Cinders to Flames

Chapter 30

Cinderfrost would be lying to say that she felt bad about manipulating her clan. She had always known that she could use the information she had of the rogues against them, as leverage of sorts. She had been rather surprised that so many cats had chosen to fight alongside her. Though she could still feel their gazes boring into her when they thought she wasn't looking, wrought with suspicion. Sootslash had come crawling back to FrostClan after a few days, though her flank reeked of DarkClan. She was surprised that she hadn't stayed, perhaps they hadn't wanted her to. All that mattered very little to Cinderfrost. There were still moons until the rogue attack, for Cinderfrost to teach FrostClan their ways of fighting.
During her first lesson, she stood awkwardly in front of a bunch of cats twice her age.
She attempted to plaster on a facade of confidence. “The difference between rogues and warriors,” she began, “is that rogues are not afraid to do anything to win the fight. Pixie trains us to fight dirty, and to fight to kill.”
She swallowed, digging her claws into the earth and imagining it was Pixie's pelt. “Rogues will always go for the weak. They take pleasure in killing innocents, kits and apprentices, and they won't shy away from attacking elders.”
After the lesson, Cinderfrost found a patch of dying sunlight to lay, and consider battle moves. She glanced up as she saw Vinespring approach her. She twitched her ear in polite greeting.
“Vinespring. Is there something you want?”
The brown she-cat paused, her tail flicking slightly with hesitation. “I just wanted to ask some questions about your time .. as a rogue. If it's not too personal.”
Cinderfrost froze slightly. She did not want Vinespring to know about the things she had done. Didn't want to relive the memories, of the blood that will forever stain her claws.
“Ask away,” she replied instead.
Vinespring nodded and sat down next to her. Her amber eyes glowed in the light of the evening sun.
“You said that rogues killed innocents. Like kits. Did you ever…” she trailed off. “Kill… anyone? At all? What did they make you do?”
Cinderfrost stared at her. “I would say it's not your place to know.”
Vinespring looked a little disappointed, but not surprised. “I understand.”
They sat together for a few moments, watching the sun dip below the horizon, the last slivers of warmth the sun may have given vanishing completely.
“I never killed a kit before,” she finally said softly. “Even though they tried to make me. They couldn't break me that way, I-” Cinderfrost broke off. “I'm not a monster, you know?” She couldn't remember the last time she'd really gotten the heart to defend herself. “When I refused to kill the kit, another cat did it. She did not do it quickly. She enjoyed it.”
Cinderfrost closed her eyes, recalling the scent of blood in the air, the faint traces of kit-fluff that was left behind. “It was a punishment for the mother. They let her live. They let her live with the memory of her kits death, replaying over and over in her mind as if she could find a way to prevent it.”
She was almost choking on the blood now, it was thick in the air, but was it really there? Was it just her imagination?
“But it wasn't her fault. It was mine. I was the one who could have done something, saved the life of an innocent, but instead I watched and did nothing. I did nothing, and I will never forgive myself for that.”
Finally she opened her eyes to meet Vinespring's gaze, which was stricken with horror.
“Do you think you could have prevented it?” She asked quietly. “Or would the other rouges have held you back to watch, just like the mother?”
Cinderfrost did not have an answer.