Sandstorm keeps a careful eye on Fireheart these days, though maybe that's nothing new. Even when she hadn't wanted to, back in the beginning, she'd always been aware of him and his bright coat, the way his voice cut through crowds, the- just about everything, really. No matter what he did, he had a way of filling the space.
Maybe that wasn't accurate. Other cats didn't seem to notice it, so maybe it was this- no matter what he did, Fireheart had a way of filling her thoughts.
But she watches him now, because he watches her- because he knows her, and she's going to get him right back.
Dustpelt had just scoffed when she'd told him this particular plan. He does that whenever she mentions Fireheart. He's been doing it a lot lately
"Fireheart looks off today," Sandstorm murmurs over the rabbit she and Dustpelt are sharing. She keeps her voice down, but his ears prick in acknowledgment. "Do you think something happened with Cinderpaw?"
Fireheart plods across the out of the medicine cat's den, coming to a rest at the base of highrock, where a shadow stretches for just a few tail lengths. When he lays down, it's more of a collapse. Sandstorm frowns.
"Does anything new need to happen?" Dustpelt asks.
"Hm. Maybe not. He looks exhausted, though," Sandstorm says. "More than normal. And he looks like he hasn't had a proper groom in a moon."
"Someone should fix that. Why don't you go over and share tongues, hm?"
Sandstorm almost chokes on her rabbit. "What?"
"You said he looks ungroomed. Offer to do it for him, if it bothers you so much," Dustpelt says with a roll of his eyes, and Sandstorm gets the definite feeling that she's missing something. She's quick to shake her head and follows the impulse to leap to her feet, legs suddenly jittering with nervous, buzzing energy.
"I'm not doing- that - but I can do something else for him."
"Suit yourself," Dustpelt says, looking at her with unimpressed half lidded eyes. "Make sure to get a good sniff of him while you're over there so you can describe how he smells to me again."
"It was important to the story!"
"Sure was. I'm not saying I was glad when Tigerclaw interrupted to give me dawn patrol, but..."
Sandstorm resists the urge to box him around the ears like she would've when they were apprentices- she's a warrior now, and she's got more important things to do than tumble around camp with her best friend, no matter how much she'd like to see his face if she took him down right now. If Bluestar saw, she'd fix Sandstorm with one of those looks .
But. Bluestar isn't around.
Sandstorm sends herself hurtling at Dustpelt, eyes gleaming with sharp light. They're laughing before they hit the ground.
Cinderpaw's accident lays like snow over the clan, the kind that melts during the day and freezes thicker at night, trapping everything beneath it in sickly ice. No one knows what to do. There's sympathy, of course, and hope, and a sense of relief and heartbreak in equal measure from the nursery, where Frostfur minds Cloudkit with an almost obsessive fervor. She stinks of guilt and grief and a fear that hasn't gone away since the day Cinderpaw came off the Thunderpath.
In it all, no one else seems to notice how badly Fireheart is doing. Maybe they do, but with all eyes on his apprentice, Fireheart's pain seems smaller. It is. But that doesn't mean he isn't hurting, and Sandstorm hates seeing the way his steps grow heavier with each passing moon. He's a creature meant for crowing, not for this slinking half-sleep.
Sandstorm, once she's brushed herself off, heads over to him, on a warpath to make his life easier. She gets his murmured permission, and then goes to hunt down his old apprentice, and the extra one he seems to have taken on these days with Graystripe's absences. She's noticed those too, of course, but that's none of her business. For now.
Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw meet her at the thorn tunnel. "Are you both ready to head out?"
"Yep! Weather's great!" Cinderpaw chirps. Sandstorm gives a look at the heavy clouds and shakes her head.
Her brother is more subdued. He always is, but he seems even quieter in the shadow of his lightning crack of a sister. It's slow going, but Cinderpaw keeps a steady pace, and a steady stream of infectiously good natured commentary as they go.
"I think we should hunt here," Brackenpaw starts before they've gone far, tail twitching nervously.
Sandstorm look at him curiously. "We're too close to camp. Prey won't linger this close to cat-scent. Has Graystripe not-?"
"No, he has!" Brackenpaw asserts, a little too quickly. "It's just that I haven't been going out as much, and it's pretty cold, and I guess I just think I don't want to go too much further."
"I see."
