Dirty Paws [Warriors]

T W O

CROW TALON SHIVERED— NOT FROM COLD, BUT FROM FEAR.

If it was possible, the sleeping cave was far darker than the night outside. Reflective eyes flashed and scintillated just within his peripheral vision, and though he knew they belonged to the cats he'd known for seasons on end, their gaze rested uncomfortably on his pelt. Faint murmuring echoed off the cave's walls and tickled his ears; he heard his name mentioned with a quiet laugh, but when he strained his ears, nothing was there.

Bee Flight was doing their best to be brave next to him. Tail held high, the golden tabby surveyed the cave with an unshakable gaze, but only Crow Talon could feel their flank trembling under the mask of bravado. Crow, who had faced his father's anger many times, knew his father too well to be able to eke up even an ounce of courage in the face of danger. The carefree, flippant attitude that had graced him on his ascent to the cave entrance had vanished, leaving him with only a ghost of a memory that haunted the back of his mind and fingers of cold fear that traced down his spine.

Crow Talon inhaled. Exhaled. Tried to find some semblance of comfort in the familiar exercise, but failed. The breath puffed away, forgotten, into the stagnant air. It was as if it no longer existed once it left the confines of his lungs. He almost wished he could do the same.

There was nothing else to do but to go forward. Gritting his teeth, Crow Talon raised his tail to mimic Bee Flight's and marched, resolute, along the path he'd taken so many times. The tiny, clattering sound of claws on packed earth floor told him Bee Flight was following his footsteps exactly.

"You don't have to go in with me." It was Bee's voice, each syllable falling like tentative snowflakes on his ears. It was clear they wanted Crow to venture into the den with them. The promise of safety in his nest sang a siren song to him in the distance; lowering his head, he ignored it.

"It's fine. I'll go with you." This favor to his friend was the least he could do.

A pause, accentuated by the rustling of pelts somewhere in the cave, boomed like thunder in Crow's ears. "Thank you."

The entrance to the Exalted One's den glowed before him, strands of moonlight reaching out and dancing over the flat earth before it. Nothing except the plop of week-old raindrops falling into century-old puddles could be heard from within Swollen River's den, and Crow Talon imagined his father as he'd seen him many times: watching the surface of the tiny, glittering lakes strewn across the den's floor intently, his tail curled over his paws, hoping for a sign. It seemed that sometimes he cared more about the will of his long-dead ancestors than the health of his only son.

Now was no time for reminiscing. Before he could turn around and run for the cave entrance, Crow Talon took a deep breath, trapped it inside his lungs, and ducked into the room.