Nettlestripe's POV

Nettlestripe stumbled back to camp, feeling half dead already. He tripped over a fallen branch, and Blackriver steadied him. She had been helping him walk the entire time.

"Not far now," she grunted.

"Good," said Nettlestripe weakly, fighting the darkness that would be so easy to give in to. Not far now, he kept saying to himself. Then you rest.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Fine," she said, and for some reason she was smiling uncontrollably. "That old cat chased me a while, but we ran into the backup patrol and we taught her a lesson." She sighed. "I shouldn't have run away. My first battle as a warrior, and I was too afraid to fight."

"It happens," said Nettlestripe, not finding the breath to say anything more. He felt himself losing what control he still had. He suddenly collapsed. There was a cry, but he was already fading away…

The darkness lifted enough for him to see the horrible scene around him. The all-consuming shadows, the mist that veiled everything, and the eyes

staring

from

the

darkness…

There was a low wailing from somewhere. A voice he should remember, but there was no strength, no meaning, no time.

Then he was racing through the forest, trying to reach the voice, the voice, the voices. All those he loved, would love, would ever know. Stay alive, something said, run away, but he would not.

Then he saw them. The beast… the horrible beast… it was destroying… they were all to die, time itself would die…

"Blaze…" he whispered, and opened his eyes.

He was in the medicine den, he knew that as soon as blinding light had faded and he could see again. He wanted to cry out, to welcome the light, to forget all he had just seen. He tried to leap to his feet, to race out into the sun, but a wave of pain crashed over him and he instantly wished he hadn't.

"DON'T!" yelled a voice, and he was being lowered back to the soft bed. He flopped back down, winced, and looked up.

Blackriver was next to him, looking more worried than he had ever seen her, even at her own assessment. Beside her was the medicine cat, Tansywhisker, looking uninterested as usual. Nettlestripe had used to have a small crush on the pale golden she-cat during his days as a 'paw, actually most of the toms had, and many still did, but Nettlestripe gave up after seeing her completely unsociable attitude. Besides, she was a medicine cat.

"Lie still," said Tansywhisker sternly. "Your wound will open again if you move too much. I wasted a lot of my time making sure it closed in the first place."

Nettlestripe looked down and saw a red, swollen gash covered in a slimy yellow paste. The cut looked a lot less serious now.

"You were having a horrible dream," said Blackriver, quivering like a leaf. "I could hear you moaning for hours. Are you ok?"

"Fine," he said, with what breath he had left.

"SEEDPAW! What are you doing standing around? We have a wounded cat in here!"

Nettlestripe could not lift his head, but he knew that the medicine cat apprentice was standing nearby. And if he knew anything about the apprentice, he was probably shaking more than Blackriver.

"Wh-what do you want me to do?" he said in a small voice.

"Always asking me what to do," Tansywhisker sighed. "You should know by now what to do! I had to make the entire poultice by myself, while you were frozen like a trapped rabbit at the sight of the blood! What am I to do with you?"

Seedpaw was not listening, as he had already scampered out of the den like the aforesaid rabbit.

Tansywhisker sighed. "You stay here, and DON'T MOVE. That cat needs a talking-to." She left the den, but called back, "You get out of there too, Blackpaw. Our deputy needs rest."

"It's Blackriver," the black cat mumbled under her breath. She turned to leave, but looked back at Nettlestripe. She seemed to struggle with her mouth for a moment, then she gained control and said, "I'm glad you're ok. I… I couldn't live without you." The last sentence had almost been a sob. She made a noise between a choke and a cough, and fled.

Nettlestripe laid back and closed his eyes, trying not to think about how the sunlight had reflected off the young cat's pelt, giving her the impression of glowing.

"Son."

Nettlestripe took a minute to open his eyes – they seemed to be glued shut – and saw his father standing above him. The pain on his face was almost tangible, but it immediately turned stern, and expression Nettlestripe had become used to seeing on his father's pale white face.

"Father, I'm sorry."

Nettlestripe had no idea what he was supposed to be sorry for, he never had been, but he knew from experience that his father was disappointed in him for some reason, and that immediately repenting for whatever he did would make the lecture shorter.

"You know all the battle strategies. You know everything about what to do in battle. But today… you almost died! Do you know how much I worried? When Tansywhisker wouldn't let me come in, I nearly went insane thinking that the wound was so terrible, she didn't want me to see it! You could have destroyed that cat. You should have! I should have!"

"It's wrong to kill in battle. This is only a scratch."

"He almost killed you, son!"

Nettlestripe decided not to mention that it was a she-cat. It would only make it worse.

"It's only a scratch, father!"

"You almost died. Do you think I don't know what a fatal wound looks like? Do you think I wouldn't remember the image, after all this time?"

Nettlestripe winced. Her mother had been killed in a battle with DoveClan many, many moons ago. Nettlestripe had just received his apprentice name. It was the worst time he could remember.

"No, father," he said softly. "You would never forget. I will never forget."

His father melted before him, and the powerful tom he had seen for so long became the broken, old soul he had become when he bid his sweet Flowertail goodbye. "You have a duty to your clan, my son. You cannot die. You cannot leave me."

Cloudstar left. Nettlestripe was alone.