Death of the Redux

“I suppose we have no other business here,” Firestar said to Rookstar. “Unless you need help with something?”

Rookstar’s tail brushed along the ground lazily. “Should be good for a few days. Keep in touch. We could help you too.”

“I appreciate that.” Firestar settled a little in his chest. “And, of course, ThunderClan’s ready to help you at any time. If you want extra muscle to confront those Aulmir cats, please let us know.”

“Duly noted.”

Firestar looked at Brick. “Ready to go?”

Brick slanted his head. “We might as well. I’m eager to get out of this grass, if you’ll pardon me, Rookstar.”

“Take an escort.” Rookstar beckoned Wrenwhisker over with his tail. “Don’t need you to fall into a tunnel.”

Wrenwhisker said nothing as he walked past Firestar and Brick, leading them back out into the moorland. It troubled Firestar that he was grateful for the silence.

Walking down the long hill was a great deal easier; the main concern was following Wrenwhisker’s path. It was truly a marvel how, even knowing the tunnels were there, they were still impossible to see. If the grass didn’t cover one, it was elegantly shielded by a crest of tough, dry earth that hovered at just the right height to not be suspicious at a second or third glance.

They were about halfway down when Wrenwhisker turned his head, met Firestar’s eyes, and gestured with a jerk of his chin. Firestar glanced at Brick, who nodded, before picking up his pace and trotting up to Wrenwhisker, leaving Brick to follow at a respectful distance.

“Wanted to say ‘sorry’,” Wrenwhisker murmured as he lowered his long head to Firestar’s level. “About the Gathering.”

Every string of muscle in Firestar’s body went completely stiff. It was amazing his limbs kept moving.

“Just got worried about you, is all,” Wrenwhisker continued. “You don’t look like yourself. But I shouldn’t say that in the middle of a big crowd.”

Firestar’s ears unconsciously flattened against his head.

Wrenwhisker must have noticed, because his voice went even more quiet, and about as careful as a WindClanner could sound. “Don’t really sound like yourself, either—”

“It’s not your problem,” Firestar said sharply. “I’m fine. My only problem is finding a way to help the Aulmir cats. The rest of you don’t need to worry about that. You wouldn’t, anyway.”

Wrenwhisker, evidently, knew when to shut up. He looked forward again, mouth closed tight, and said nothing more for the entire walk. Firestar slowed down his pace so that he wouldn’t have to feel his friend’s eyes on the side of his head.

When they reached the border, Wrenwhisker stopped, waved his tail, and stood quietly until Brick and Firestar were far enough away for the stripes on his pelt to blur with distance. Brick glanced back at him, then at Firestar, but he was silent too. Thank the stars.

Crossing the neutral grounds, the stars were fleeing an advancing pale sky when they caught sight of a familiar cloud of ginger-and-white standing at the edge of the forest. Cloudnose seemed almost half asleep, but as soon as he saw them, he shook himself, jumped to his feet, and rushed over to them with his enormously fluffy tail high and curled.

“There you are!” He slowed down, his enthusiasm halted as his eyes turned to his uncle. “Eparme, are, uh, are you okay?”

Firestar clenched his teeth briefly, but answered with a calm, “I’m fine, why?”

“Just…” Cloudnose gestured weakly with a paw. “Your ears.”

His ears…?

Ah. They were still flat against his head.

Forcing them back up again, he straightened up as well as he could. “Everything’s alright. We have some news to share with ThunderClan. Let’s go home. Why were you out here alone?”

Cloudnose, like Wrenwhisker, took the cue and dropped the subject. He still walked a body-length away from his uncle as he answered. “We heard from a WindClan cat that you were helping Rookstar out with something, but you and Brick were gone for so long… we got worried, so I offered to stand at the border and wait for you.”

“Thank you,” Firestar said automatically, and nothing more. He pretended not to notice Cloudnose peering over him with a questioning look at Brick, and he refused to look at Brick to see what his response was.

It was a silent journey back to camp. Silent and painfully awkward. Firestar focused on his feet and the path he was walking, trying to find little discolored flecks of soil or any signs of moisture still sticking to the ground. It didn’t really help, but it was mildly entertaining.