"Sandstorm's too nice to say it, so I will," Cinderpaw cuts in. "That's a mouse-brained idea if I ever heard one. Let's go." She doesn't wait for them to reply, pushing off deeper into the woods.
They continue in silence. Cinderpaw no longer seems to want to chat, eyes trained in front of her, jaw set as she pushes the pace. Brackenpaw scrabbles behind, hovering uncomfortably as he goes.
When they arrive at the spot Sandstorm's picked for hunting, a shaded grove near the Riverclan border, Cinderpaw's breath is puffing out hard in front of her. Sandstorm makes no comment. Let her be the judge of how hard she wants to push. When someone hurts like that, sometimes exhaustion is the best you can do- wear yourself to the quick and when the night tries to haunt you, at least you can escape to sleep.
"Yellowfang said you'd be able to collect some herbs for her out here," Sandstorm offers. "You know what you're doing?"
"I do," Cinderpaw says. "Catmint and dock grow in wet, shaded areas like this. I'll have a sniff around and see what I can find. You two enjoy hunting." Her eyes flash as she says the last bit, but she turns before Sandstorm can see any more.
"We'll be nearby." Sandstorm touches her tail-tip to Cinderpaw's shoulder before the apprentice starts away. She wishes she could do more, but saying it aloud would be worse. If Cinderpaw doesn't want to acknowledge that she might need accommodation, she certainly doesn't want anything that Sandstorm could tell her about grief.
Sandstorm's heart aches for the apprentice, but she's smart enough to keep that to herself.
"Shall we hunt?" Sandstorm turns to Brackenpaw.
"Yes!"
A few beats pass. Sandstorm cocks her head when no further response seems forthcoming. "Brackenpaw, can you tell me what prey is around?"
Eyes going wide, Brackenpaw drops his mouth open so far to scent she's surprised it doesn't hit the ground. "I think there's a vole over in the roots there," he finally says. "Sorry."
"No need to apologize. Different warriors do things differently, I suppose. I just assumed Graystripe had taught you like my mentor did me."
"I think he might've," Brackenpaw squeaks. "I just- I guess I forgot."
"Why don't you see what you can do with that vole?" Sandstorm prompts.
She watches him drop into a hunting crouch- not a bad one, all things considered. But it's clumsy, and he's only getting as far as he is on natural talent, not training. She's not surprised when he overshoots, only barely managing to avoid bonking his head on the tree-trunk.
"When was the last time your mentor took you out hunting, Brackenpaw?" She asks.
"Sorry, I know I jumped too far. I think I could've gotten it if I'd been a little more careful."
"Probably," Sandstorm agrees. No point in lying to apprentices. "When did Graystripe last take you out here?"
Brackenpaw looks away. "Not that long ago."
"The half-moon?" The moon will be round in the sky tonight.
He still won't look at her.
"The day before the last gathering," he says. "But it was really good! We caught enough prey for all the elders- and Dappletail said my mice were extra plump!"
"She knows good prey when she sees it." A full moon since his mentor had last taken him out- maybe there'd been a patrol or two since then, but it's worse than she'd thought.
"I'll get the next one," he says. After a pause. "I'll try."
"Yes, I'm sure you will," Sandstorm says, shaking her head as she tries to drive her wonderings away. Graystripe's business is his own business, and if Bluestar feels he's neglecting his warrior duties, that's for her to say. Sandstorm has a job in this clan, and minding everyone else's apprentices isn't it. "Let's find you something warm to sink your teeth into."
It's the middle of leafbare, and there isn't much to go around to start with. Between Brackenpaw's earlier attempt and the way her thoughts wind round her head like honey-suckle vines, it's slim pickings. Brackenpaw does his best, but when all he has to show for his efforts is a half-starved mouse, it's hard to miss the sag of his shoulders, the shame that slicks down his ears.
"We should find your sister," Sandstorm meows around her blackbird. It's not much, but it's something.
"Can we just hunt for a little longer?" Brackenpaw casts a look around, as if prey is just going to wander into his paws. "I'm not ready to head back yet."
"The prey's all bolted to their holes."
"Then we'll find some more birds! There are always birds, even in leafbare," Brackenpaw protests. Then, seeing Sandstorm's unmoved expression, he adds, "please, I can't head back with just this."
He scuffs a disdainful paw over his mouse, turning it onto its stomach. It's barely enough to feed a kit, and they both know it. What an earnest little cat he is, all rushed apologies and open worry. Sandstorm shakes her head, but before she knows it she's agreeing.
