#this is my 2424th post!

[warriorsredux]

Chapter Twelve

Fireheart had almost forgotten what mouse tasted like.

There weren’t very many of them during the winter - most of them stayed in their dens or close to the houses, where food was guaranteed - and those that did pop up were skinny and barely a mouthful. Fireheart usually stuck to squirrels and birds, but tonight, all he could find was the tiny brown mouse dangling by its tail from his mouth. He was grateful that there was nearly no one in camp to see his pitiful catch.

Wonder if anyone’s fed the queens, he thought. Might as well see.

There was a twitch of doubt in the back of his mind, but he ignored it and approached the oak tree that shielded the nursery from the outside world.

“Hello? I’ve got something.” He stuck his head in through the opening, accidentally dropping the mouse. “It’s not much, but...”

He trailed off as his eyes roamed around the nursery. It was surprisingly roomy for a den below the ground, with the bottom of the tree overhead and roots weaving through the walls. Bent feathers and dry moss and crooked little twigs littered the floor. In one corner was Goldenflower, dead asleep on her side. In the other was Frostfur, licking the head of one of the kittens at her belly.

Fireheart coughed politely to get her attention. He was rewarded with a hiss and the startled queen jumping to her feet, knocking her kits away from her. They wailed at the loss of warmth and began crawling over each other blindly.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Frostfur growled, but her voice trembled.

“Bringing you prey...?” Fireheart reached in and nudged the mouse closer to her. “I was saying it’s not much, but it’s food.”

Frostfur’s hairs gradually lowered on her back. She inched forward, snatched up the mouse, and hurried back to her kits. Quickly, she laid back down and pulled them close.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Fireheart said.

“I know.” Frostfur blinked hard and exhaled, looking back at him more calmly. “Thank you for the mouse.”

“No worries.” Fireheart watched the kittens kneading at their mother’s stomach. “I’ll, uh, get some more for Goldenflower.”

“We’ll be here,” Frostfur said. She turned to her mouse and started eating.

Fireheart didn’t move. He was surprised to find that he couldn’t take his eyes off the litter. Two of the kits looked the same - both golden with white markings - while one was white with patches and the other looked exactly like its mother. The patched one squeaked and kicked its back legs as it nursed, nudging the white one next to it. They looked a little like small, colorful squirrels with short tails.

Something in Fireheart’s chest and head raised its head out of the murk of his subconscious - something ugly and hateful, some cruel instinct that had never been there before. Beyond his understanding, Fireheart felt a deeply-rooted desire to lash out at these kits that grew darker and more powerful the longer he stared at this litter. It surprised and frightened him, but he wasn’t able to drag himself away.

“You’re blocking up the den,” someone said.

Fireheart jolted and hit his head on the top of the entrance. He winced and turned around to see Sandstorm looking down at him with a vole at her feet. Surprisingly, there was no narrowed, distrustful eyes or cold sneer waiting for him.

“What were you doing in there?” she said.

“Just-” Fireheart realized his fur was bristling. He shook himself hard and stepped away from the hole. “I was giving Frostfur some prey. I, uh... I have to get Goldenflower something too-”

“Let me take care of that,” Sandstorm said. Fireheart was relieved at the lack of scorn in her voice. “Toms aren’t supposed to be in there, anyway.”

“Oh,” Fireheart said quietly, mostly to himself. “Right. Sorry.”

Sandstorm didn’t move immediately. She watched Fireheart with her head tilted for a long moment. But instead of saying anything, she just picked up her prey, moved past him and slipped into the nursery. Fireheart let out a breath and walked into the center of camp.

What was happening to him? Already, the feeling was fading, but it was strong and driven by something Fireheart had never felt in his head before. He sat down and flexed his claws to get rid of the last of it, now filled with dread. He hadn’t acted this way around Cinderpaw and Swiftpaw when they were still kits, had he? And yet now, he had wanted to... do something. Hurt some innocent kittens somehow. Why?

“What’s with the tension, boy?”

Fireheart looked to the right. Yellowfang was hobbling up to him, Cinderpaw bouncing around behind her.

