Thanks to World of Make Believe, Courageflame, Fioralba, and Willowfur for reviewing! It's another update! I am so good to you people...
DISCLAIMER: NOTHING HERE IS MINE! 'Cept this cookie. =eats cookie=
Eight
The atmosphere was strangely bleak as the cats prepared to leave. Last heartbeat, murmured goodbyes filled the air with their sorrow, and even though Chicory was not leaving behind any cats she particularly cared about, sadness pricked her pelt like thorns.
"Where are we going?" she dared ask Holly timidly. This morning, there was a strange, fierce fire burning in Chicory's mother's eyes.
"Who knows?" Holly didn't meet her daughter's eyes - instead, she gazed through the white, swirling mist of the moors that the sun hadn't yet had the chance to burn off. Her mew was far away, but yet it had the odd passion of her eyes. "At least we're leaving. The sky's the limit. We can go anywhere, do anything..."
Chicory found herself taking a few pawsteps backwards. Didn't Holly feel anything towards the place where her mate had died?
Holly was still speaking, but as Chicory listened, she realised that her mother wasn't talking to her anymore. "...oh, I'm sorry, my love. But you will be with me always - won't you? Promise me? Oh, Windflower. Thank you. Thank you. I love you." A delighted purr rose from Holly's throat as she seemed to rub her head against a flank that Chicory couldn't see.
She's mad, thought Chicory, horror-stricken at the hallucinogenic behaviour. She's literally lost her mind.
Did Holly truly think that Windflower was standing there next to her, purring as she was? Or was she simply making it up, pretending, to keep his spirit alive?
Thoughts whirled chaotically around in Chicory's head, a jumble of images. She didn't realise that she had stepped backwards a few paces until she heard a slightly irate 'ouch!' from behind her.
Flushing under her fur, the white she-cat murmured an instinctive apology before she had even turned around.
"You never look where you're going, do you, you silly kit?"
Chicory's head snapped back so swiftly that she heard a crack as she cricked her neck. Any other cat would have yowled "You!" in fury and leapt on the tom without a second thought, but Chicory was frozen to the spot with a mixture of fear and surprise.
"Y-you can't be that much older than me," she stammered at the tortoiseshell tom finally, cursing herself at how vulnerable her mew sounded.
"Mousebrain." Iris's son's mew was full of contempt. "I'm only small because I'm an invalid."
The matter-of-fact way he phrased the sentence confused Chicory. "You... what?"
"I'm an invalid," repeated the tom. "Weak immune system. Tortoiseshells are supposed to be she-cats." He raised a dappled forepaw and licked it swiftly. "Bet I'm not as much of a kit as you are." Raising his head arrogantly, he mewed, "Six moons. And you?"
A kind of vindictive pleasure rose inside Chicory among the usual clutter of chagrin. "Eight m-moons." In her head, her mew was cool and superior, but when she spoke the words, it was a soft mutter, as usual.
The tortoiseshell didn't seem fazed. "I'm sure I far exceed you in maturity, though," he murmured, almost to himself. "I mean, just look at you. You're as awkward as a two-moon kit!"
Shock rippled down Chicory's spine as she realised how much that comment hurt. She knew it was true. She was unwieldy; she was embarrassed around other cats. Chicory knew she didn't fit in. She had always stuck out like a sore paw. But she had never had another cat say it out loud.
"Thanks a lot," she hissed in a mutter, swinging around to rejoin her mother. The cats had started to move now – with Heather and Beech at the head, they swarmed as a single-bodied entity, Cedar and Bracken trotting proudly behind their parents.
Chicory and the tortoiseshell tom now lagged behind the rest of the cats. Fond farewells were now fading into memory as the cats staying behind just stared after them, saying nothing. Chicory got the idea that the silence was slightly forlorn. After all, this was goodbye… forever.
"Oops. I'm sorry… It's true, though. You're not very mature for eight moons."
Annoyance and embarrassment pricked Chicory's pelt again as the tortoiseshell's mew reached her ears. She could hear his paws pattering on the tufty ground behind her, and promptly picked up her pace.
