ThunderClan's Loyalty, Book One

Two Sides Playing An Endless Tug Of War

Briarstar only stared down at the frightened black furred face and betrayed golden eyes of the young cat before him. He could only stare now, his desire to scold and harm with words completely spent.

Nightpaw was silent for a moment before his head finally lowered, and Briarstar repressed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't argue anymore, not wanting to argue either.

"Yes, father," Nightpaw whispered finally, his voice so painfully hollow and meek that it made Briarstar feel strangely uncertain and cruel.

There was a long silence before Nightpaw turned away. "I'll collect my prey and go back home," he mewed in the same given up voice.

Briarstar almost reached out a paw to stop him, but if he did so, he knew he didn't have the words to make the situation any better.

So he watched as Nightpaw left, tail dragging.

No matter how hard Briarstar tried to suppress the feeling of guilt building up inside him, it fought back, and he found himself staring longingly after his downtrodden son. Why. . . did I do that? Ugh, I'm such a mousebrain! he thought angrily to himself. What would he say if he saw me now? Me, too coward to get close to my own son! I'm such a disgrace. . . .

He had to turn away to stop his train of thought. He didn't want to acknowledge how badly he had messed up, had been messing up throughout Nightpaw's entire young life, how many promises he had broken, the countless looks of disappointment and pain directed at him, he wanted to ignore it all, he wanted not to care. But for some stupid reason, he couldn't, and he didn't know how to fix it. . . .

He began to stalk away, each pawstep feeling like it was weighed down by rocks. Stop thinking like that! Stop letting it affect you! You're doing what's best. Nightpaw needs discipline. Remember what he did earlier, remember his complaints whenever you had to leave to do something more important than playing kits games, remember when he could have died when he snuck out as a kit!

Think of the countless times he's tried to make you feel proud, the times as a kit when he wanted to be with you and spend time with you and deserved you, the times he's loved you.

Briarstar was ultimately conflicted, he didn't know what to feel, he never knew what to feel and he didn't know what he felt, not anymore.

Guilt stung his insides from yelling at his son, guilt that stayed no matter what he tried to think about. He decided he didn't really want to return to his patrol, so he turned towards a different route, away from where the others were hunting.

He bounded through the trees, breaking out of the alders and into the oaks, mouth open to taste the air, yet he couldn't even think of the prey, Nightpaw filled his every thought, the look of utter betrayal and sadness he had given him replayed over and over in his mind. Ugh, toughen up! If you're tough and don't think of him, he'll be tough and won't think of you. He'll think fully on providing for his Clan, something that you will be doing too, should be doing now.

But am I being too cruel? he wondered, conflicting the other side of his mind that told him to do what it took.

He skidded to a halt, right in time too as a small pond, more of a pool, lay stagnant in front of him. He didn't want to get his paws wet, but that wasn't his main concern.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore. . . , he thought, looking down at his still reflection.

"'You should listen to me,'" his reflection hissed back. Suddenly it seemed to move independently, and it glared up at him. Briarstar stared at it. My imagination, he concluded.