6 moons ago
Cranewing, it seemed, was dead.
Finally.
It had been quite painless. Sudden. She had at least gifted him that. Now he could rest and be free of torment.
Right?
He was still here. He was still aware. When would it all end? What did he have to do to be free?
He curled in on himself and moaned, mouthless. Why couldn't he just stop?
. . .
He didn't know how long it had been since he had died. He didn't care to know. All he knew is that he was being disturbed. Something had invaded his space, something strange. He had felt the presence of living things around him, but they paid him no mind so he did the same. This new thing seemed to be actively seeking him out.
Go away go away go away…
Cranewing?
Leave me alone.
We need to speak to you. Please.
Fuck off.
We need to know about Songbird.
Something inside him awoke.
. . .
Slatefang's eyes were closed, but he still felt like he could see in a way. His senses were heightened and sharp and he could feel something.
He's here.
A dark presence hung over this part of the forest. It dripped off of every stale breeze like the crusted sap that clung to tree bark. The pines were scored with huge claw marks and the ground was churned up with the frenzy of a deadly struggle.
Slatefang concentrated. The second mind inside of him urged him onward.
Cranewing?
He immediately felt distinctly unwelcome. He pressed onward.
We need to speak to you. Please.
Anger this time. Sharp and profane. He flinched, but tried one more time.
We need to know about Songbird.
He got the impression of hesitation. He held back, waiting.
"What do you want?"
The voice hit Slatefang's ears instead of his mind. He opened his eyes.
A dark gray tomcat with black markings and dull yellow eyes had appeared before him. His pelt was ragged and his muzzle was scrunched in an unpleasant growl.
Slatefang blinked. Death had not been kind to Cranewing. Thunderstrike recognized the haunted look in the dead tom's eyes. He was not now, nor would he ever be, free.
Slatefang let Thunderstrike take the lead.
"You spent time with that thing." Thunderstrike did not bother to clarify what he meant. They all knew what he was talking about. "We would like you to tell us what you know."
Cranewing fixed them with a harsh, suspicious glare. His yellow eyes flicked up and down from Slatefang to Thunderstrike, somehow seeing them both though they were still one.
"Are there…two of you?" Cranewing asked slowly.
"Yes." Thunderstrike rumbled. Cranewing's eyes snapped onto a spot just above Slatefang's head. Thunderstrike had been taller than Slatefang in life.
"One of you is still alive?" Cranewing said.
Slatefang nodded. Cranewing fixed his gaze onto him instead. He flattened one ear. "Right," he mumbled. He turned and began to pad away.
Slatefang hurried after him.
"Please," Thunderstrike said. "You have valuable information."
Cranewing flicked his tail. "And?"
Slatefang dug his claws into the ground. "You know things about her. You could help us understand what she wants and how to stop her."
Cranewing snorted. "All she wants is for me to suffer. If you wait, I'm sure she will be back here soon enough. You can ask her yourself."
Slatefang flattened an ear. "When did you last see her?"
Cranewing lashed his tail. "When she snapped my spine like a twig."
"And when was that?" Slatefang pressed.
"Just now. She chased the rest of them into the forest." Cranewing hissed.
Thunderstrike and Slatefang exchanged a mental glance.
"Cranewing, that happened a moon ago."
Cranewing froze. "What?"
"You've been dead for a moon." Thunderstrike said calmly.
. . .
Cranewing stared at the strange cat that felt like two. He tried to digest what he had just heard. He had been dead for how long? He had been alone for an entire moon? How had he not noticed the time going by, even while dead?
A rolling cloud of memories and emotions darkened the horizon of his mind. How long had it been since he had last been free of his constant companion? How long had it been since he had been alone in his thoughts or dreams or waking hours?
How long had it been since he had felt sane?
He let himself vanish into the depths of his memory. He ignored the strange cat's call of confusion and let wave after wave of past moons push him further under the surface. When next he opened his eyes, he was seeing only memories.
. . .
"What did you do?!"
Falconstorm's voice, strained and horrified, echoed uselessly in Cranewing's ears. He looked down at his paws. One was streaming with water. The other was dribbling something red onto the smooth stone.
His mind worked sluggishly. What had he just done? He remembered being angry. So, so angry.
