his fangs bared and back arched narrowly.

"Where's my dad?!"

Cloverpaw looked up at him with wide, scared eyes. Her normally green eyes, now a placid yellow from the crying, were wetting with fear and more tears. Holding her breath, the pale brown she-cat stared up to the menacing beast, impatiently awaiting an answer.

"Cloverpaw," a new voice came, "is Burningkit awake yet?" Shifting into the medicine cat's den was a tall and majestic beauty. Her creamy white fur shown in ripples across her pelt, and her snowy whiskers bowed to the ice around her. The dark green pools of her eyes were deep; deeper and darker than some of life's greatest mysteries yet to be revealed.

The instant Burningkit heard her voice, he quieted down. The fur on his back still stood on end, and his eyes were still bloodshot and teary, but he sat down and flashed an anguished look to the medicine cat.

"Rosepetal," Cloverpaw whispered. Bowing respectfully, she turned around to face her mentor. The tall she-cat just nodded and smiled.

Burningkit couldn't bring himself to look. He closed his eyes, trying to find some refuge in the comforting darkness. He sighed.

None was there.

Still keeping his eyes closed, Burningkit's other senses seemed to be drowning him. His emotions were lit by an unseen flare, exploding in his chest and desperately clawing to be unleashed and shouted to the skies. His ears pounded with the sounds of everything nearby: the dripping of the melting ice, the gentle confiding of a mentor to her apprentice, and the pounding beat of his breaking heart.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Where is he?"

His voice was cold and menacing, like wind against broken branches. Though he couldn't see, he could tell his mouth was open, breathing in and out… in… and out…

Nobody responded.

One second.

Two.

A drop of water splashed to the floor…

Burningkit's eyes exploded open. He stood up, jumping out of his bed, cornering the medicine cats. Rosepetal looked at him, unfazed by his daunting position. Burningkit didn't look at Cloverpaw, but he could hear her whimper. "WHERE IS HE?!"

Rosepetal's cool, green eyes pierced the kit's glowing eyes, hot with tears. Her calm expression almost seemed soothing, like the herbs she used to treat her patients. With a sigh, she curled her long tail around her paws; a sign that, no matter what she would say, he must accept it.

"I'm sorry, Burningkit. Your father really is dead." Her voice ran as sweet as honey, but it hit Burningkit so hard that it felt more like she had struck him in the chest.

The kit paused. Suddenly, the whole world had turned upside down. Everything around him suddenly seemed to be as false as shadows, with all sounds turning into the infernal yowling of dead souls trying to pry their way out of the Shadow Forest.

All at once, Burningkit's anger melted away. Washing out like a memory of a dream, his cold, menacing stare was replaced with quiet, scared eyes.

The eyes of a kitten who had just lost his father.

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A sort of silence had befallen the FrostClan camp that afternoon. The warriors were either all out on their own, hunting for the prey pile, or lingering in the camp like sleepy ghosts. The nursery was empty of Darkspirit, who had said she wanted to go out alone earlier. Who would have tried to stop her? Her mate had died that day.

Even the apprentices seemed to be joining in to the quiet mourning that hung over the camp like a cloud waiting to rain. Littlepaw, lost in her own thoughts, slowly and carefully removed burrs from the elder's coats. Even the ever-noisy Dragonpaw had piped down to the new rhythm of the camp.

Crystalshard leisurely entered the camp, his eyes damp and tired. Carrying a frosty mouse in his mouth, he gradually ambled to the prey pile.

Dragonpaw looked up from her depressive state at the drooping warrior. Standing on her fiery red paws, she shakily walked to where the white warrior sat down, his head bowed. "Hey, Crystalshard," she grumbled, "you depressed too?"

He sighed and whimpered, "Yeah… yeah, I am." He stared off into the distance with his impenetrable, cow-like eyes. Not even a mighty force, like an earthquake or a rock fall, could disrupt this stare.

Dragonpaw just sat there. Her head was roaring with questions; Crystalshard was never this depressed. She gruffly coughed and burbled, "Why so glum?"

The white warrior turned his head towards the she-cat and meowed, "I'm worried about the little man. I haven't seen him in ages; he's been at the burial place all day."

"Well, what did you expect?" Dragonpaw growled, "YOU sat vigil at the burial place when your father was killed in battle." Crystalshard slowly turned away. His ears were drooping down over his cheeks, blocking Dragonpaw's view of his icy blue eyes. A low rumble pricked in the she-cat's throat. She couldn't stand to see Crystalshard THIS sad.

He sighed again. His breath on her face felt even colder than the snow which gradually skated out of the gray skies. The very sound of his melancholy sigh made even the wind moan in sympathy for the warrior. A single snowflake landed on his pink nose, but he was too dejected to care.

Dragonpaw flicked her dark red tail. Her amber eyes, normally sharper than icicles, now sparkled with pity. She snarled, "Well, what are you going to do about it? I don't think there's any way we can make him happy after what happened."

Crystalshard didn't respond. Drooping sadly, he still stared off to a vague corner of the camp to some invisible force somewhere beyond the medicine cat's den. Dragonpaw only watched his breath make clouds which hung in the air of the camp.

Suddenly, one of his ears twitched.

Crystalshard sat up straighter. His eyes were glowing with confidence, as though he just had a stroke of inspiration. His ears perked forward again, highlighting his almost dominant looking stand. The tom smiled a proud grin; the kind that you see on a hero's face after an important victory. Under his breath he mumbled a single word…

"Awesometastic."

"Pardon?"

"I have an idea!" Crystalshard boldly stated, "This is a surefire way to make the little man happy again." He ran off in the direction of the Stonetree, where Dreamstar was resting in her den. The she-cat faintly smiled at his sudden change of temperament, knowing full well that it wasn't a smart idea to try and stop him.

Dragonpaw also knew it wasn't wise to go and ask Crystalshard what his plan was. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind that he probably would have given her an explanation.

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No song lyrics today! Sorry!

This chapter felt kind of weird, both to read and to write. If you have any suggestions for this chapter's improvement, I'd be happy to hear from you.