The Darkest Moons (Warrior Cats)

22. Plans

     Scorchpaw purred at the faint warmth under his paws as he dug his claws into the earth. Leaf-bare was slowly disappearing, and the sun regained its color. He watched his Clanmates going from Point Head to Point Tail, some stopping between and chatting. Palepaw followed Shadowclaw on a patrol, while Echopaw set out some moss to dry in the new sun. Her fur was ruffled, as it always was now – unkempt and shameful. She didn't purr often, nor did playful flickers or scornful flashes appear in her eyes. She seemed to be eternally tired, head low, but no one questioned it but her kin. She always sent Goldstreak and Stormstripe away.

"Just stressed," she would say, and it worried Scorchpaw.

He shut her out of his mind. He had more important things in his head, like Fang and Poppy. He had gone to the edge of the forest in the past two nights and found no sign of them. Meanwhile, the Clan was on edge. None of the rogues had been seen since Rainfall's kitting. Even then, Scorchpaw's fur prickled. He had seen three cats stalking away from the gathering, and Palepaw, despite claiming so, never said a word. He kept quiet, washed away by the flood of cats, and whatever had slipped through his mind was unknown to all.

"Scorchpaw!" Came a voice. Scorchpaw's fur fluffed out for a moment, and he turned to see Redwing trudging towards him. "Take some prey to Helen. Blackstar's orders."

Scorchpaw gave a faint nod. Helen had been in the camp for over a moon, and even now, she was confined to the space behind the warriors' den. She did everything she was told, occasionally allowed to perform apprentice duties around the camp to make herself useful. Ever since the attack during Rainfall's difficult birth, few shot her such hateful glances, knowing that she had fought bravely and tried her best to avoid a fight in the first place. He trotted towards the prey pile, where a scrawny squirrel was the most that was left. He snatched up the rodent and padded behind the warriors' den. Nodding to Yellowfoot, who lazily guarded the prisoner, he slipped into the space and dropped the prey before the she-cat's paws.

Helen blinked in appreciation, her whiskers flicking on her black muzzle, and she pulled the squirrel closer. "Thank you, Scorchpaw." She closed her dull eyes, and sympathy flickered in Scorchpaw's heart. She's been shattered since that fight. What happened? None had explained the details to him, and he hadn't bothered to inquire further. Now, seeing just how worn Helen was, paying deep attention for the first time, questions burned in him.

"You're welcome," he answered, offering a gentle purr. He watched the loner take a bite of the stringy prey, and glanced at Yellowfoot, who was curled up now and hiding his face with one paw. How do I ask her? Would it upset her? He waited for the she-cat to finish her meal, which was eaten with quick, hungry bites, and allowed her to bury the remains before clearing his throat. She looked up at him with anxious green eyes.

"Yes?" She mewed. Scorchpaw shifted on his haunches.

"I wanted to ask you about the last fight, when Rainfall was kitting," he explained. Helen's expression turned cold.

"There's been no sign of the rogues. Why does it matter?"

Please don't skirt around it. "I wanted to know what happened. It's been a while-"

"So it doesn't matter." Helen cast some extra dirt over her prey and curled her tail around her paws.

"Please," Scorchpaw begged. "You look really upset, and-"

Helen scowled. "And you're nosy."

"Leave her alone, Scorchpaw," Yellowfoot grumbled sleepily before snoring softly.

Scorchpaw flicked the tip of his tail and resorted to a pitiful whimper. If Palepaw's taught me anything, it's that whining can help. "Please?" He said. "No one's told me, and-"