"Where is she?!" Falconstorm demanded. He ran forward on the wet rock and stared across the tumbling water. White foam sprayed across the surface as the snowmelt-swollen river raged past.
A memory of a gray pelt sinking below the churning surface brushed against Cranewing's lethargic mind.
Falconstorm's muzzle appeared before Cranewing's eyes. His brother's face was twisted with fear and confusion.
"Cranewing?" Falconstorm said.
Cranewing focused on Falconstorm's wide, terrified eyes.
"She chose you." Cranewing murmured. His voice was almost lost behind the sound of the rushing water.
Falconstorm blinked. Several emotions passed over his face in quick succession. "But where-"
Cranewing looked down at his bloodied paw. Such anger. He had never known something so piercing, so all-consuming.
"She fell." Cranewing whispered. He stared into the water again.
Falconstorm looked from Cranewing's paws to the roaring river several times, understanding dawning on his face.
"You...Oh, StarClan." Falconstorm's voice tightened. He stepped to the very edge of the rocks and leaned out over the water. "Oh, StarClan!"
Suddenly worried that his brother was going to fling himself into the water too, Cranewing moved to block him. Falconstorm whirled his head to face Cranewing.
"No cat could fight that current." Cranewing said. His voice sounded foreign to his ears. Listless and dead. "There's been too much rain and snowmelt."
Falconstorm backed away, glancing to the water and back several times. "Songbird is a good swimmer." He babbled. "She...she..." But he trailed off when he caught sight of Cranewing shaking his head.
There was a moment of silence. Falconstorm's jaw worked without sound and his legs had started to shake. Cranewing was dimly surprised at how calm he felt.
Falconstorm looked from Cranewing to the river a few more times. He paused and took a shaky breath.
"Was it an accident?" he asked. "Because Blizzardstar will understand if it was."
Cranewing hesitated. Everything was so muddled. He couldn't remember the specifics of what had just happened.
"I don't know," he said truthfully.
Falconstorm froze. There was another long silence.
"What have you done?" Falconstorm whispered into the still air. "I never imagined you could...not to her."
Cranewing didn't respond. He stared into the water, letting it hypnotize him.
"Run."
Startled by this sudden command, Cranewing faced his brother. Falconstorm's face had set into a facade of stern resolve.
"What?" Cranewing said.
"Run." Falconstorm repeated. "The Clan will demand justice."
Cranewing shook his head slightly. "But-"
Falconstorm surged forward and shoved Cranewing back, hard. "Go!" he hissed, his gray eyes flashing with pain and fury.
Cranewing stumbled on the slippery rock. He took one last look at his brother standing there, his face a mask of torment, before he turned on his heel and sped away upriver.
. . .
It had been two sunrises since Cranewing had passed the CedarClan border and into unclaimed territory. His paws were swollen and stung with grit. His belly twisted with angry hunger, and his muscles groaned with every movement.
His vision swam, and his tongue burned with thirst. The sound of the widening river taunted him with its promise of a need quenched, but the thought of approaching the freezing tempest filled him with terrible dread. He dared not go near, but he dared not run away until he could no longer hear the sound of his sin.
He stumbled on a protruding rock and fell to the ground. He tried feebly to rise again, but his body had given up on him. He lay there on the exposed rock under a warm newleaf sun he could not feel upon his fur. He gazed up at the sky with one eye and let his exhaustion drown him.
He awoke to the sound of distant thunder. Droplets of water were falling onto his pelt. The wind groaned as it rushed over the stony ground. Cranewing groaned with it. Rain hit his face. Some of it dribbled into his half-open mouth. The feeling of the water on his tongue seemed to jerk his instincts back into action. He rolled over so all four of his paws were touching the ground, and he began to drag himself to where a small indent in the rocks was quickly filling with streams of rainwater.
He lapped at the stone, savoring the moisture. Once he had drunk his fill, he curled up on the wet rock and closed his eyes. Wind buffeted his wet fur, chilling him to the bone. The thunder was getting louder and more frequent now.
His instincts told him to get up and find shelter, but his mind was too fixated on the thoughts that his endless trek had been keeping at bay. Now that he was lying here, unable to distract himself any longer, the realization of what had happened came to him without mercy.