"Fine. We'll stay for a little while longer, but I want to see you working hard- we need something more than fluffed fur to show for a whole day's hunting."
He nods solemnly, like she's said something profound rather than muttered an instruction.
"Do you think that you could- I know that I've been an apprentice for a while, but, could you just remind me about hunting?"
"What, in general?" Sandstorm asks, blinking.
"I mean, or just birds, or whatever we find!" Brackenpaw hurries to add.
Stars above. "Yeah, okay." She drops down into her best hunting crouch and walks him through the basics- stuff he should've had down moons ago, but from the way he's drinking it in, it seems like at least some of it's completely new to him.
He copies her, body low to the ground and almost deathly still. He starts padding forwards. His ears angle towards a scuffling that she hadn't noticed until he'd started towards it. Another mouse maybe. Even if he misses, she'll commend him for getting wind of it before she had.
His steps are light on the frost-crusted ground, quiet enough that even a mouse won't notice his approach. He's a quick learner, despite everything.
Just a tail-length away, one puffed breath between him and his prey, Sandstorm notices him slow. The next trembling paw he puts down slips on an ice-slick leaf, and all at once he's a scrambling frenzy as he tries to hook the mouse before it manages to retreat. From the way his tail thwaps against the tree, she knows that he's failed.
"Fox-dung!" Brackenpaw curses. "If I hadn't slipped -"
"It happens to the best of us," Sandstorm says.
"But now we're just taking back this , and everyone's going to be hungry because I slipped ! It was a stupid mistake!"
Sandstorm takes a step towards him, ready to try and comfort him- she's no stranger to a hot-blooded outburst after a bad hunt. "We learn and do better next time. What did we learn there?"
"That I'm a useless hunter," Brackenpaw spits. "Can't even catch a mouse."
"The evidence to the contrary is in a hole with my blackbird." Sandstorm keeps her tone even. "What else?"
Tail lashing, Brackenpaw looks away in frustrated silence before he finally breaks. "To pay more attention to where I'm putting my paws, I guess," he says. "But I already knew that. I just forgot, because I'm always forgetting."
"We learn by doing," Sandstorm says. "And it seems to me that you haven't had much practice."
"Because I'm not good enough for Graystripe to mentor!" Brackenpaw returns, with more fire than she's ever seen in the calm apprentice's eyes. "I'm just- not good enough." His voice breaks, softens. "I didn't understand it at first, but now I know. He doesn't want to train me because he knows it's useless. " There's a lower venom in that hiss, the kind that only the young really feel, self-revulsion big and loud enough to break the banks of a frozen river.
"Brackenpaw," Sandstorm says.
"I miss going hunting with him," Brackenpaw continues. "But he's so busy, so it's not really surprising that he doesn't want to make time for it, you know? It'd be okay if I were learning faster from Fireheart, but-"
"Mentors don't get to choose whether or not they want to train their apprentices, Brackenpaw- it's a duty, just like hunting and patrolling. If Graystripe's not doing that, it's a reflection on him," she meets his eyes, "not you." She knows before she's finished saying it that it's useless. Platitudes, no matter how true, are as good here as a twig in a forest fire. They only make it worse.
Brackenpaw snorts. "It's not his fault his apprentice has three left paws. And Cinderpaw doesn't want anything to do with me either, and I just- I don't know how I'm so bad at everything ."
"I can't make Graystripe a better mentor, but I can let you know- you might feel lonely right now, but you're not alone." Brackenpaw's shoulders climb high and tight. "Brackenpaw. Look at me. I mean it."
Begrudgingly, he meets her gaze, but he breaks it almost immediately.
"If you want to be a good warrior, that's the first thing that you have to know. No one in a clan stands by themselves. From the day we're born to the day we die, we're always just one part of something bigger," Sandstorm says.
"I know all of that," Brackenpaw shoots back. "But that doesn't mean I want to be the weakest part of it! Cinderpaw's going to be a medicine cat and save lives, and I'm just going to be- here." He looks around the empty clearing, to the scrap-pile of prey. "I just want to know what I'm doing wrong ."
Nothing, she wants to say. You're too young for these mistakes to count. Even with his sister- and she can see what's happening there, his overbearing concern coming hard on a cat who wants nothing more than to live freely- it's an honest mistake, an easy one, and it'll all be salvageable when they figure it out.
