how the mighty fall ❧ // warrior cats

INTERLUDE VI

     He knows he loves his brother. There is no doubt in Coal's mind that he would lay his life down in exchange for Clay's should the time come. Since he watched his father die defending his mother, since he watched his mother die defending her children, he has always known that he will be the next to die defending someone he loves.

     When he arrived in the forest of pines, he never imagined he would extend his list of loved ones beyond his brother, but now, as the final barrier between Stonetail and her father, between Stonetail and death, he knows with complete certainty that his list has grown. 

     He can't bring himself to feel scared as he finally faces the yellow eyes he's run from all his life. There should be a mouse doing laps in his chest, pausing only to gnaw at his ribs before resuming its breakneck race, but he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. It's even, like the steady drip of rainwater from towering trees, and though it roars in his head, echoing over and over again, he cannot feel the fear he expects. Even Greystar lying in a heap, defeated after a valiant last stand just before he arrived, cannot inspire terror in his bones.

     Perhaps Kiona felt this way when she died for her sons. He thinks about what his mother gave for him, for Clay, but only in the half-second before Torch's heavy paw floods his vision. Instinct says to run. Instinct also says to protect. Coal does a little of both, ducking below the blow but keeping himself squarely between the poles of love and hate. He hates Torch. He hates what Torch has done, is doing, will do. He hates Torch's yellow eyes and yellow teeth. 

     But he loves Stonetail. He doesn't love the Stonetail that fought with him after training apprentices, or the Stonetail that saw only mouse-lengths beyond her own nose. He does love, though, the Stonetail that lies bloodied in the dirt behind him. She is the Stonetail that ran into the unknown to ensure Clay's safety, the Stonetail that faced death by fox for a Clan other than her own, the Stonetail that went to face death alone to spare her friends from danger. That Stonetail, though by large imperfect, is the Stonetail he loves. That Stonetail has made choices. She has made sacrifices; Coal understands sacrifice. 

     "It's long past time you ought to be dead," Torch snarls, rearing up onto his hind legs to smash down on Coal's shoulders. 

     "Maybe," Coal replies, snaking forward to seize Torch's ankle in his jaws. He keeps moving, feels the grey tom crash to the ground behind him, and then realizes his mistake. He has opened an avenue to Stonetail. 

     Torch sees it, too. Murder on his mind, murder always on his mind, he kicks Coal away and stretches his claws. They glisten with Greystar's blood in the raging firelight, and Torch is prepared to add more of his daughter's blood to that mix. 

     Coal stops thinking. Later, he recalls forgetting to breathe. He simply acts, taking the nearest smoldering branch in his jaws and swinging the burning end into Torch's side. The stench of burnt fur fills the smoke-heavy air along with Torch's scream, and Coal feels satisfaction and bloodlust at once. How does it feel, he wonders, to lose to your greatest weapon?

     He does not ask. There is no time to ask. He only resumes his position as Stonetail's defender, relief rushing through him as she raises her head, only to drop it again in the span of a heartbeat. At least she is alive, he tells himself. At least she is alive. 

     Somehow, this thought lends him the strength to survive longer than his father, longer than his mother. Though Torch outweighs him, Coal grapples without the sloppiness of fury, trusting instead in his desire to protect rather than destroy. The air is thick and hot; Coal only feels ice in his veins. 

     Clay and Streamheart appear beyond Torch at one point, rushing in from the dirtplace. The murderer does not see them, but Coal does. Until now, he has fought in silence, carefully controlled, but this is no longer a time for such discipline. He yowls, letting moons of rage surface as he lashes out at the yellow eyes, as intent on blinding them as he is on leading his brother and friend through the smoke. They will be able to rescue Stonetail; he can only do so much with his claws sunk into Torch's shoulders. 

     And so Coal catches glimpses of Clay and Streamheart bearing Stonetail out of camp. He spies Greystar crawling towards the fight though she cannot stand. Most of all, though, he sees his life's tormentor right before him, ready to kill him and consign him to ash.

     It would be a decent way to go if any of his pride were left. Felled in battle, named posthumously as a valiant defender. Yet he does not want a glorified fate. He wants life and happiness and freedom and love. He wants all the things Torch ripped from him so long ago.

     For the first time in his life, Coal does not run. He stays. He fights.

     It feels good.