Songbird was dead. He, Cranewing, was likely responsible. He felt responsible, despite not knowing if it was anger that sent her into the river or an accident. The Clan would have banished him or even executed him for his crime. Falconstorm had saved him from that fate. Despite Cranewing's murder of the cat they both loved, despite the utter betrayal, Falconstorm had saved him.
The thought made Cranewing want to die.
Why had Songbird chosen the wrong brother? Why hadn't he, Cranewing, ever been able to control his temper? He wanted to scream out to StarClan and curse them for giving him life.
The rain seemed to rage in a mirror of Cranewing's emotions. The wind lashed him from every side. Thunder and lightning split the sky in terrible, deafening strikes. The nearby river was swelling past its banks. He could feel the icy water dragging at his fur. How he hoped it would sweep him away like it had swept her away.
"Get up!" An angry voice demanded.
Cranewing didn't move. His mind moved slowly. Who was speaking to him?
"Move, you idiot!"
The voice was oddly familiar, although he had never heard it so cold and impatient before.
Cranewing peeled open his eyes and scanned the rain. He could see nothing but the rocky banks and the thrashing trees on the other side of the river.
A sharp jab of pain stung his back. "I said, get up!" the voice hissed directly into his ear.
He jerked and raised his head. He looked around. The speaker had to have been right on top of him for their voice to sound so near. There was no one.
A flash of lightning followed almost instantly by a deafening boom of thunder sent a jolt through Cranewing's body. Instinct moved him and he scrambled to his paws in a moment of heightened terror. Another blinding burst of flickering lightning caused him to run for cover. Adrenaline pushed his muscles to the breaking point as he made for the tree line.
Frantic, Cranewing searched for shelter. He found a pile of boulders and dove between the cracks. The rain pounded through the trees around him. His body shivered despite his run, and exhaustion nipped at his whiskers. The rocks did a poor job keeping the rain out, but he was out of the wind and safe from any falling branches.
Despite the storm raging around him, he managed to curl up and fall asleep.
. . .
"I'm sorry, Cranewing, but I've made up my mind."
"I love you, Songbird, and I know you love me too."
"No! I love Falconstorm."
"Don't lie to yourself. Whose kits are you carrying? Mine!"
"They're not yours!"
Cranewing woke with a terrible lurch of anger in his stomach. Terrified green eyes flashed in his memory. No one else had known that she had been expecting kits. No one would ever know whose they really were.
His belly ached with anger and betrayal.
Eventually he forced himself up and out from under the boulders. The forest around him had the sparkling, dreamy look of a forest washed clean by a storm. It was dark and the moon drifted lazily in the sky while sparse clouds chased each other across her face. Cranewing dropped his gaze as a few twinkling stars peeked out from behind the clouds.
Cranewing took a deep breath of the night air. The smell of prey filled his mouth and his jowls quivered. He let instinct drive his paws and soon he was crunching down a mouse. The prey here was fat and slow. Even in his weakened state it had been very easy to catch his meal.
He got up and padded out from under the trees to properly survey his surroundings. The river had calmed itself and had sunken a few mouse-lengths back into its banks. He looked downriver and saw the winding path he had taken the day before. The river swayed this way and that before veering suddenly to the left and out of his sight. He couldn't see the lake. He couldn't even see the peak of the mountain that held the Moontree. Another peak blocked his view.
Upriver the water was streaked with islands of rounded stones. Large boulders dotted the water as well. Trees and ferns grew upon their mossied surfaces. Several large tree trunks and varying debris clogged the water's flow, causing it to widen even more.
It was odd. This place looked similar to CedarClan territory, but it felt much different. There was no familiar smell of his Clanmates. No worn paths in the undergrowth where generations of warriors had trod for moons. This place was empty.
Maybe that was good, he thought as he began to walk along the river again. Maybe he wasn't meant to live among other cats.
He walked until the sky began to lighten. He let himself look up as the stars began to fade away. Which one of those was Songbird?
He shook himself mentally. He didn't want to think of her anymore. He didn't deserve to.
He thought of her anyway. For several more days all he did was think of her. Her beauty, her mew, and her final shriek of shock and pain haunted each step he forced himself to take. He didn't know where he was going or why, he just knew he needed to keep moving.
On the fourth day after the storm, Cranewing began to hear a rumbling in the distance. Dimly curious, he walked further than he normally did. He even felt a twinge of excitement as he neared the source of the rumble. The land around him began to rise and soon he found himself clambering up slopes of tumbled rock and trees.
