'And I don't want to say goodbye
Someone tell me why
I just want to see the stars with you.'

'Fault in our Stars' - Troye Sivan

Chapter Twenty: Desiderium

She was perfect, a shining star amongst the darkness. Everything about her left him speechless. Her ability to do anything constantly left him in a state of surprised shock. For days he'd wanted nothing more than to whisper how much she meant to him into her ears, mumble the words he'd wanted her to hear. For days he'd wanted her to whisper a snarky reply back paired with that smirk that let butterflies loose in his stomach.

But now he feared he'd waited too long.

In his dreams she still walked beside him, badgering him about his terrible hunting when hers wasn't much better; keeping him company in her own special way. Her brilliant eyes such a beautiful shade of blue still regarded him with softness that was so strange to see in her usually icy orbs. Her tongue was still sharp, barbed with hurtful words that she meant only jokingly.

They wandered an evergreen forest from the moment he closed his eyes to the moment he was forced to open them. It was in that short moment as his body woke itself that he was forced to face the grim reality.

He didn't want to open his eyes, the last few remnants of the dream playing across his closed eyelids, but he could hear the hushed tones of the tribe cats as they began their daily routines. If he strained he could hear Eaglestrike speaking with Fuhren.

Twisting his neck until he felt soft fur brushing his nose he opened his eyes and wanted nothing more than to close them again. It painfully reminded him of Plummet.

Her midsection was wrapped in thick layers of cobwebs, a yellow leaf of sorts, and a foul smelling poultice that made his nose wrinkle. Dried blood spotted the binding in the places where the monster's teeth had gouged vicious holes in her sides. Heat radiated off of her body as it fought desperately to fight off the infection and the fever, as well as heal the gaping holes. Her sides rose and fell in uneven, shallow breaths. Face peaceful in her unconscious state, eyes still closed to the world, she looked near dead.

In three days she had not opened her wonderful eyes. For three days she had remained unconscious. Three days she had not spoken. Three days since she had uttered his name.

He swallowed the lump growing in his throat just as the light streaming into the den was blocked by a feline figure. "Your group leader wishes for you to join him and the others outside, Willowclaw."

"Thank you, Tau," he murmured in response to the tribe's prophet. She was a dainty little thing as far as the tribe's standards went; a small blue gray she-cat accompanied with a splash of white on her throat and blue eyes so dark they looked near black. The tribe cats were all very sleek and lithe, their bodies built for racing across the grasslands after their choice prey of small deer, but even the smallest – who happened to be Tau herself – stood a head taller than Willowclaw.

For the three days he'd remained by Icepetal's side he had seen little of the tribe's way of life, his focus entirely on the she-cat he didn't deserve. The Umbata Tribe had saved them after the monster had left a bloody mess behind, hauling Icepetal onto their backs and giving her the healing they thought necessary. They'd taken the Chosen in, protected them as they healed. But they hadn't asked for anything in return and he found that to be very concerning.

The mid-morning sun felt warm on his fur as he stepped out of the shadows of the den nestled into the tangled roots of a large willow tree that sat perched on the edge of a rolling hill, just outside the forest where so much blood had been spilled. If he could be bothered to look up from his paws, out of the tribe's camp, he'd find more endless grassland dotted with small pockets of trees.

"You look a little stunned. Sunshine too much for you, darling?" Rainpatch cooed.

Willowclaw glanced up to bite back a nasty retort but snapped his jaw shut when his eyes met the bored – yet calculating – gaze of Fuhren. The tribe's leader was a brute of a cat, all muscle covered by thick dark gray fur. Beside him sat his daughter and heir, Willowclaw had yet to fully understand the tribe's heirachy, Blute. She obviously took after her mother in appearance, her tortoiseshell fur spattered with small white spots looking nothing like her father's.

"Is she any better?" Littleflame inquired softly.