Instead, she finds herself thinking of Fireheart.
"Fireheart's done worse than you ever have."
Brackenpaw snorts again, but he can't hide the way his ears prick in interest.
"You may be too young to remember it, but I was an apprentice with him," she says. "And the list of things he got in trouble for- it goes on. I'm not exaggerating when I say he spent half his apprenticeship picking ticks off of elders- you can ask Dappletail yourself later."
"I'm just good at pretending," Brackenpaw says. "Nobody but Graystripe has noticed how useless I am out here-"
"And what am I? A tree trunk?"
"You're just being nice," Brackenpaw shoots back.
"You and your sister- when did I get nice?" She mutters. "Look, I'm trying to make a point. Fireheart was an awful apprentice. He was always sleeping in late for patrols, and going off wandering in the night doing Starclan knows what- he talked back to the senior warriors, and he couldn't catch birds for a moon longer than the rest of us. And Bluestar was his mentor."
This gives Brackenpaw pause. "Bluestar?" he asks.
"He was a kittypet mess, and she didn't give up on him. Because she knew that he was a warrior at heart- that he wanted it."
"Wanting catches no prey. It doesn't matter"
Sandstorm flicks him with her tail. "Wanting got Fireheart to a warrior name, and plenty more besides it. He wanted this life so badly that he rebuilt himself around it- burnt everything that he was down to the ground and grew again from that little wanting root. And for a little while, he was really, truly alone."
"What did he do?" Brackenpaw
"His best," Sandstorm said. "That's all he ever does. I really don't think it's anything more than that- he's just got a good heart and this infuriating tendency to follow it further than anyone with his head screwed on right would do."
"Is that- a good thing?"
"Unfortunately."
Brackenpaw's face twists in confusion. Sandstorm changes tack.
"What I'm trying to say is that you just have to keep trying, with all of it. No one knows it better than Fireheart, and it sounds like you're going to have to learn it well too. You have to figure out what you want, and if the answer really is to be the best warrior you can, you'll do it. You just have to decide," she says, tasting Fireheart's words on her tongue.
"You said he was lonely," Brackenpaw says. And it's that part that he cares about more than the rest of it- he doesn't just feel useless, he feels abandoned, alone in a way that no clan cat was ever meant to be. Alone in the way that so many felt, with the way that the forest seemed to claw youth out of its apprentices, leave them scarred and grown before the kittenfluff had left them. "But he's not anymore."
"I should hope not!" Sandstorm gives a laugh.
"And now he has someone like you," Brackenpaw murmurs.
Sandstorm's eyes go wide. "Well- and Graystripe and Yellowfang and the rest. He has all of us. But-" she gives a hasty lick to her fur, "I suppose he does have me, too."
And where had all that come from? Why was Fireheart her first idea when she tried to think of a good warrior? Was he that much on her mind?
But how wouldn't he be? Fireheart's the brightest star in any sky- you'd have to be blind not to see it, willfully ignore him, like she had when she was younger. And the way it feels to think about him, too, like catching a rabbit racing across a clearing, exhilarating and all-consuming. Like waking up to thunderclap, jolting into blood pumping wakefulness. Like-
A rustle of the bush at the edge of the glade and Cinderpaw bursts through, crying out around a bundle of dark leaves in her mouth- but Sandstorm realizes quickly she's not running away from anything. Instead, she's herding , a fat vole scuttling just before her paws.
Sandstorm could snap its neck in a single move, but she ignores her rumbling stomach. "Brackenpaw!" she calls.
He freezes, startled for a single suspended heartbeat, and then he snaps into action. Brackenpaw leaps, landing squarely on the creature's back this time and sinking his teeth into its skin. One solitary squeak and that's it.
"Thanks, Brackenpaw!" Cinderpaw pips, muffled around her herbs, eyes shining.
"That was great- you drove it right into my paws," Brackenpaw says.
A moment of hesitation, and Cinderpaw's eyes flick over her brother, searching for a trace of insincerity. She doesn't seem to find it, though, and when she purrs it's with her whole chest. "I just saw it and thought-"
"Good catch, the two of you!"
Sandstorm starts off towards camp, leaving the siblings to exclaim over their catch without a warrior looming over them. On the way back she thinks of Fireheart- and the fact that she can't stop thinking about him.