It was sunset by the time he crawled over a boulder and took in a magnificent waterfall. The river at home had a few waterfalls but there was nothing even close to this. The sound was incredible. It penetrated his very bones. He stood atop his spray-slicked rock for a long while, taking it in. The relentless sound shook his body and chased away his constant thoughts of her. He closed his eyes and let the pounding of the water soothe him.
Then something brushed his pelt, and he smelled her.
His eyes snapped open and he stared around wildly. His heart jumped hopefully in his chest. Of his days of constant thoughts of her, he had never thought he could smell her until now.
A mixture of anticipation and fear flooded his veins. Could it be possible? He jumped to his feet and spun around, searching. Could she have survived and followed him this far? He held his breath.
Movement in the trees caught his eye. He peered into the tree line just beyond the jumbled rocks scattered at the foot of the waterfall. Something moved there.
Instinct reminded him that he was not the only living thing here. He dropped into a crouch and pressed himself low to his rock, hoping his dark pelt would disguise him. A few heart-pounding moments later, a doe stepped cautiously out from the trees and gazed around with its huge brown eyes. Its belly was swollen and its white-tipped tail flicked nervously as it checked for danger.
The doe stepped lightly onto the pebbles and bent its smooth neck to drink from one of the many swirling pools of water. Cranewing relaxed but didn't move. He watched the doe for a while until it had drunk its fill and skipped back into the trees.
Cranewing let out a sigh and straightened up. He turned to slide down off his rock and find a place to sleep.
She was sitting right next to him. Her fur streamed with water and her eyes were blank and staring.
Cranewing let out a strangled cry and lurched backwards. He barely saved himself from slipping sideways off of the rock and into the water. As his claws scrabbled on the dark stone, he blinked and she was gone.
He did not stay at the waterfall. He moved on after a short, fitful sleep. He had run out of river to follow, so he instead headed along the mountainside towards the sunset. Several times he thought he saw her out of the corner of his eye, or in the distance. She never appeared as close as she had that first time.
Fear and anxiety now haunted his steps. Had her spirit followed him all this way? Was she trying to punish him? He knew he deserved it, but that didn't stop him from silently begging it to stop every time he squeezed his eyes shut.
She appeared as he had never seen her in life. Gaunt, drenched, and silent she watched him from faraway rocks and distant tree lines.
Sometimes she appeared and disappeared within an eyeblink. Other times she remained at the same distance from him for long stretches of travel, never moving, but always there at the edge of his vision.
He found no respite in sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, he was tormented with images of her falling backwards into the churning river, her eyes glazed with horror and dismay. He hardly slept, and when he managed to, his dreams were full of her.
Eventually his guilt and fear turned to festering anger.
This was her fault. She had chosen the wrong brother. She had given him, Cranewing, whispered promises and nights where she was the only thing he could feel, hear, and smell. How could she, after everything, have chosen Falconstorm?
His bitterness chapped his lips and added to the mess of anxiety roiling in his belly. A half-moon into his isolation, he began hating her presence for more than one reason.
. . .
He awoke one day to find his vision clear. He blinked several times, confused. She had been with him for so long that now her absence was terribly strange. The feeling was bittersweet.
He climbed to the peak of a small rocky hill and gazed out upon the landscape. He took a deep breath as he took in the sprawling forests, mountains, and rivers before him. They glowed golden in the fading sun. Was it his imagination, or could he see the lake off in the distance? He shook his head. That was part of another life now.
He hopped down from his perch and found that he didn't feel the need to keep running anymore. Now that his paws weren't being driven by the fear of her presence, he felt oddly content. He leaned into the feeling gratefully. Was his punishment over? Could StarClan no longer see him? He didn't know nor care.
Hunger clawed at his belly. He let his paws take him to the cover of trees once more. The glorious scent of prey wreathed around him as he stalked through the undergrowth.
Squirrel.
The scent made his claws itch. He sunk lower into the ferns and peered through the fronds, waiting. His patience was rewarded when a fat, gray squirrel ambled into view. It had a large beech nut grasped in its front paws.
Cranewing let his warrior training take over. He waited until the squirrel began shoving the nut into its bulging cheeks. His prey distracted, Cranewing sprang.
