This one's dedicated to Alissa. I hope you get to feeling better!
Whitestorm wasn't quite sure how to feel when Thistleclaw's body was brought into camp. His father's bold shoulders shrugged, and his bloody tail dragged across the ground, leaving a small trail of disruption behind it. Disrupted. That was a good way to describe how Whitestorm felt. His claws scraped at the ground as he backed away, ears flat against his head. It was as if he was trying to block out the sounds, the whispers, the glances of sympathy. He closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head as if he was asleep, and if he shook it hard enough he'd wake up from this damned nightmare. He opened his eyes, and much to his disbelief, the scene was the same. Cats gathered round, and queens were fighting to stay in front of the nursery and keep the kits back. Whitestorm caught sight of Bluefur. She seemed almost... triumphant. Yet, she had a haze of guilt in her eyes. In that moment, he hated her. He hated her for keeping him away from his father. He hated her for hating him. The desire to claw into her face, to make her suffer for every cruel word she ever said about his father. His father was a lot of things, but he was not a tyrant. He was ambitious. He felt a gaze on the side of his pelt, making each individual hair prickle as if he had ants in his fur. As he turned his head, the amber gaze burned into him, as if it was staring at his very conscience. He ran.
He wasn't quite sure where his paws were taking him. Whitestorm ran through the forest, ignoring the scratches of branches in undergrowth. He had to get away, to escape... But where? He didn't want to leave ThunderClan. He just needed to get away. For now. But where? Subconsciously, his paws led him to Treecut place. Pine needles scratched at his pads. The scent of pine was heavy, and slightly foreign compared to the earthy and musty smells of the forest. He curled up under a tree, and closed his eyes. Father...
Darkness swirled all around him. Lights flashed brilliantly for just a heartbeat, disappearing as soon as they came. He panicked, feeling like there was nothing under his paws. Whirling around, he came face to face with Thistleclaw. His face was bloody and torn, and several patches of skin were missing from his pelt. Blood poured out of his ears and nose. Whitestorm reared back, fear imbedding itself into his bones. Thistleclaw opened his mouth to speak.
"Whitestorm!" A voice shouted, searching. He jolted out of his dream, panic flaring in his pelt. Darkness had fallen all around him, shadows cast along the pine needles. He jumped to his feet when he heard an owl hoot distantly. Whitestorm shook himself, trying to get his pelt to lie flat. It was fluffed up, and he probably looked like a beacon in the dark. He began to lick it, in order to get it to lie flat. Footsteps approached, and he turned to find Tigerclaw nose-to-nose with him.
"Why have you been out here?" Genuine curiousity. That's all he dedicated in that sincere mew.
"I didn't want to be around Bluefur." Bluntness. That's all he could manage. Tigerclaw purred heartily, sitting next to Whitestorm. Whitestorm awkwardly plopped down, suddenly greatly aware of how ungraceful he was.
"I understand." They sat in companionable silence together, listening to the crickets. After a few minutes, Tigerclaw broke the silence.
"You know, Thistleclaw was my mentor. He may have been ambitious, but he wasn't a bad cat. I lost my father, too. He didn't die, but he left the clan. Sometimes I wonder where he is now." He ended awkwardly, his sentences short and straight to the point. Whitestorm blinked, surprised that the usually brash Tigerclaw would come to him with such compassion.
"You're like a brother to me, Tigerclaw."
"You were always more."
The next morning, the only thing that could be seen was the two toms curled up beside each other, caring and comforting to their lost guardian.