sage | a warrior cats fanfiction

chapter forty four

All was empty. Everything was over. Nothing mattered.

Odors of the battle seemed to hover around the tom. Screeches lingered around the warrior. They avoided him like they knew what was happening. Like they understood what was going on.

All was empty.

The tawny figure did not move. It did not lift its skull to try and say something. It did not twitch its tail and its muzzle certainly did not open. It was a still stone; a stone dropped into water and buried deep within the river's rushing current, forgotten, disguised among other stones, all the same in the eyes of death.

He wanted to get up and race to the tom. But he couldn't. Because there was a battle. Because his paw still wouldn't do what it was meant to. Because now that tears were mixing with blood and all was growing faster and faster, as if it had been spun off-center, all spiraling out of control.

Struggling, he dragged himself over, allowing his paw to lag behind. It didn't matter if it hurt after the battle. Because after the battle, it would all be over anyway. It would all be empty.

Blood easily flitted around his figure, staining his originally creamy-brown fur a deep, saturated shade. He continued to attempt to surge forward, yet every attempt he made failed. Toppling to the ground, he struggled up as he tried to avoid getting in the way of all the cats fighting.

It took a long time to get over to his pelt. And by the time he got there, the warmth had drained and left only a vessel of who he loved. A trace of heat seemed present yet it was mostly cold, like a stone. A stone long forgotten, dropped in the river—

As he got over, he hoped and he prayed that it wasn't him. Tawn. It could be her. Right? She had been fighting for a long time. And if it wasn't, maybe he was just sleeping. He got too tired so he stopped battling and decided to sleep.

Gently, he allowed his figure to rise as he hopped upon his front paw, trying to balance himself before he slumped to the ground, shutting his eyes tight. If they're closed— then I never— never have to see.

But just because his gaze was shut didn't mean he forgot about the cat in front of him. It took up every portion of his brain, full and cluttered and never to be empty; that was for afterward. Empty was for after the battle.

Eyes opening, he immediately slammed his skull against the ground, shutting them closed again. I can't—

The figure held a pair of two dark green eyes, two twin leaves that were shadowed and glazed over. Terror and fear were frozen within his eyes; ice, unable to be melted, never leaving their position.

The figure's pelt was stained with blood and beneath his skull, laid limply on the ground, lay a scratch that edged itself straight across his throat. That was what had caused the blood to surround him. That was what had caused the crimson liquid to seep into his pelt.

The figure's features were slumped, limp and powerless to anything that happened. Wind battered against their frames in unison, hurting them both equally despite one being gone, and the other still present.

Adderheart pressed his head into his paws, clamping his maw shut. If he didn't do anything, maybe he would come back. Maybe the warrior wouldn't be where he was. Maybe he would be okay.

Yet his eyes edged open again and there Pantherleap was, still as a stone, dropped in a river to be—

All was over. All was empty.

Tears flooded from Adderheart's gaze as he tried to get away, scrambling as his paw sharply protested beneath him. Its pain couldn't compare to the one tearing through his figure, ripping up his head as though it was a cat with a pair of claws.