He hated the look of pity in her eyes, hated the way everyone tiptoed around him as if he was some juvenile kit. He'd seen death before, this wasn't anything new. The sooner the others worked out that he wasn't about to shatter into thousands of pieces if they mentioned Icepetal the better.

"No," was his short reply.

"Tau is doing all she can," Fuhren rumbled. "It is up to the ancestors to decide whether your friend lives or dies."

Willowclaw couldn't help but snort. The ancestors? What had they ever done to help the Clans apart from let the High Stars and then Crimson take over? They couldn't help Icepetal. No one could. She was dying and there was nothing he could do about it. The realisation hurt more than it should have.

"Our ancestors weren't as pleasant as yours," Eaglestrike hurriedly explained, shooting a glare at the RogueClan tom that was laced with a warning. Don't do anything to offend the Tribe.

"Weren't?" Blute interrupted. "What do you mean by weren't? Don't you speak with them anymore?"

Eaglestrike shuffled his paws uncomfortably. "The afterlife our ancestors called home was destroyed. They don't exist anymore."

"Enough talk about the dead. That's not what I wanted to speak to you about," Fuhren growled. "I want to know what five Clan cats are doing so far from their valley." He spoke in a condescending tone, rising to his paws to tower over the Chosen. "We know Crimson had you all practically locked up under the watchful eye of her oath-takers, so to hear that she was searching desperately for five escapees was certainly interesting. Of course the tribe and I didn't believe any of it, we've learned to trust our eyes and not our ears, but here you five are, beaten and bloody. How intriguing."

The Chosen were on the defensive, claws unsheathed and neck fur bristling, sharing worried glances between each other. What was the tribe leader getting at?

An amused grin curled at the leader's muzzle. "I don't suppose you know just what Crimson is offering for your capture?"

"Planning on turning us in?" Rainpatch hissed, "how hospitable of you."

Fuhren arched a brow, flicking his tail once. It appeared to be a signal of sorts for the Chosen found themselves to be surrounded by fierce tribe cat quicker than they could so much as blink. Everything was going downhill rapidly.

"What did Crimson offer for our capture?" Eaglestrike asked carefully.

"Protection," Fuhren responded.

Willowclaw curled his lip to bare his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "Why would any leader stoop so low as to side with the enemy?"

"You make a valid point, Clan cat. But a leader must put the lives of his tribe-mates before anything else. We don't have the luxury of other tribes to fall back on if we need help. We are alone out here, the only thriving group of cats for days. My tribe stands between Crimson and you, and that makes us a rather large target despite the fact that, up until today, we have never consorted with Clan cats," Fuhren explained.

"Thriving?" Willowclaw scoffed. "I wouldn't describe your tribe as thriving."

"Willowclaw," Eaglestrike warned.

The tabby tom waved his tail in dismissal. "Majority of you are so thin your bones are jutting out. I haven't seen a single kit. You have more cats in the medicine den than you do out here. All I have seen reflected in the eyes of your tribe members is fear. Your tribe is far from thriving, Fuhren, and you know it. I'm willing to bet my life on Crimson being the cause of it."

His little speech left Fuhren and his tribe speechless, their jaws hanging open in surprise. He hadn't spent three days in that den doing nothing other than moping around. He'd been watching very closely, recognising the signs of a crumbling Clan mirrored in the tribe.

"Isn't Crimson the cause of all unhappiness these days? Your observations are correct. My tribe isn't thriving. In fact I'd go as far to say my tribe is dying, and it is indeed Crimson's fault. That 'monster' you stumbled upon in the forest is her slave. A tiger – an ancestor of all cats from countless seasons ago – she managed to resurrect in order to do her bidding. It and another ancestor roam our grasslands, killing all who cross their paths. Padshiy its name is. The other, a leopard, goes by Kateria. Both have been plaguing my tribe for moons, though Kateria rarely appears." Fuhren rubbed at his nose with a forepaw.

