Flicker of Scorn (Closed)

The day's first round of patrols had drawn to a close, and the island's central was filled with warriors and apprentices resting after a busy morning. At a glance, one would be able to tell that there were more cats than usual. Among the familiar pelts of the RiverClan cats, those of ShadowClan were also present. Two days had passed since the Gathering, and one day had passed since the ShadowClan loyalists had arrived. Despite being surrounded by foreign territory and foreign culture, they were proving themselves willing to work. It was a good thing, for prey in the forest had not fully returned yet. The hunting this greenleaf could be considered poor in comparison to the past. One could say that the ShadowClan cats pulling their weight was necessary if RiverClan were to provide them shelter. Even so, as Scorchclaw took in the sight of the fresh-kill pile, he frowned. The hunting patrols had worked hard all morning, yet it was easy to see that the prey would not be quite enough to feed two clans. The large tabby cast a glance about the clearing, before he silently made his decision. He would go alone. His clanmates deserved their rest before the next round of patrols. As for him, he still had the strength to hunt one more time. Missing a meal or two would not hurt him as badly as it would hurt a younger, weaker cat.

Having made up his mind, Scorchclaw swiftly crossed the clearing to the camp exit. Right as he reached it, however, a shadow fell across his path. The deputy's green gaze met with the familiar scarred visage of a certain ShadowClan cat. "Thornbriar." He greeted her emotionlessly. "How may I help you?"

Scorchclaw was silent for a moment or two, simply meeting the ShadowClan warrior's gaze. Behind the impassive demeanor, careful consideration was going on. At last, he responded with a slight nod. "The more paws there are," He rumbled, "the more prey will be caught." With those simple words hanging in the air, their small patrol was decided. He headed through the opening in the reeds, wading into the shallow stream surrounding the island camp. It had been a while since the two cats had been in each other's company. A strange twist of fate, if their unusual relationship could be so described with such a term, had brought them together at the lake, but they had not so much as spoken a word to each other ever since the return. The RiverClan deputy had mixed feelings about his ShadowClan companion. While the majority of his being tended to regard her with the cold formality he showed to all the marsh-dwellers, another part of him held a certain degree of respect for Thornbriar. It was surprising, especially considering the cat he was; but it was true that she was different from most of the non-RiverClan cats he knew. ShadowClan could hardly have found a better cat to lead them in the wake of the flood. If it had not been for her presence, it was unlikely the two allied clans could have gotten along as well as they had. Somehow, there was a spark of similarity between the two cats―it was a similarity that could be felt with instinct, rather than rationale. He found that he did not detest her. There was no other ShadowClan warrior he would rather hunt with, so it was just as well that she was joining him.

Between the two of them, there were matters that needed to be brought up as well. One, in particular, was long overdue for discussion. Scorchclaw's thoughts drifted now to Dappleshine and her siblings. It was thanks to Thornbriar that Dewshine's litter had survived. So many moons had passed, and one of them had even reached warriorhood. Back then, when the helpless kits had been in desperate need of a queen, the scarred she-cat had volunteered to help. He had never forgotten what she had done for kits that were not even related to her by blood. Thanks had to be given where it was due. He was not a cat to forget his debts. "Thornbriar." He began, somewhat abruptly. By this time, they were already some distance from camp. There was no other cat around―just the two of them. Only the breeze would bear witness to their words. "RiverClan is indebted to you. Although many moons have passed, it was thanks to you that three orphaned kits could survive. When I first decided to raise them, I did not think much of the decision. But now it would not be inappropriate to say that I consider them..." He paused, considering the word, "family." It was true; they meant everything to him now.

"If there is any favor you wish of me in the future, I will fulfill it reasonably to the best of my ability. This is as much as I ought to do."

A small part of Scorchclaw wondered if he had made a mistake in making such a promise to Thornbriar. There was a possibility that he would end up regretting his decision. It was the part of him that had been taught to be skeptical, taught to doubt others. He did not deny it; that sense of distrust, woven along with his principles, was his guiding post now. In this world where the future was so wrapped in mist, one had to doubt before he even set forth a paw. But the concept of honor was as ingrained in him as that suspicion was. A debt always had to be repaid, and here was a debt like none other. The cost of that promise was what gave it its weight. Only time would reveal what Thornbriar did with the opportunity give her.

