The Darkest Moons (Warrior Cats)

71. Heartache

     Shrieks of hatred split the air as cats fought viciously, the battle raging like a wildfire. The stench of blood flooded Scorchwing’s senses as he sprinted across the sand, trying to reach Palemist. The sand was wet with crimson and clung to his pelt, dragging him down. The ground beneath him turned to liquid. Scorchwing cried out and heaved himself out of the quicksand, pelt weight down with blood and grime, but he carried on. 

     Just before he found the edge, his saw Palemist disappear, and he wailed with grief. 

     Scorchwing lifted his head from his nest and blinked wildly. He could hear Poppy’s soft snores beside him, but found no comfort in them. He had woken time and time again from horrifying nightmares while she slept peacefully. 

     He got to his paws. His entire body ached, and he felt groggy and clumsy as he stepped out of his nest. His wounds pulled hard against his movements, but he forced himself onward and out of the den. He sat down outside, allowing the sunlight to bathe him, watching his Clanmates.  

     Only two nights ago, Palemist had fallen from the ledge and plummeted to his death. Scorchwing had watched him hit the rocks. When they found him, he was almost impaled, the force of his head throwing back and hitting the boulders leaving his skull smashed. Blood had poured from his mouth and ears, and his spine had been snapped. 

     Fang, meanwhile, had twisted as she fell. How she survived, no one knew, but either way Scorchwing hated it. She landed on her leg, that was for certain. Then, she had rolled down the rocks and landed in a pool of stagnant water. Her hind leg was snapped in half and would never heal correctly. 

     She deserves it. She deserves to have died.  

     Scorchwing eyed Spottedmoss, who walked into the camp looking dreary. She went to his grave. Scorchwing shifted his paws anxiously. Of course she did. She loved him. 

     “You’re awake,” someone said. Scorchwing found Mellow padding up to him. His scratches were almost healed. 

     “Yeah.” 

     “I can grab something from the prey pile if you want. Cotton caught a squirrel that you’d probably like.” The kittypet sat and ran a paw over his ear. 

     Scorchwing didn’t care. He simply looked around, studying the camp. Despite their losses, the Clan was carrying on. Of course they are. They carried on when Ashtail died and when they exiled Palemist. 

     “Have you visited the grave?” Mellow questioned.  

     Scorchwing shook his head. Deep down, he wanted to, but he felt nothing but fear at the thought of it. He had failed to save his friend. Would Palemist really want him at the grave? 

     Mellow sighed. “Keep living. That’s all you can do.” 

     “He was my best friend, and now he’s dead,” Scorchwing hissed, glaring at Mellow. “Of course you’d tell me to keep living. You can! He wasn’t your friend. You barely knew him! You’re just a kittypet!” 

     The harsh words made Mellow flinch, and guilt ripped in Scorchwing. “I’m sorry.” 

     Mellow shrugged. “It’s fine. You’re right. I didn’t know him as well as I’d have liked. But I know he was a good cat.” The kittypet scanned over the camp, then stared at Scorchwing. Only then did he see the heartache in Mellow’s eyes. “I loved him. I always will. And I’ll miss him. I’ll miss hunting beside him. I’ll miss fighting by his side. I’ll miss the spars and patrols, and the stargazing and chatting.” His whiskers twitched. “But I’m happy that I got to do any of it in the first place. Try to cherish the memories, and remember that he isn’t hurting anymore.”