A Night's End

The Bridge

The stream was more of a thin trickle of water no thicker than a squirrel, flowing between two slanted tan-Thunderpaths in a ditch running alongside the much larger, grey Thunderpath that rumbled every now and again with a passing monster.

Nightdrift shuttered every time. He could never get used to their presence.

The unexpected but very welcome news that someone had seen their missing Clanmates, alive, was enough to chase all the exhaustion from their bodies as if the long, tense pulls at their weakening muscles were nothing more than troublesome flies, able to be batted away with a swipe.

That wasn't quite true. The dull ache in Nightdrift's legs told the tom that his body still very much felt the journey he had yet to take a break from. But the fresh spark in his chest sent swirls of energizing flames through his limbs, telling him to ignore the ache, ignore the pain, just focus on what he KNEW.

They were going to find Meadowtree. And Feathergaze. Heck, they might find Branchfoot, the missing SkyClan warrior, as well.

Moons of not finding a single sign of the missing cats, of losing hope for their safe return and watching as their kin clung desperately to the possibility that they would be found–would even still be alive, it drained more faith from Nightdrift than if StarClan had told him directly that they didn't care about their prayers.

Now, that faith was back, hitting him full-force and so strongly that it nearly knocked him off his paws as true as a real blow to the chest would.

Nightdrift thought of the grief in Pepperfoot's eyes, of the way Kestralspot fought vehemently against accepting her daughter's fate. He spared a glance at his companions, kin and close friend of Feathergaze, and thought of their anguished hope as well.

The urge, no, the NEED to find Meadowtree, Feathergaze, and even Branchfoot became stronger. The hollowed eyes and whimpers of grief heard in the warriors' den at night morphed into wide-smile delight, to bouncing paws and cries of pure joy as he imagined walking into camp with Meadowtree, safe and sound and back in the embrace of her worried parents.

He wanted to not only ease their grief, but take it away entirely. The fact that he–and Bramblefin and Twistedshine–would probably be celebrated for finding the missing cats was just a bonus.

"There!" Bramblefin's mew cut into his thoughts.

He looked up, following the dark tabby's gaze. In the near-distance stood what Nightdrift guessed was a bridge. It had a heavy arch to it, like a cat curling it's back as it stared down a predator it was trying to intimidate....staring...the gap in the centre of the structure was round, almost perfectly circular if it weren't for the rugged, rectangular stones that jutted out unevenly. It made him think of an eye, and his heart quickened nervously. He told himself that this bridge wasn't watching him.

What the bridge was was old. Even in the darkness and with the space between the cats and the bridge, they could see that time had crumbled. Nightdrift couldn't stop himself from staring, expecting it to collapse at any second.

The stream/trickle that the cats had followed hadn't stretched out, but the slanted paths that held it eased, perhaps also broken, fading against the weight of time and falling back to the ground. The strong slants back by the busy Thunderpaths were now resting, almost flat, against the ground. Nightdrift could see cracks lining the slants-not-slants. Long, dried tufts of grass poked out from the thin crevices.

But the water was thin enough to not overflow over the lowered lips, and there was still enough for travel without all being lost within the cracks. It went on languidly until it disappeared beneath the darkness of the bridge. Nonchalant. Uncaring. Like naive prey unaware of the beast's jaws it was walking right into.

Nightdrift paused. First eyes, now a predator's mouth. Why was this bridge freaking him out so much? He wasn't exactly the bravest warrior in the Clans, or in WindClan, or in the warriors' den in WindClan or any patrol he attended. But he wasn't a frightened kit, so why was he acting like one?

Nightdrift narrowed his eyes, as if to prove to himself, to the bridge, that he wasn't afraid. Eyeing it, focusing almost challengingly, he saw a flash of light and gasped.

Before his mind could register what the flicker of movement was, a cat stepped out of the shadows.