“You look like you’ve seen roadkill,” the old cat said.

“I, uh... I just visited the nursery,” Fireheart mumbled.

“So?”

“So... I don’t know.”

Yellowfang squinted at him and set her jaw. Almost a heartbeat later, her eyes bulged again and she made a low, darkly amused sound.

“Perhaps you ought to stay away from the nursery from here on out.” Her yellow, cracked teeth stuck out almost maliciously. “You’ve got those kittypet sensibilities.”

“What sensibilities?” Cinderpaw came to a stop beside her mentor, looking between the two adults.

“Never you mind, fool girl.” Yellowfang’s poorly-groomed tail gently swatted Cinderpaw upside the head. “Go see your brother or Willowpelt. Go on.”

“You’re gunna have a serious talk, aren’t you?” Cinderpaw stretched as tall as she could and leaned towards Fireheart. “Can I watch?”

“I told you to beat it, didn’t I?” Yellowfang snapped.

“Aw.” Cinderpaw slumped and walked away. She stopped once or twice and looked back hopefully, but Yellowfang’s growls sent her walking again.

“Now.” Yellowfang lowered her voice. “Let me guess. You were just wanting to kill those little fuzzballs, yes?”

“Not- not kill them,” Fireheart said quickly. “No, I just-”

“It was on your mind, though.” Yellowfang glanced at the nursery and then at Fireheart out of the side of her eye. “Good thing nothing happened. Frostfur would whoop you in a heartbeat.”

“I won’t deny that,” Fireheart said. “But how do you know about this... whatever it is?”

“You’re not a Clan cat.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you’re predisposed to violent urges around kits,” Yellowfang said, as if she was just remarking on the weather. “It’s in your blood to kill those that aren’t yours.”

Fireheart blinked. A faint memory resurfaced. “Goldenflower said the same thing to me a long time ago.”

“And you still went to visit?” Yellowfang gave him a funny look.

“Oh, pardon me,” Fireheart said. “Sorry I didn’t know that I’m crazy.”

“‘Crazy’,” Yellowfang snorted. “You’re wrong in the head, certainly, but not crazy.”

“Thanks.” Fireheart gave her a withering look.

Yellowfang didn’t appear to notice. “You might as well get out and clear your mind a little.”

“Clear it of what?”

Fireheart jumped as Tigerclaw approached, his eyes narrowed.

“The kittypet’s learning he doesn’t like kits that he didn’t father,” Yellowfang said. “Give him an assignment or something so he doesn’t have to stay in camp and start a fight.”

“I’m not going to start-”

“Patrol,” Tigerclaw said. “Lionpelt is going hunting soon. Perhaps you should go with him.”

Fireheart wasn’t sure whether to protest or accept this task quietly. He settled for a sigh. “Where’s he going?”

Tigerclaw’s expression vanished. “As far as I know, outside the territory.”

“What, to the houses?” Yellowfang said. “You lot have plenty of prey here. Why bother with the houses?”

“He may be going elsewhere,” Tigerclaw said quietly. “I just know that he could use some company.”

His eyes turned to Fireheart.

“I guess I could go with him,” Fireheart said after a moment of thought.

“A bit of hunting will get your mind back in shape,” Yellowfang said. “Be off, then.”

With that, she turned around and trotted lamely for her apprentice, who was wrestling with her brother.

“You should get going if you want to catch up to him,” Tigerclaw said to Fireheart.

“Right. Alright.” Fireheart quickly stood up straight and started for the outside. Just as he was about to leave, he noticed Tigerclaw walking for the nursery.

“I thought toms weren’t allowed in there!” he called.

Tigerclaw, bent over the hole between the tree’s roots, didn’t bother looking up. “Mates and fathers are.”

“Oh.” Fireheart blinked. “Who’re you, uh...?”

“Goldenflower.” Without another word, Tigerclaw entered. He had to practically slither into the den on his belly to fit.

“Congratulations,” Fireheart said to the space Tigerclaw had occupied. Silently, deeply troubled, he exited camp.