Try as she might- and StarClan believe her, she's tried- she cannot help but find Fireheart tolerable, these next few moons. She starts to realize, now, sheepishly, that he is no phantom, no cataclysm- in truth, Fireheart is just a cat.
And a surprisingly decent one, at that.
When they are picked to patrol together, Sandpaw doesn't dread it.
The two of them meet at the gorse tunnel just as dawn starts to creep through the thorns. The moonhigh patrol returns, and Fireheart and Sandpaw step out. She lets him lead.
Head held high, mouth parted slightly in order to catch any drifting scents, Fireheart steps through the snow with an easy confidence, sure of his pawsteps despite being unable to see the ground below. He knows the territory, Sandpaw thinks with a pang, as well as I do. Maybe better. As a warrior, he has freedom that she does not.
"We'll start at Fourtrees and work our way along the border to Tallpines," Fireheart says.
"Alright."
The start off in silence, only the crunch of fresh snow betraying their journey.
Though the sun is rising, the air is almost dense with cold. If this were Dustpaw, she would chat to take her mind off of it. After a few more shivering moments, Sandpaw shakes her head.
"I've never seen Fourtrees in the snow," Sandpaw comments.
Fireheart looks over at her in surprise.
What kind of clanmate have I been? She thinks. That a warrior is shocked at basic decency. Her ears burn. I've asked so much of him and offered nothing in return.
They reach the top of the gorge.
"Which way now?" Fireheart asks.
Narrowing her eyes, Sandpaw takes him in. Patronizing? Taunting? No- Fireheart is rarely either of those things. This is how a warrior behaves, gently testing apprentices.
Stark against the white of the snow, Sandpaw begrudgingly admits that he doesn't just behave like a warrior- he looks like one, these days. His soft body has given way to a lean frame, his ginger coat hinting at hard earned muscle. The way he carries himself has changed as well; Firepaw walked with his head ducked, his eyes quick, like if he didn't take everything in, he would have nothing.
Fireheart holds his head high. His gaze, green and even, does not stray.
Sandpaw's mouth holds its line, but she feels it twitch at a grin. There's that danger again- if he leads, she will follow.
But he's just given her an opportunity for the opposite, and she's a rat if she won't take it.
"Of course I know the way." A mischievous glint in her eyes is all the hint that Fireheart gets before Sandpaw is off.
"Wh-" he starts. After a moment he recovers himself, and he's racing behind her. As the dawn breaks, the two of them dash, weaving in and out through the trees.
Snow sprays beneath her paws and she stretches her gait, longer, faster, devouring the land beneath her as she goes. Sandpaw's body aches with the feeling of clean exertion, no longer tainted by battle. Behind her, Fireheart pants into the frozen air.
Another burst of speed- she can keep it up.
The gap between them grows longer with every bound, but there's something to this that makes her feel shiver with how close he feels- every time she casts her eyes back to find his, it's like his pelt is against hers, his whiskers brushing her fur.
He runs with the same fervor, the same fierce joy, that Sandpaw does. She finds herself mirrored in his labored breath, his wild smile, his tenacious eyes.
But still, she has the upper hand- and this is a rare delight.
Over the fallen log she leaps, her body stretching out to its full length, and then she lies very still.
Fireheart comes crashing over. Before he's found his paws, Sandpaw leaps, catching him and sending him skidding.
She leaps back, her tail lashing playfully. The cold of the air and the warmth in her body are at almost electric odds, and she wants nothing more than to let the moment expand until her lungs are bursting with it.
Fireheart makes a counter-attack of his own and the two of them turn over and over in the snow. Whatever closeness she had imagined in their race, she feels in full truth now. Their breath mingles in dancing fog, and Sandpaw somehow fails to be disappointed when Fireheart ends up pinning her in the end.
They stay like that for a second.
Pinned like this, Sandpaw feels light.
For once, the world rests somewhere else. Her pain is still there, but it is quieter than the pound of her heart.
It is with surprising familiarity that she meows. "Get off, you great lump!"
"If you insist," Fireheart returns, stepping off her with a good-natured arrogance.
Sandpaw rolls her eyes and shakes her pelt clean. A look at Fireheart reveals him trying to do the same, and failing miserably. His pelt traps the snow like the boughs of a fir tree, no matter how he tries.
Letting out a chuckle, Sandpaw gives him an obvious onceover. "You look like you've been in a snowstorm."
"No thanks to you!"
They set off again, in an easier quiet now, their good moods bolstered by the warmth of the rising sun.
When they reach Fourtrees, it's a different world that Sandpaw's ever seen.
"I didn't realize…" she starts. "It looks…"
The four oaks that mark the gathering place are laced in frost, patterns of ice that have an unspoken rhythm to them as they weave in and out those ancient branches. The grass looks untouched- as if this gathering will be the first to break its silver blades and Sandpaw is witnessing the secret of something new. The leafbare has rewritten this place in whole.
"I didn't realize that the snow could change so much," Sandpaw breathes.
But it has. And seeing Fireheart's open look of wonder as he crests the ridge beside her, she wonders what other changes this season might bring.
For the first time, she wonders what it might be like to let herself be pulled by his energy, by that eager friendliness and persistence. She is growing tired of fighting against it.
The fire that burns in her has blazed hot for so long. She wonders if she can let herself rekindle more gently this time, and bask in the freedom to be warm.