He was not the only one.
A flash of dark brown fur darted forward and snatched the squirrel out from under Cranewing's paws. Shock and momentum carried Cranewing forward. He crashed into the ball of unfamiliar fur and got a mouthful of foul-smelling hair. The thing let out a harsh barking shriek.
Cranewing had heard that noise before. It preceded the rough, vibrating snarl of a wolverine.
Panicked, Cranewing tumbled into a standing position. He whipped around just as the wolverine came at him. Its yellow teeth and claws flashed in the fading sunlight as it charged.
Cranewing ducked as the snarling, spitting thing flung itself at him. It crashed into a bush just behind them, but it refused to be slowed. It rolled into a standing position in one, flailing movement and charged again. Cranewing sidestepped the attack. The wolverine dug its front claws into the dirt and used the momentum of its failed charge to swing its compact body around and scrabble after Cranewing.
Cranewing wasn't ready for such a wild maneuver. The wolverine tackled him with a hideous shriek and bowled him over. Cranewing's muzzle was shoved deep into the wolverine's thick, hot pelt. He choked and spat, trying to grab hold of the thing's limber body. It thrashed this way and that as it snapped at his face.
Cranewing was tossed back and forth by the sheer tensile strength of the wolverine's midsection, but he dare not let go. His grip kept the creature's teeth from making contact with his ears.
The struggling pair rolled over in the dirt, the wolverine shrieking and growling and Cranewing grunting occasionally. He knew in the back of his mind that he would not win a contest of strength with this animal. Wolverines were known for their resilience and ferocity. They would fight until something died.
As he grappled with the beast, Cranewing thought dully of just letting go. He could endure a few moments of pain before...
Before what?
Silence. Peace. The end of the struggle.
He let the thought tempt him for longer than he ought to have. He felt his muscles weaken and his grip slacken.
If he turned his head he would expose his neck to the snapping teeth. Wouldn't it be nice to just drift away? Surely StarClan didn't rule these skies. He could just...go.
The weight of the wolverine was lifted in one sudden jerk. Cranewing stayed where he was on his back staring up at the darkening sky through the canopy of trees.
He heard the wolverine give a growling squeal of pain and fear. A thundering roar followed by a snort drowned out the wolverine's cry.
Cranewing's terrified muscles jerked him into a crouching position involuntarily. He looked around wildly for the source of that horrible noise.
He caught the end of the wolverine's flat tail disappearing into the bushes. His eyes swept his surroundings.
Sitting calmly over the body of the squirrel was Songbird.
She was staring at him with her empty eyes. Cranewing was struck motionless. He stared back.
Had she saved him?
"What do you want from me?" Cranewing croaked.
She didn't move.
"Why didn't you let me die?"
No answer.
Cranewing's voice rose to a desperate howl. "What do you want?!"
Songbird was on her paws now. Cranewing didn't remember seeing her move. She cocked her head slightly as she watched him.
"Leave me be!" Cranewing screeched.
She never answered and she never went back to her previous incarnation. From then on, she walked by his side as silent as ever.
. . .
"...reminds me of AlderClan territory. I never got along with the warriors from AlderClan. Too pompous, as if living in the least hospitable of the four territories made them stronger instead of more foolish."
Cranewing paused in his recollection as he carefully jumped from one boulder to the next. He looked around to find that Songbird had appeared at his side once again, despite never making a leap. She stared at him.
Barely flinching, Cranewing dropped down from the boulder and carried on his way. A quarter-moon had passed since his fight with the wolverine. His scratches had healed and he had become quite used to Songbird's new presence.
She almost felt real. He could have sworn that he could feel her rippling breath on his pelt and hear her light footfalls when he wasn't watching.
But she remained silent. She remained cold. She remained his constant reminder of all that he had done and left behind.
So, he had begun voicing his thoughts aloud. Living his entire life in the company of a Clan had instilled him with a desire to confide in someone. The loneliness of the wilderness had become too much to bear. He found himself almost thankful for company, however ghostly and painful it was.
He opened his mouth to continue reminiscing about AlderClan when his stomach growled. The scrawny mouse he had eaten yesterday hadn't lasted long. He swiped his tongue over his jaws and tasted the air.
"Squirrel or mouse?" he wondered out loud.
