Warriors: Poisoned Loyalty {COMPLETED}

Chapter 11

The morning after Spiritsight's death, the camp was eerily silent. Cats moved slowly, their conversations hushed and grief-stricken as the loss of the queen weighed heavily on their hearts. Poppypool emerged from her den with a heavy heart, her paws feeling like lead as she forced herself to face the day. She knew the Clan still watched her with wary eyes, her healing injuries not helping her in the slightest.

She spotted Hickorytree lying in the nursery entrance, staring blankly at the ground while his four kits squirmed in the nest behind him. Newtflake was already by his side, bringing fresh moss and offering quiet words of comfort, but Poppypool could see the emptiness in Hickorytree's gaze. He was devastated.

"Poppypool," a voice snapped her attention back to reality. It was Stormfern's old apprentice, Flamefrost, his blue eyes narrowing as he padded over to the medicine cat. "What happened to you?" The question wasn't friendly; there was an edge of accusation in his tone. "You've been acting strange ever since Stormfern..." He hesitated, seeming unable to speak of his mentor's death. "Are you okay?"

Poppypool stiffened, the memory of Rowantail's attack still fresh on her mind. Her body ached from the injuries he'd inflicted in the Dark Forest, but she couldn't explain that to Flamefrost- or anyone else. "I'm fine," she lied, trying to keep her voice steady. "I've just been...tired. The loss of our Clanmates is hard on all of us."

Flamefrost didn't seemed convinced, his tail twitching in agitation. "If you say so," he muttered, turning and padding off to join Adderseed and Birchpaw for a training session. Poppypool sighed, knowing the suspicions were only growing. Every cat seemed to sense something was wrong, but she couldn't risk telling the truth. Not yet.

As the day wore on, Poppypool found herself restless. The growing threat of the rogues weighed heavily on the Clan's warriors, and the tension from recent skirmishes was palpable. Sparrowstar had increased patrols, hoping to keep the invaders at bay, but the atmosphere in the camp was one of unease.

While collecting long grass near the medicine den, Poppypool overheard Foxpelt and Nutfur discussing the most recent battle.

"That last attack wasn't like anything we've seen before," Foxpelt growled, her eyes narrowing as she conversed with her mate. "They were more organized this time. I'd bet a moon's worth of dawn patrols that they have a leader pulling their tails."

Nutfur nodded in agreement. "They're not acting like typical rogues. It's like they're looking for one cat and whomever they hurt is just collateral."

Poppypool's ears pricked at their conversation. The rogues were becoming bolder, and the Clan's borders were in constant danger. Yet, she couldn't help but wonder if the Dark Forest had something to do with it. Was Rowantail orchestrating these attacks, or was this just another danger looming on the horizon?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Newtflake approached her, his eyes filled with worry. "Poppypool, you haven't been resting. I can see it in your eyes, you're pushing yourself too hard."

Poppypool gave him a weary smile, appreciating his concern. "I'm fine, Newtflake. There's just... a lot going on. The Clan needs us."

Newtflake hesitated, then sighed. "I know, but you don't have to carry this burden alone. I'm here to help."

His words touched her, but they also reminded her of the heavy secret she carried like a sickness. She wanted to tell him the truth, to confide in her apprentice, but the weight of Rowantail's threats held her back. Instead, she nodded and said, "Thank you. I'll get some rest soon."

That night, Poppypool lay in her nest, staring out at the stars in the night sky. They were cold and distant, their light offering no comfort. Rowantail's voice echoed in her mind, promising that she could never escape him, that he would haunt her until she fulfilled his twisted desires.