As both a kit and an apprentice, Dustpelt had dreamed of being a strong, brave warrior—the hero of his clan. He's not the hero of the clan; that's someone else's title, but he likes to think he's at least strong and brave.
Sandstorm deadpans in response to this admission, "Well, to one cat at least, you are the hero of the clan."
He glares at her, though it's not all completely in a teasing manner. "Don't start on this again! It's not funny; you know she doesn't like like me."
Sandstorm rolls her eyes, laughs, and says, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dustkit."
The large tom puffs out with indignation at the kit-hood nickname. "She doesn't! She hardly even talks to me," he protests.
The pale ginger she-cat stares at him. "Are you kidding?" she demands. "She's been mooning over you for ages! Honestly, I didn't think you could be denser than Firestar; even he's noticed."
Dustpelt brushes off her words with, "I am not denser than Firestar!"
Sandstorm opens her mouth, likely to object, but before she says a word, Dustpelt feels the telltale thump of pawsteps behind him. "Firestar," she greets.
"Firestar," Dustpelt echoes unenthusiastically, craning his head towards the other tom. "What brings you here on this... fine day?"
The flame-furred tom says, with a comically straight face, "I want you to guard camp tonight."
Dustpelt narrows his eyes. "I thought it was Longtail's turn tonight. Stars know he's been complaining about it all morning."
"He... asked to swap out," Firestar says, though he shares a secretive glance with Sandstorm, who looks way too amused.
He huffs in disbelief. "Then with whom am I guarding, o' mighty leader?"
But his query goes unanswered, Firestar instead opting to prance away. I'm sure he's off to bestow cruel tasks upon another poor Clanmate, Dustpelt thinks.
He turns back to Sandstorm, but all he can manage to say is, "Sandstorm, what—" before she steps away, under the poor guise of hunting patrol, sorry!
Dustpelt grumbles curses to himself and resolves to spend the rest of the afternoon away from the entirety of his meddling Clanmates.
NIGHT TALKS
It's nearly past sun-down, and Dustpelt's guarding-partner hasn't arrived yet. He squints against the fading red light, twitches his tail, and thinks, If Firestar's sent me to guard alone again, I swear, I won't lift a paw to help if the apprentices decide to do the ol' ants-and-garlic prank.
His back's begun to ache by the time a figure slips out of the forest, and into the spot across from him, at the camp's entrance. He inhales the scent of fresh prey and Ferncloud. His heart-rate quickens involuntarily. Fox-dung, was Sandstorm in on this?
"Sorry for being late," says Ferncloud apologetically. "I thought I'd get some prey for us since I saw the fresh-kill pile was almost empty."
"Oh. It's you," he says awkwardly, silently cursing all the stars in the darkening sky. He pauses, and adds hurriedly, "Thanks for the prey."
"Of course," she tells him lightly. Something flickers in her brilliant pale green gaze. Her eyes meet his, and he looks away quickly, shuffling his paws over the bracken under him.
However valiant a warrior he is, her unwavering attention makes him want to turn tail and flee. He swallows hard and tries not to stare.
"The weather was nice today," he remarks, in an attempt to make conversation. "Sandstorm thought it'd rain during her morning patrol, but it was only partly cloudy. At least... that's what she said before she started laughing at me."
He's still a little bitter about it.
Ferncloud inclines her head at him. "It was nice out," she agrees brightly. "The prey is running well, too. The mice are all still fat."
They sit in silence, Dustpelt scanning the horizon for any invisible threats. For a while, he can only hear the sounds of crickets and the occasional, low murmur from inside the camp. A light breeze rustles through the trees and through his fur. He sneaks a glance over at where Ferncloud is, and can't help but notice how soft her flecked pelt looks in the moonlight, or how her eyes—
Dustpelt blinks and coughs harshly, trying to focus his mind back onto the forest. He sends a prayer to StarClan that Ferncloud will ignore the sudden noise, but evidently it's done too late, because her attention is suddenly on him.
"Dustpelt? Are you okay?" She's looking at him, now, her expression brimming with something akin to concern. A dozen different answers run through his head, but he can't bring himself to say any of them.
He stutters something incomprehensible, and when she keeps staring at him expectantly, he blurts out, in a burst of jumbled words, "I think I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified."
Silence hangs between him, and Dustpelt refuses to meet her eyes. If he looks up, he doesn't want to see disappointment or rejection. An owl hoots somewhere in the distance. Then the tension is gone, and he can almost feel how her expression changes from one thing to another.
"That's silly," she says weakly, sounding on the verge of laughing. Dustpelt feels his heart drop, but then almost immediately, she winces and adds, "I don't mean—that's not silly. I just thought—" Ferncloud clamps her jaws shut, looking embarrassed. "I mean—I didn't think you liked me even though I liked you."
Dustpelt blinks at her. "Huh?"
She shuffles her paws and ducks her head. "You never really looked at me when I was an apprentice," Ferncloud says. "I didn't even think you knew I existed until I was a warrior."
He coughs and tries to avoid her gaze. "I didn't," he mumbles.
She shakes her head, disbelieving. "But I kept asking to go on patrols with you," she says. "I kept trying to convince Longtail to do joint training sessions for me and Ashfur. You mean... you didn't notice any of that?"
His silence speaks volumes. Then he pauses and groans. "Sandstorm was right," he says, promptly horrified. "Maybe I am denser than Firestar."
Ferncloud laughs and rolls her eyes.