Pleasant Meeting (short story)
âWhatâs that look for?â Myrtlewing asked, coming up to Aldereyesâs side. They were waiting with most of their Clanmates near the camp entrance for Stormstar to lead them to the gathering.
Aldereyes frowned, flashing a glance at his fatherâs den. âStormstarâs still angry,â he answered in a low voice so that only Myrtlewing heard. âSeeing Thunderclan tonight wonât do anything in my favour.â
Myrtlewing brushed his tail along Aldereyesâs side in comfort, but he was feeling angry himself. A quarter-moon had passed since his run in with and failed murder attempt of Nightfly, and he was itching to sink his claws into someone. If that tom showed up at the gathering tonight, so happy and alive, Myrtlewing would be reminded of his failure, stuck in a clearing of witnesses, unable to try a second time.
âYour father always has something to fume about,â Myrtlewing said absently. âIf not for something he wants to blame you for, then something else.âÂ
Aldereyesâs silence caught his attention. He focused on the tomâs face, and saw the hurt plain in every twitching whisker and shimmering eye. He nudged him. âBut itâs not that heâs angry, is it? Itâs that heâs angry at you.â
Aldereyes sunk his claws in and out of the ground. âHe wouldnât be so mad if it were anyone elseâexcept maybe Hollyclaw. Itâs because Iâm his son that makes the fact that I let two trespassers go that much worse. LikeâŚlike Iâm a failure to his precious bloodline.â
Myrtlewing opened his jaws to reply, but at that moment, Stormstar slipped from the Oak roots that made up his den and padded silently to the front of the group like a black fox hidden in the night. He gestured for them to follow, and they did without a word, traveling swiftly and silently beneath the pine trees. Â
âFor whatever it means, I donât think youâre a failure,â Myrtlewing whispered.Â
Aldereyes looked exasperated. âGreat. Myrtlewing doesnât think Iâm a failure. I feel so much better.â
Myrtlewing stifled a smile. He knew that Aldereyes really was grateful, he just didnât want to admit to himself that he had run to a younger Clanmate to make him feel better about his fatherâor that it worked. But Myrtlewing could see the fur lift breezily on his shoulders, no longer held down by tension.
Their talk reminded Myrtlewing that he had planned to make Aldereyes feel better by giving him a flowerâby Molespotsâs suggestion, after he couldnât do it by killing Maplefall. His frustration over Nightfly getting away had clouded his mind to everything else. He hadnât completely forgotten the plant, but he was much too upset with his own personal issue to care enough about Aldereyesâs to go back and get it, or whatever was left of them.
As they neared the Great Oaks, Aldereyes leaned to whisper in Myrtlewingâs ear. âI hope I donât need to say this, but youâre an idiot, so I probably do. Weâre here to represent Shadowclan. Iâve already done enough toâStormstar thinks that Iâve done enough to âdamageâ our reputation. So as much as this will go against your every nature, donât do anything stupid.â
âI will try,â Myrtlewing replied, half wanting to laugh and half wanting to smack Aldereyes across the face. He had that effect on the medicine cat.Â
And he didnât do anything stupid, just as promised, throughout the light conversations and the leadersâ announcements, which were nothing important. Some kits were born, some apprentices got their warrior names. Myrtlewing wasnât really paying attention.
But when a dark grey tom with hazel eyes, an almost identical replica of Nightfly, padded up to Myrtlewing during the second round of conversations, he was all ears.
âHi, Iâm Sheepsorrel. Youâre Myrtlewing, right?â
âI am.â
âItâs a pleasure to meet you! You met my brother not too long ago, I believe, he was helping you pick an herb of some sort?â
Time slowed.Â
âNightfly is your brother?â Myrtlewing asked dumbly.
Sheepsorrel chuckled. âCan you see the resemblance? Anyway, I just thought you should knowâŚ. Nightfly was very happy to meet you.â
He shouldn't be. He should be rotting in the ground right now, mourning his life in Starclan and regretting ever having met me.
âHe couldnât stop talking about you,â Sheepsorrel went on. âYour looks, especially. It was like he forgot you were off-limits!â
A twinge rippled the air, ever slightly. Myrtlewing could feel the beginnings of something new and great, the shy edges of a still vague formulating plan. âIs that so?â
âItââ
âSheep!â the Starclan-like, irritated voice sounded. Nightfly hurried over, his eyes round with horror. âW-what are you doing?â
âNothing,â Sheepsorrel replied innocently. âJust talking to Myrtlewing. Say, isnât he that tom you talked to last night?â
âA quarter moon ago!â Nightfly was quivering with Myrtlewing guessed to be heart-stopping anxiety.Â
âOh right!â Sheepsorrel lightly smacked his face with his paw. âYou did meet him a quarter moon ago. I got it mixed with the last time you talked about meeting him.â
âShh! Come on, letâs go talk to Pineflight. Sheâs probably dying to hear the end of that three-footed hare story. It would be rude to keep her waiting. Letâs go. Now.â
Sheepsorrel followed obediently, a dirt-eating grin plastering his face. âSee you, Myrtlewing! It was a pleasure!â
Myrtlewing dipped his head. He kept his composure, but inside he was buzzing with kit-like excitement that made him want to jump all around the clearing in unbridled, disordered joy. âIt certainly was!â