"I am not planning on turning you five in to Crimson but I am also not planning on letting you leave without helping us deal with this problem."

"You can't keep us here!" Rainpatch shouted. "That's not fair! We've got enough problems of our own without having to deal with your pest problem!"

Fuhren rounded on the WaveClanner with a hiss, "oh can't I? You have an injured she-cat currently occupying a nest in our healing den who is in desperate need of constant healing attention. Do you expect me to just let you use up our valuable resources without some sort of price? I am willing to let Tau do everything she can in order to save your friend if you agree to help us kill both Padshiy and Kateria. That seems like a fair deal, wouldn't you agree?"

"What will you do if we say no?" Littleflame mumbled. She looked to be quivering with fear but refused to lower her gaze from the tribe leader's face.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. If you refuse we will dump all of you outside our borders. You will get to watch your she-cat friend die knowing that you were the ones who ultimately caused her death," Fuhren said coldly.

"We'll do it."

The Chosen turned to face Willowclaw with cries of shock. He ignored them, pacing forwards to thrust his muzzle into Fuhren's face. "We'll do it. We'll kill your pests for you. And when we do I expect you to reward us handsomely." Without waiting for a response he whipped around and stormed back to the healing den, wanting nothing more than to lie down beside Icepetal and feel her weak heartbeat.

"I look forward to watching you try," Fuhren called mockingly.

The temptation to turn around and stuff the tribe leader's tail down his throat was hard to resist but he figured the others were mad enough at him already. His anger increased. Would the others have needed time to contemplate Icepetal's life? Would they have really risked her life in order to save their own? He vaguely remembered a certain PhoenixClan tom mentioning something about working as a team before everything fell apart.

A wall of tortoiseshell fur stopped him from advancing any closer to the healing den. "That was very brave, what you did," a soft voice murmured.

Glancing up to stare into a pair of warm blue eyes he felt a shiver of recognition pass through him before he realised that they were too pale to be Icepetal's eyes. His mood deteriorated further. "Clan cats stick up for each other. That's how we survive," he replied bluntly.

"Still, you have no idea what Padshiy and Kateria are like," Blute said.

"What? I know exactly what Padshiy is like. He crushed the head of one of your tribe members between his teeth and then savaged Icepetal to near death. Don't talk to me as if I haven't seen what he can do," he hissed. He knew he was being rude but the she-cat was asking for it.

Her fur bristled along her spine. "You act as if death doesn't affect you."

"When you've seen it as often as I have the shock of it begins to wear off. Count yourself lucky that you and your tribe are all alone out here. You might think you're a big target but you have no idea what Crimson and her soldiers are capable of."

"Tell me."

He blinked in surprise not sure that he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"Tell me what Crimson is capable of."

Willowclaw caught and held Blute's gaze, searching for any signs of unsureness. Why would she want to know about the horrible things Crimson had done? Why would anyone want to know?

"I don't think your father would approve of me sharing bloody stories with his innocent daughter," he sneered.

Blute squared her shoulders, "what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't impressed. The heir of the tribe was a bit rebellious, that was something he certainly wasn't expecting. It'd been a while since he'd aided in a bit of bad behaviour. Sure sharing bloody, nightmarish tales wasn't exactly his idea of bad behaviour but if it caused Fuhren trouble then it was fine with him.

"Alright."

"Come with me, we'll say we're going out hunting," Blute purred.

As he followed the heir out of the camp he couldn't help but be overcome by an overwhelming feeling of sadness. Icepetal should've been with him, not the chatty tortoiseshell who wouldn't shut up. He missed the way silence felt so comfortable when he and Icepetal were out hunting, the way he felt that he didn't need to fill it with anything. He missed hearing her laugh when he fumbling mid-hunt allowing his prey to escape. He missed sitting next to her and feeling her fluffy tail twine with his, feel her strong heartbeat mirror his own, hear a soft purr rumble in her throat.

He missed her.