He froze. For a moment he could have sworn he had heard...but no. He blinked. Surely, he had just imagined it. He moved to continue walking.
"Choke."
The response came loudly this time, harsh and full of spite.
Cranewing stopped dead once more. Heart beating wildly, he glanced to the side without moving his head.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her blurry gray shape. She didn't move. He turned his head so he could see her more clearly.
Her eyes were no longer empty and dead. They smoldered with poisonous green hatred.
Cranewing squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
"I'm just imagining things." he muttered to himself.
"Of course you are."
Cranewing jumped back and snapped his eyes open.
She stood there, glaring at him. The voice had definitely been hers, although it was tinged with a venom he had never heard from her.
He took a step back from her. Her eyes followed him.
"You're dead." he said loudly.
She actually rolled her eyes and sniffed. "Yes."
He stared at her, dumbfounded. "I don't understand-"
"You murdered me. You murdered my kits." she interrupted in a low, dangerous growl.
Cranewing cringed despite himself. This was her; he knew it. Her smell, her fur, her air. But there was something very wrong. Her eyes were narrowed with loathing and her voice was rougher.
"I didn't mean-"
Once again, she didn't let him finish. "I won't let you forget me." she hissed.
Confused, Cranewing shied away from her anger. How could she think that he could ever forget her? She haunted his pawsteps every waking moment.
But it had been some time since he had felt this horrified guilt, this gut-wrenching pain of knowing what he had done to her. He had forgotten her, if only for a short time.
He knew in his heart that he deserved no peace.
His hunger abated, he turned and trudged ahead. He didn't know where he was going. He only knew that he would not find relief until she had deemed his punishment fulfilled.
. . .
"Traitor."
He didn't know how long he had been walking. He didn't know how many days had passed since he had done that terrible thing.
"Coward."
He could barely remember anything about his old life. He knew that he had been a warrior. He knew that he was no longer one.
"Murderer."
He knew that the voice had been with him for a long time. He knew that it told the truth.
"I will never let you rest."
Somehow that comforted him. He hated and loved the voice and the phantom that accompanied it. He knew that he deserved this torment. He knew it.
Rain spattered the ground. Cranewing looked up into the gray sky. His body shivered, but he did not feel the cold. He needed shelter and food. Maybe the dream would come to him while he slept this time; the dream where she let him curl up beside her and she stopped her unceasing torrent of whispers.
The thought awakened a small hope in his chest. The voice hissed derisively. The hope died. Not this time, then.
Dead, wet leaves slipped around underpaw as Cranewing padded further into the trees. He smelled the air, searching for the scents of living things. He caught a whiff of mouse and began to stalk it, all the while listening to the constant whispering voice.
He caught sight of the little brown creature slipping under some leaves among the roots of a tree. He bent his legs, ready to pounce.
"This is my territory." A loud, firm mew caused Cranewing to look up. The mouse vanished down a nearby hole in the ground.
A black and white cat had emerged from behind a tree. She stood in a half-crouch; her yellow eyes fixed on Cranewing.
The whispers stopped.
The shock of it caused Cranewing to stagger sideways. The newcomer raised her hackles in a defensive position.
"Stay back." She warned.
She was small; about the size of a new apprentice. Her yellow eyes were rimmed with black fur and they moved slowly around the area, scanning for danger.
"Are you alone?" She said calmly.
Cranewing was still recovering from the sudden silence inside his head, so he didn't answer right away. The she-cat's tail lashed harder with every moment he was quiet.
"Yes." Cranewing grunted. His voice cracked from underuse.
The she-cat glared at him and lowered her tail slightly. It was strange. She looked young, but her calm and decisive air spoke of experience and age.
He dipped his head in deference to her. "I apologize for trespassing."
The she-cat tossed her head. She took him with a discerning eye. "You look awful." she said bluntly.
Cranewing looked down at himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had given himself a good grooming. He was covered in mud and debris, and his coat had several matts hanging off of it in clumps. He knew he was thin, and he must smell terrible.
"Yeah." He said. "I've been traveling."
The she-cat paused. She seemed to be considering something. "My name is Roach." she said finally.
Cranewing flicked an ear in surprise. "Crane." he said. He didn't know why he left his warrior name off. It seemed appropriate somehow.
"Well, Crane, you'd do well to move on." Roach said. "This is my place."
