Warriors AU: Forest of Secrets

Chapter 29

As he watched his defeated enemy disappear, Sandstorm could not summon up the last sense of triumph. Surprising himself, he even felt a pang of regret. Goldenflower could have been a warrior whose deeds would have been told to generations of kits—if only he had chosen loyalty over ambition. Sandstorm could almost wail aloud at the waste.

All around him talk was beginning to break out again, as cats mewed urgently to one another about the startling events. "Who'll be deputy now?" he heard Dappletail ask.

Sandstorm glanced at Oakstar to see if she meant to make an announcement, but she was slipping around the side of the Highrock toward her den. Her head was down and her paws dragged as if she were ill. There would be no announcement yet.

"I think Sandstorm should be deputy!" Brightpaw declared, bouncing with excitement. "He'd do a great job!"

"Sandstorm?" Darkstripe's eyes narrowed. "A kittypet?"

"And what's wrong with being kittypet?" Brightpaw bristled in front of the much bigger warrior.

Sandstorm was about to haul himself to his paws and intervene when Brindleface pushed between Darkstripe and the young apprentice. "That's enough," he growled. "Oakstar will tell us who she chooses before moonhigh. That's the tradition."

Sandstorm let his shoulders relax as Brightpaw scampered off to join the other apprentices. He could see that his apprentice didn't realize the seriousness of what had happened. The older warriors, the ones who had known Goldenflower well, were looking at one another as if their world had just come to an end.

"Well now, Sandstorm." Silverstream looked up as Sandstorm walked over to join his friend and Cinderpaw. "Would you want to be deputy?" There was pain in his eyes, and blood still trickled from his mouth, yet he looked more alive than Sandstorm had seen him since Graystripe's death, as if the battle and the exposing of Goldenflower's villainy had taken his mind off his grief for a moment.

Sandstorm couldn't prevent a faint prickle of excitement from creeping along his spine. Deputy of Thunderclan! Then he realized how hard a job it would be, to pull these shattered cats together and mold them into a Clan again. "No," he told Silverstream. "And Oakstar would never choose me." He got up, shaking his head as if to put these thoughts out of his mind. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Are those wounds very bad?"

"He'll be fine," meowed Cinderpaw. "But his tongue was scratched, and it's still bleeding. I don't know what to do for a scratched tongue. Sandstorm, would you fetch Raggedpelt for me?"

"Sure."

The last Sandstorm had seen of Raggedpelt, she had been dragging Brokentail into her den, she had not reappeared for the condemning of Goldenflower. He padded across the clearing and into the fern tunnel. As he pushed through the soft green fronds, he heard Raggedpelt's voice. Something about it—perhaps its gentleness, so unusual for Raggedpelt—made him stay in the shelter of the arching ferns for a moment longer.

"Lie still, Brokentail. You have lost a life," Raggedpelt was murmuring. "You're going to be fine."

"What do you mean?" snarled Brokentail, her voice weak from loss of blood. "If I've got another life left, why do my wounds still hurt?"

"Starclan has healed the wound that killed you," Raggedpelt explained, still in the same soft murmur that sent prickles along Sandstorm's spine. "The others need the skill of a medicine cat."

"Then what are you waiting for, you scrawny old pest?" hissed Brokentail. "Get on with it. Give me something for this pain."

"All right, I will." Raggedpelt's voice suddenly turned icy cold, and a ripple of fear coursed through Sandstorm. "Here. Eat these berries, and the pain will go away for good."