#minnownose

She was barely managing to breathe on her own. The pained, raspy, drawn-out inhales were followed by exhales that always sounded like they would be her last. Sometimes she would pause for a moment too long, distressingly still, before repeating the cycle. Every single breath was agonizing to listen to in the quiet of the night.

Rushroot sat with one golden paw on the senior’s shoulder, where he felt like it would hurt her the least to be touched, scanning her with his eyes. The cancer had spread out rapidly – her chest and belly, shrinking despite her appetite, had grown several hard lumps over the course of a week. He didn’t have to be a healer to guess that it was, internally, choking the life out of her lungs and heart. It was a miracle that she was still alive at all.

“Stars help her,” someone said softly.

Rushroot looked up and blinked. Minnowpounce, a grey-brown-and-white queen, was somehow awake despite her newborn litter taking up so much of her time during the day. She certainly looked sleepy, but her eyes were deeply sad. She had bonded quickly with Nettlecloud soon after she had come to live with the Buzzards while her sons were off doing… something. Rushroot couldn’t help a twinge of anger that they hadn’t come back in the past few days to see their mother.

“Indeed,” he said. He returned his attention to his patient, noting silently that her droopy, thick fur had thinned out and become a little coarse in correlation with the lumps. “I don’t know how long she has. She could be gone by the morning.”

“I hope not.” Minnowpounce shuffled and one of her kits complained with a squeak. “At least, not before her sons get to say goodbye.”

“Wherever they are,” Rushroot muttered. “It’s a marvel they’re not here.”

“The Clast camp isn’t even that far away,” Minnowpounce agreed. “They could afford a visit.” She paused, then added quietly, “If whatever was happening isn’t holding them up.”

Rushroot remembered it, a couple days back – the screams and yowls, carried by the breeze from the direction of the settlement. It had cut off as suddenly as it started, absorbed by the drumbeat of rain and cackle of thunder. Several Scattered cats had walked by their nesting ground and asked if anyone knew what was going on. No one was bold enough to walk right into the most aggressive family’s home after what sounded like a massive fight and snoop around.

“They’ll come, I’m sure,” Minnowpounce said after a moment, “but they need to come soon.”

Rushroot hummed discontentedly, eyes now roaming aimlessly through the nighttime landscape. “We might have to send someone to go get them, if they don’t…”

He paused and squinted. Something, some dark shape, was just barely visible on the horizon.

“What?” Minnowpounce yawned. “Don’t tell me they’re here as we speak.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Rushroot stood up. “Unless they’ve brought friends.”

Minnowpounce sounded concerned now. “Who is it, then?”

Rushroot did not have long to answer that question; in a few moments, the shape grew and spread out into four cats, all running straight for the Buzzard’s temporary camp. At the lead was a tortoiseshell, only visible by the moonlight striking the ginger parts of her fur.

The sounds of rustling grass and heavy footsteps was stirring the rest of the cats behind Rushroot. Minnowpounce was already whispering to their comrades that someone was approaching. Nettlecloud’s breath quickened. Rushroot looked down at her; her eyes were half opened and strained with the effort. He purred quietly to her and raised his head, walking forward to greet the tall newcomers.

“Late for a history lesson,” he remarked. His confusion and alarm raised when he caught the scent of the Fleet off of these cats – and by the size of them, they were all patrollers.

“Sorry to disturb y’all tonight,” the tortoiseshell said. “My name is Newtbite. We’ve come here on order from Fernstar and our deputy.”

The whispering stopped and the air grew tense.

Rushroot kept calm and polite. “I don’t know why. We haven’t got anyone here causing trouble.”

“I would hope not,” Newtbite said, “and that’s why we’re here. The brothers Greyleaf and Mistface are…”

She trailed off, seeming to notice Nettlecloud weakly attempting to raise her head.

“This is their mother?” Newtbite asked, suddenly sounding nervous.

“She is.” Rushroot gently placed a paw on Nettlecloud’s head. “Easy now.”

Newtbite cleared her throat awkwardly. “If you could come with me for a moment…”

Rushroot hesitated only long enough to glance back at the rest of the Buzzards, who were all watching him anxiously. He nodded reassurance and turned back to Newtbite. She turned and gestured with her tail for him to follow her. As he did, one of the patrollers, a calico missing a good deal of her tail, was approaching Nettlecloud and politely inquiring about her health.

Newtbite stopped when they were out of hearing range of the others and turned. She stood tall over Rushroot, but she lowered her head to his level and spoke quietly.

“I told the others to avoid sayin’ this in front of her,” she murmured. “Her sons are wanted by the leaders. Greyleaf was a co-conspirator in a rebel group and he and his partner ran when we came to inspect. They took Mistface with them, along with some others. All of them are to be arrested on sight.”

Rushroot’s mouth dropped open. He stared at Newtbite, unable to find a response.

“The reason we’re here,” she continued, “is because we suspect they may come around this way to nab Nettlecloud and take her with them, wherever they’re goin’. We’re to stand guard and prevent them from leavin’ with her. Or leavin’ at all.”

“That-“ Rushroot fumbled for words. “That can’t be right. They’re both good toms.”

“So Fernstar thought,” Newtbite said, with a cynical chill in her voice. “But here we are. And now me and my crew need to stay here and keep an eye on Nettlecloud. I hate to spring this on you, and I do apologize for the inconvenience. But orders are orders.”

Rushroot couldn’t find anything to say. He looked back at his group, then back to Newtbite.

“I…” He, again, struggled for a response. “I suppose they are. Just, please, don’t ever mention this in front of Nettlecloud. She’s… she’s not doing well, and I can’t let her die knowing her sons are in trouble. They’re everything to her.”

Newtbite nodded, eyes sympathetic. “That’s the plan. We’ll keep our mouths shut. We’ll be out of your way as much as possible, too. No need to worry about feeding us or being bossed around.”

“Thank you.” Rushroot huffed a sigh. It didn’t make him feel any better. “I’ll… I’ll inform everyone else.”

He turned and trotted unsteadily back to the group, Newtbite close behind him. Everyone was awake now and very worried. Nettlecloud’s head wobbled as she looked back and forth.

“Is something wrong?” she rasped, having to take a breath between words.

“Nothing big, ma’am,” Newtbite said quickly. “We’ve just heard reports of a predator around, and we were asked to stand guard and keep y’all protected until you’re ready to move on.”

Rushroot did not miss the double meaning of that statement.

“Ah…” Nettlecloud rattled out, and lowered her head again. “Kind of you, dears.”

The other patrollers stood together, looking deeply uncomfortable. Newtbite approached them and said something Rushroot didn’t catch. He himself turned to the rest of the Buzzards and forced calmness.

“We can discuss this in the morning,” he said. “But they mean no harm. Go back to sleep.”

The Buzzards exchanged glances, but they did as he said, eyeing the patrollers as they curled back up. Rushroot sat down beside Nettlecloud again, continuing his purr until her breath steadied and slowed, and he was sure she was asleep. He met Newtbite’s eyes and nodded curtly. She didn’t look happy to be here.