Crane nodded. "Don't worry, I will."
The she-cat waited for him to leave. It took everything he had to turn his back on the only real interaction he had had in moons.
The whispers returned the moment he was alone again.
. . .
The memory of his run-in with Roach stayed with him for the next quarter-moon. The days had grown much warmer as he wandered. The buzzing of flies filled his ears during the sunlit hours and the chirping of crickets disturbed his sleep at night. As the temperature rose, he found himself sleeping longer while the sun shone, and moving forward once it had set.
Moving forward. Moving towards something.
"Liar."
He had no destination. He had no goal. No home.
"Outcast."
And so he stopped. In the middle of the night, in the middle of a forest he didn't know, simply because he had no will to move on.
He curled up beneath a juniper bush and closed his tired eyes. Blessedly, she let him sleep without much fuss.
. . .
The leaves had already begun to turn when things changed.
He awoke at dusk to find that she had appeared once again, but this time her paws held weight. Her steps crunched the forest floor debris, and he could feel her presence as surely as if she was moving and breathing there next to him.
For a while all he could do was stare at her. She stared back, her tail twitching.
At length, she spoke.
"Why aren't you dead?"
The question wasn't spiteful or soaked in venom. It was curious.
He didn't answer. He didn't know why he was still alive. He woke, hunted, ate, and slept with no other purpose than to fill his aching belly. He didn't care if he made it to see the next sunset. He suspected that if a fox or a wolverine found him he wouldn't lift a claw to help himself.
She fixed him with a glare that seemed to penetrate him.
"I might have a use for you after all." She said.
He found his voice. "What do you want from me?" His pitiful mew shook.
She cocked her head and studied him. "Oh no, it's much too soon for questions like that. For now let's just focus on keeping you alive."
His head spun. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? He closed his eyes and covered his face with his paws like a scared kit.
"Come now," her voice was like the stinging of a thousand insects, "You can't hide from the past, Cranewing. You can't hide from me."
From that day onward, she was always there. She was the last thing he would see when he closed his eyes and the first thing he saw when he awoke. She watched him with those terrible eyes, boring holes in his pelt with their heat.
Soon he found it difficult to even open his eyes, let alone hunt to keep himself alive. The wind was growing colder and the leaves were falling in earnest now. Prey was becoming scarcer, so he ate less and less. Maybe he would starve. He found comfort in that thought.
One morning he awoke as weak as a kitten. He tried to open his eyes and roll over, but he found he couldn't. His mouth and throat were terribly dry, and his stomach felt hollow.
"Oh, for Life's sake."
Her voice was far away.
"I knew you looked weak." She prodded him in the side, which hurt. He groaned. She made an impatient noise. "I suppose I'll have to hunt for you."
He was left with nothing but the slight sounds of her retreat through the dead leaves. His body seized up, waiting for a hint that she was still there. His heart pounded in his ears. There was nothing. Not a whisper.
He opened his eyes.
The watery sunlight stung his eyes, but he marveled in its beauty nonetheless. The trees above his head were tall aspens. Their yellow leaves flickered in the receding light. Their white barked trunks gave the area a clean feeling. He took a deep breath. The crisp scent of the juniper bush filled him with warmth. He could taste fresh water in the air.
He got to his paws and slid out from under the juniper. He couldn't feel his hunger or thirst anymore. He broke into a trot.
It was strange, thinking with his own empty thoughts and walking without the feeling of eyes on his pelt. She had truly left him this time. He didn't know where she had gone, but she wasn't with him any longer.
He felt free. He let the beauty of leaf-fall fill him with wonder. The colors. The scents. The sounds. He almost purred. He began to run. He had little time.
The sound of the rushing river approaching was like a balm on his cracked and sore soul. He could imagine the feeling of the cold water soothing every ache he had. He picked up speed.
He was lucky. The river here wasn't as wide and shallow as it had been the last time he had sought it out. Here it was swift and deep. There were even some rapids further downstream where a rockfall had clogged the flow.
Crane clambered over the rocks that separated him from the water. His limbs shook with relief. He was so close.
His mind was clear for the first time since his days as a young cat in the clan. No more fierce rage lying barely concealed under the surface. He could be free.
He stepped to the edge of a rock overlooking the rushing water.
With a final sigh of relief, he threw himself over the side.