Once again, silence fell over the pair. As if to replace the conversation that the two cats had previously held, the breeze stirred the thick clusters of reeds. A whispered conversation started up among the streambank―nature blatantly gossiping about the odd pairing that it beheld. Neither one was given to small talk. Thus, it took a moment before Scorchclaw spoke up again. This time, the words came easier to him. "I used to think little of RiverClan's allies." His pale-green gaze, marked by the austerity which was so often his distinguishing characteristic, flicked to the she-cat's scarred visage. "However, time has shown me how foolish I was. ShadowClan has done much for RiverClan, just as we are returning the favor now. For your sake and mine, as well as those we both hold dear, I hope that this alliance will last." His paws came to a halt at the last statement, and he looked Thornbriar full in the face then. He did not quite know why he was telling her this. Had the perceived similarity between the two of them drawn it out of him? Nevertheless, if there was one thing he knew, he knew that she was a warrior he could respect, even if they were bound by their vows to different clans. Perhaps he had had a premonition, a brief glimpse into the future that would be Thornbriar's.

The question came out of the blue. At the name "Swanpetal," Scorchclaw stiffened slightly. He had not known that the two she-cats had been acquainted, let alone that Thornbriar thought fondly of Swanpetal. In a moment, he saw the unpleasant fate that had been committed to him. It was clear what the ShadowClan warrior wanted to know, even if she did not pose the question in a direct manner. He was silent for a moment or two, sifting through the many words he could use in search of the right ones. At last, he began in a low rumble, "I thank you for your praise." There was a slight pause accompanied by a twitch of his tail, before the large tabby went on in the same solemn tone. "Our opinions seem to be in alignment. Both of our clans could use more like-minded cats. As for Swanpetal, it is regrettable; she passed away a few moons ago in the mountains. I hear that she went down fighting. While I was not present, her daughter and my apprentice Wasppaw was. The pelt of the very dog that took Swanpetal's life lines her nest." Dancing around the topic out of misguided sensitivity would do no good here. He knew Thornbriar wanted the truth. Thus, he gave it to her as succinctly as he could. Being the bearer of bad news, while it left a slightly bitter aftertaste in his mouth, was a task someone had to take up. The last words leaving him caused his thoughts to wander back to said apprentice. His gaze darkened at the remembrance.

With the death of her mother, something within Wasppaw had broken beyond repair. Scorchclaw might have been her mentor, but even he was unable to bring back what had been lost. He could only try to fill the hole through his imperfect effort. He was not trying to be regarded as her father―no. Leaving aside the fact that he would never stoop as low as to try to replace someone that precious, he was simply not good enough to be hers. Dappleshine had been a miracle, and a part of him still struggled to believe that she was truly grateful to him. Dewshine's daughter was just as kind as her mother had been, perhaps a little too kind.

Scorchclaw watched the ShadowClan warrior in silence. He was no stranger to loss himself. The grief that seemed to take one's very breath away, the gaping sense of emptiness as the days passed―these experiences were the unfortunate side to life as a warrior. No. In Scorchclaw's opinion, it was the unfortunate side to living. As long as one had the capacity to feel pain, reality would surely bring a fair share of suffering. Even if he did not know exactly how Thornbriar felt at that moment, a portion of that suffering was universal to anyone who had lived long enough to experience loss. The silence that lapsed over them this time felt heavier, darker―even suffocating. He did not regret telling her the truth. However, the weaker, more emotional side of him wished that there had never been that truth to tell in the first place. Was it guilt he felt? The logical side of him whispered its cold, cold thoughts in his ears in an attempt to stifle that uncomfortable sensation. This was not the first time he had had to play cruelty's messenger, and it would not be the last.

Fortunately or unfortunately, neither of the two needed to change the topic. It was forcefully changed for them, when a new scent spilled out onto their path and announced an unexpected visitor. The scent was one that Scorchclaw could never forget. At times, he found it even in his dreams. It was foul enough to sting the back of one's throat, and he grimaced instinctively. "Fox!" He uttered only one word of warning, before the russet pelt showed itself. The fox must have been a relatively young one. It seemed startled for a moment, as if it had not been expecting to see the two cats. Then in the next moment, its features contorted in a snarl. Scorchclaw found himself moving automatically to intercept the beast, a threatening hiss slipping from his jaws at the same instance the fox lunged. Narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws, the large tabby slashed at the exposed hide. "Thornbriar!" Almost as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he called out for the ShadowClan warrior to assist him.