They stepped through the tunnel and into camp, and it seemed like everyone was there. Several cats jumped up excitedly, and those that rose more slowly sighed in relief. Dustpelt was the first to reach them, stopping in front of Firestar with his paws together and back straight.

“Things were fine while you were gone,” he said promptly. “But you did worry the Clan a bit by not coming home sooner.”

“A ‘bit’?” Teaselfoot padded up to them with a snort. “It was all anyone was talking about! ‘Where’s Firestar?’ ‘Why hasn’t he come home by now?’ ‘What if something got him and Brick?’”

“Oh, so someone did consider me.” Brick twitched his whiskers. “How touching.”

“I told you guys they were fine,” Cinderpelt said by the stump. “The one time you choose not to listen to me…”

“Is everyone here?” Firestar asked Dustpelt.

Dustpelt nodded. “Hunting and patrolling have been taken care of tonight. We left scouting at the border for after you got home.”

“Good.” Firestar turned and trotted to the meeting stump, jumping up quickly and turning to face the Clan. He barely waited for everyone to gather around before beginning with, “Brick’s and my time was spent with Rookstar. He’s been having trouble with rogues in the Barn, just like Barley said, and…”

As he told the story, his eyes drifted over his Clanmates and their guests. Tiny Squirrel, standing next to Goldenflower with a comically far-tilted head; Barley, his paw still lifted and ears back but his eyes remaining hopeful; Brick, sitting by Mousefur and seemingly paying more attention to her reactions than what Firestar was saying. They stood out from the longhaired giants of the forest almost as badly as he did. It was vaguely comforting to not be the only weird one now.

“…So we should be ready if WindClan decides to ask for our help,” he finished. “I don’t know if they will, but be on alert anyways. I do want to check on RiverClan and ShadowClan as well in the coming nights.”

Dustpelt, standing on the side of the stump opposite Cinderpelt, spoke up. “I can go to RiverClan tomorrow night, if you’d like. You need to rest.”

Why did that elicit Firestar’s claws unsheathing and digging into the stump’s soft wood?

He gathered what little patience he had in the moment and answered, “That would be nice. Thank you.”

There was a brief silence that was just as awkward as the two that had preceded it. Firestar broke it by continuing, “We’ll check on ShadowClan after them. That’s all I needed to say. Let’s rest and wait for tomorrow.”

He jumped down with no further fanfare and the crowd split up, some cats going to what remained of the prey-pile and others sitting down to groom themselves before heading to their dens. Distantly, Firestar’s stomach growled, so he joined Brick, Mousefur, Teaselfoot, and Lizardtail at the prey-pile.

“Any moles left?” he asked, and didn’t know how to feel when the entire group barely concealed their flinches as they looked at him.

Lizardtail was the one to speak first, pawing through the pile and scooping up a rather fat mole. “Just one. I think someone saved it for you.” He batted it Firestar’s way and it slid into his feet.

“Thank you,” Firestar said. He rested a paw on the mole and looked down at it, remembering Spottedleaf and when she’d carved one open and presented its heart to him. Experimentally, he did the same, using one claw to slice down the mole’s stomach—

And immediately had to fight vomiting bile.

Things pink and dull maroon sliding out of a wound he’d caused. Neck and gut covered in blood he’d spilled.

He shoved the mole away from him, back legs giving out just as he tried to back up. He shivered violently and his chest began to ache. He belatedly realized he wasn’t breathing and forcefully inhaled and exhaled in a way that stung his lungs.

It’s not him. It’s not him. His claws sank into the sand. It’s just a mole. Just food. Nothing happened.

“Firestar?”

His head shot up. Everyone was looking at him. Even Brick’s eyes were wide and disturbed.

It was Teaselfoot who had spoken. “What’s wrong?”

Firestar swallowed air, trying to kill the nausea broiling his stomach. His voice completely failed to sound calm. “Nothing. Get your prey and some rest.”

Lizardtail, watching him through slightly narrowed eyes, turned to the others. Some sort of idea was communicated in silence, because the other three picked up their meals and quickly left the scene, their tails all puffed out.

