The Darkest Moons (Warrior Cats)

73. The Deputy

     DarkClan’s camp was calm as the sun rose, and while some were still in their nests, others had awoken much earlier to begin their day. Scorchwing was one of them, dragged out of his nest by Yellowfoot, who nudged the younger warrior out of the den and into the sunlight. Scorchwing screwed up his eyes against the sunlight, huffing at Yellowfoot’s superiority, and he sat by the wall to relax. Sleep had not come easily, nightmares of Palemist’s death and worry for his littermate haunting him. She had traveled to the Moonpool with Shadowclaw, and neither returned. 

     “Come on, we have to get to work. Shadowclaw put me in charge of patrols and all, and that means you.” 

     Scorchwing groaned as he was prodded by Yellowfoot. “Who else is in the patrol?” 

     “You’re not going on one, but I’m still the authority.” The shaggy cat gestured towards the warriors’ den. “You’re going to fix up a nest for Fang so we can get her out of the medicine den. She’ll stay under the cleft. Only one way in, one way out. Easily guarded and out of sight-out of mind. It’s sheltered too.” 

     Of all cats to choose, you pick me. “Why can’t Tidefoot do it? Or Miststep or Goldstreak?” Anyone but me? 

     “Miststep and Goldstreak are on patrol, and Tidefoot’s too busy doting over Rainfall.” Yellowfoot sighed. “Helen says she’s expecting kits again. At least it’s something to look forward to.” 

     Is it really? Memories of the vigil for Rainfall’s first litter flooded him, and Scorchwing turned and starting grooming his fur to calm himself. “Fine. I’ll do it.” 

     “And find a place for her to make dirt. She can’t move around a lot,” Yellowfoot meowed. Scorchwing curled his lip and stomped towards the warriors’ den. He and Poppy still slept in the apprentice den. Soon, Shadowclaw and Rosepetal’s kits will be there. 

     I better get into the habit of calling him Shadowstar. 

     The space behind the warriors’ den brought nostalgia crashing down. As a kit, Scorchwing had tucked away there many a time to speak with Palemist and Echolight alone. They had stored leaves and feathers they had found until these treasures were soon cleaned out. The cleft in the cliff reached to the warriors’ den, which had been rebuilt to suit it after the fire. The small space was always intended to house a prisoner or two. 

     With a scowl, Scorchwing found a space underneath the stone and began digging a shallow dip. When he was satisfied, he walked to the camp’s tunnel and slipped out, wandering along the wall until he found a log coated with moss. In it was a huge hole that he had made himself by standing on the rotting wood. Carefully, he slipped his claws under the moss and pulled it up, grabbing some in his mouth and tucking some under his chin. 

     It hardly lined the dip well enough, and so he made a second trip, wishing he were on a patrol or hunting instead of helping his friend’s killer. She was my friend too once. He sneered at the thought and stamped towards the medicine den, poking his head in. “I have a nest for Fang,” he called, making Helen jump. 

     The orange tabby lifted her head and shoved herself up with a grunt, and Helen rushed to her side. “Take it easy,” She soothed. “Let me help you.” 

     “Get away from me!” Snapped Fang, gasping as she started to turn. She lowered herself back to the earth, defeated.  

     Helen looked to Scorchwing. “Thank you. I’ll help her get to it.” 

     Scorchwing bowed his head and backed out of the den. How can Helen be so gentle with her? I’d have raked her ears off by now. He made his way across the camp and paused. She can finally be a mother to Fang. That’s why.