"Listen, I didn't know that would offend you…" His mew was pleading now, but Chicory ignored it. "I just wanted to talk to you… I mean… Say sorry for attacking you. I've thought it over, and I don't think it was called f-" He broke off.
Chicory had tripped on a clump of heather and gone crashing to the ground, muzzle-first. Humiliation coursing through her, she jumped up and shook herself, before swinging around to face the now-purring tomcat.
"Listen, whatever your name is, 'cause I can't remember it, you are not the sort of cat…" Chicory faltered, spluttering, as her words came out almost unintelligibly. The tom looked mildly confused, but somehow managed to retain his arrogance.
"Do you want to get those words out, or what?" The tom asked, in what could have passed as a snort. "And it's Ivy, in case you didn't remember.
Chicory didn't purr.
"Ivy," she growled, irritation sparking clarity in her mew. "Your father killed mine. Leave. Me. Alone."
Without waiting for his reply, Chicory bolted, haring off towards the throng of moving cats before Ivy's hurt expression could take a toll on her guilt levels.
###
"Marigold," the small ginger kit was whining. "How much longer?"
His mother blinked fondly, albeit tiredly, down at him. "Not much longer, I promise."
"But how long?" Snapdragon begged to know, dragging his paws behind him at a little faster than a snail's pace. "I want our old home back."
"Our home is here," Foxglove mewed from Snapdragon's other side. "All the important parts, anyway. The cats we love are here, and that's what counts."
Snapdragon pondered this for a heartbeat as the three cats plodded along in the midst of the throng. The tough, heathery moorland had given way to softer green fronds several days ago, and although Snapdragon was grateful for the soothing grass underpaw, it didn't stop him from missing his old home by the lochside.
As for his father's argument about the cats they loved being there... Well, Snapdragon could only think of a couple of cats that he actually knew. Aside from Foxglove and Marigold, of course, he saw his aunts and uncles from time to time. He had his cousins, too, but even though Nettle and Candytuft were nice enough, he knew they preferred playing on their own, and Cedar and Bracken were still young enough to be under Heather's watchful eye every other heartbeat.
The only cats that Snapdragon had ever met who weren't related to him were Holly, Lilac, and Chicory. It had been Chicory who had saved him. It had been Chicory who had seemed so timid, but had helped him find Marigold again, and Chicory who didn't treat him like a mousebrained newborn.
"Chicory," he mewed suddenly.
Marigold blinked sleepily at the ginger tom. Snapdragon was a little put out. It is approaching sunset, but she could at least have the decency to listen to me! he thought indignantly, conveniently forgetting his earlier complaints.
"What was that, honey?" the grey tabby she-cat asked.
Snapdragon bristled a little. He hated being called 'honey'. "I want Chicory!" he meowed loudly.
Marigold's gaze clouded a little with confusion. "Chicory...?" she repeated doubtfully.
"...Wasn't she that shy little cat we found you with?" put in Foxglove.
Fluffing his tail out in annoyance, Snapdragon mewed, "She wasn't just that 'shy little she-cat'! She saved my life!"
"Yes, sweetheart," was Marigold's condescending reply, ignoring her son's request for the young she-cat.
Snapdragon lapsed into a huffy silence, deciding to give his parents the silent treatment.
She did save my life! he thought, again and again, staring into the red-stained sky. She did!
"Don't look directly at the sun," came his mother's warning mew.
Snapdragon didn't reply, still in a mood. If I want to look at the sun, maybe I will!
"Ouch!"
His screech sounded two heartbeats later, making every cat within five foxlengths jump and look around. Snapdragon had stopped, frozen, his eyes tightly shut and his face screwed up.
Foxglove rushed to his side. "What happened?" he mewed, concerned.
Snapdragon opened one eye a crack, and stared at the ground. A round circle was burned into his vision.
"...I looked directly at the sun," he muttered sullenly.
Yeah, I know, a bit of a rubbish ending, but I had a bit of trouble with the Writer's Block on this chapter. The words just didn't want to flow. Anyway, this is most likely the last you'll see of me and Torrent for a while, what with the fact that I'm going on camp in three days. Just don't expect many updates, like it says on my profile.