Firestar only had a moment to feel the relief of silence and solitude before Lizardtail stepped closer to him, sat down, and with mentor-like patience, asked quietly, “How are you doing?”

Firestar tensed up all over again. He barely managed to mutter, “I wish you all would stop asking me that.”

“And we wish you’d answer honestly,” Lizardtail replied.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m—”

“It very much does.” Lizardtail had the audacity to speak sternly, even if his eyes were uneasy. “Ever since the battle, you’ve been… well, you’ve been a mess. I understand why—”

Firestar glared at him. The anger flaring in his chest was becoming entirely too familiar. “What’s the story, then? What did you all hear?”

Lizardtail did a pretty good job at hiding his flinch, but not a perfect one. “…We all know how Scourge died. And that you were the one to do it.”

Firestar could have retched. He just stared at the ground and said nothing.

“I can’t pretend that I know exactly how you’re feeling,” Lizardtail went on, “but I can get a pretty good idea from how you’ve been acting. We all can. It’s…” He took in a slow breath and leaned in closer, voice even quieter. “I don’t think you’ve noticed how everyone’s afraid of you now.”

That got his attention. Firestar looked up at him like he’d been struck. “What are you talking about? No one… who would be afraid of me?”

Lizardtail gazed off behind him. “Maybe the cats who don’t want to make you angry by saying the wrong thing, which…we don’t know what that is anymore.”

Firestar looked over his shoulder. The few cats still out were not being subtle about watching the muted conversation. They turned their attention to their pelts or meals as soon as Firestar caught their eyes, but none of them spoke.

“We’ve been treading lightly around you for over a month, Firestar,” Lizardtail continued, having the decency to stay quiet. “You look like a corpse half the time, and the other half you’ve got an air like you’re about to start screaming at whoever you’re talking to.”

Firestar stared at him, but nothing came out of his mouth.

“All you talk about is the Aulmir cats,” Lizardtail said. His eyes softened now. “But I know that’s not the full idea of what’s bothering you.”

Silence. Firestar didn’t know what to say.

When it was clear he wasn’t going to respond, Lizardtail added, in the same soothing tone he’d used for Swifttail when he was an anxious new apprentice, “I—well, all of us—really think it would help you to talk to someone about this. Anyone you want. We’d all listen.”

Firestar’s nose pointed to the ground again. He couldn’t feel the sand pooling into the spaces between his toes.

“I wish you’d stop saying that, too,” he muttered, with much more venom than he wanted to express.

Lizardtail drew back a little, sighed through his nose, and replied quietly, “Okay.” Before Firestar could say anything, he picked up a mouse and walked past his leader, offering one last look of concern before passing him and, going by the voices whispering to him, joining Mousefur and Teaselfoot.

Firestar didn’t listen to what they were saying. He stood up, not bothering to shake the sand out of his paws, and stalked over to the camp’s entrance. He barely had it in him to keep his tail level and straight instead of lashing around.

Some part of him squeaked in complaint that he wasn’t going to the warrior’s den again. The other part moved him forward until he passed through the regrowing lichen curtain and stepped into the leader’s den. The moss in here was cracked, dry and brown. He kicked the scattered remains of his nest out of his way and laid down on the hard ground with no fanfare or pacing.

That damned stone wall, staring him down, daring him to look away.

He did. He curled up tightly around himself, almost sinking his claws into his haunch so he couldn’t untangle and stretch out to face the wall again. His squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth with the effort.

But he couldn’t shut out the faces of his Clanmates, of his family, all staring at him, this time with worry and fear. Now that Lizardtail had mentioned it, their hesitation to upset him, or even speak to him, became painfully obvious.

He was aware he wasn’t fine, okay? He knew. He wasn’t stupid.

But he didn’t think he really deserved to be fine.

Who would get to be okay with everything he’d caused? Everything he did.

Stars knew how many cats he’d led to their deaths by murdering just one.

How was it fair? How could he just go back to business as usual while innumerable cats suffered, lost their children, lost their ability to HAVE any, were taken away from their homes and families, were done away with by humans if they weren’t healthy enough?