When the Time Comes {closed}

Duskpaw had followed Mossbloom back from the moonstone, eyes strangely jaded as she watched the sky above. It was dark, still dark. The snow they walked on had been ruined from countless other pawprints, coming and going. The trees were quiet, and the birds made no sound. Duskpaw was not angry. She was still, whiskers outlining the night as she nodded to Mossbloom. The medicine cat returned to her den, camp quiet as Duskpaw was left alone in the clearing. Flintfang had been killed by Beartooth. It wasn't something to shed tears about, he had been dead a long time, the ground was his home now. But Duskpaw knew that his life had been cut short. He did not have the opportunity to survive as Emberheart did. He was murdered. Like Hazelpaw. The apprentice's eyes rose to the warrior's den, watching the sleeping forms of many, many cats. She had killed a beast before. She had long scars on her eyes and body. She had eaten squirrels and tasted their blood. But she had not killed a cat. Duskpaw walked silently through the clearing, ducking under the bushes as she padded to Beartooth's side. "Hello Beartooth." The she-cat spoke simply, looking into his ears. The large deputy slumbered by Harefoot and Ferretnose. Duskpaw cocked her head and wondered if they had ever killed a cat before. The night was still young.

"Beartooth. Let's go hunting. Please?" Duskpaw nudged her mentor out of his nest; safety. Together they weaved their way into the clearing, pelts groomed against the chill. The air had warmed since the morning, and the snowfall had subsided. Now the sky sang tones of thunder, crackling in the abyss above. A storm. Duskpaw liked the rain, she wondered if it would freeze to snow once it fell upon Beartooth's body. She didn't want him to be cold. Slowly, the she-cat padded through the dried undergrowth, pelt dark gray in the lack of light. Only the remains of snow reflected the moon, high in its perch. Emberheart's words echoed in her head. Duskpaw decided she would like to visit the moonstone again one day. Perhaps Beartooth would be there.

But in this moment, he stood by her side, face sad. Beartooth was always sad. Duskpaw licked his shoulder and huddled into his fur. They sat alone in the silence, no one to hear them. "You killed Flintfang, Beartooth." Duskpaw was not angry, and she spoke the statement as casually as if she was telling her mentor he had a burr in his fur. "Did he bleed? Was it red?"

Beartooth was awoken from a peaceful slumber by the nudging of a cat. His companions snored ever so quietly next to him. Although, with her current ailment, Ferretnose's sound had grown slightly more drastic. He did not mind it, rather, he enjoyed the sound of the she-cat he had come to love. His eyes drifted to her and blinked once before turning to the cat who had summoned him from slumber. It was his apprentice. The fact she woke him at such an hour was fairly strange, yet, he did not hesitate to rise slowly to his paws. There was a bit of fear he might wake the other two, so began perhaps the most gentle act the bulky warrior had ever performed as he wretched himself away from the comfort and followed in Duskpaw's stead. Outside the sky twisted and writhed in some ancient, natural song. The warrior had never minded storms. They simply were.

Perhaps it would have been strange to be awake at such an hour given they were not Shadowclan cats. But given Oakstar's recent decree there be a night guard, he was often awake through the nightly hours. He gently tried to direct their impromptu hunting patrol away from where the nightly border patrols would be, as to not disturb them. Sleep quickly was shook from his brain. Stepping into the territory had always spurred on his warrior nature. He was a hunter, a protector, and this was his land. Across his maw, the bulky tom wore a neutral mask. Since kithood, the stone was the only mask he work. It was not something he did intentionally, rather the opposite, but it was what hid the soft underbelly that was far to weak to be exposed to the greater world. It did not service the duty that he had been chosen to carry out. Even now, in this strange calling, there was nothing more than the unreadable sadness.

The mentor sought to ask his apprentice why they now stalked the night as if they lived in the marshlands but thought little of it because she had always shone great interest in the many skills of warriorhood. Even if he had slacked in his leadership, due to the many other things that busied his paws and his own ineptitude, Duskpaw had hardly been held back. Finally, they stopped. The pair sat in the deafening silence of the pure white landscaping. What would be said would be far beyond the ears of any cat that happened to now traipse the snowfall. Patrols would not cross their way for hours.  Her words reached his ears. Unexpected. As his whiskers twitched, the deputy dug his paws into the powdery substance, melting away their fragile existence with hot paws. If he had considered it, Beartooth would have understood that those flakes were similar to the life he had snuffed out of this young cat's father.

After a stretching silence, he meowed in the most sorrowful tone, "Yes. His life was ended at my paws. Blood was spilled." There was no denying it; he had labored over the moment so many times, especially after the accusations that now hung heavy over his head. His gaze turned down to his paws. After so many moons of life, he had never once settled on their purpose. Those over-sized monstrosities. For so long, he had branded them a curse as prescribed by Beepaw and Pricklebush. At some point, he had found their value in the way he was able to protect the cats he loved. But there was no denying the destructive power that these many claws held. Beartooth looked up to meet his gaze, there was an apology there. He never once wondered where the knowledge had come from, it didn't matter. There was no reason to ever hide the truth: it was for this reason that he had not once crafted a lie in his many moons of life.

She knew, and that was all there was to it.

The apprentice swallowed as the sky sang. A loud silence that threatened to shatter their clearing. Duskpaw wished to hear it from Beartooth's own maw. But the tom had admitted the murder without hesitation. She flicked her ear and watched him with green eyes, sad, like Beartooth's. Why didn't he lie? Why wasn't he cunning? Beartooth could run, could fight, but he told her Flintfang died at his paws. His blood had fallen out. Duskpaw wanted to be angry at Beartooth, but instead felt a pang at what she had to do. It was not justice, and it was not honor. The fox which had killed Hazelpaw did so because it was hungry. Beartooth killed Flintfang by mistake. But their blood ran red all the same. Duskpaw could see it now, red like the sun, like the worms, and the copper sands in the clearing. Duskpaw brought her mentor out into the forest because she could. She stood before him now because her mind spoke volumes of what needed to be done. A trade. A skewed fairness that Duskpaw would yield. Beartooth was her friend. Beartooth was her mentor. But Beartooth had killed, and Duskpaw would kill in return. Not for her father, but for balance. A trait which was blind to the happenings of the forest. It did not discriminate for those who murdered accidentally. It was blind like Duskpaw had been.

She closed her eyes and remembered the fox's howl as she heaved him off of that edge, hearing the crunch of bones down below as the apprentice screamed. She had been scared. Flintfang had been scared, Hazelpaw as well. It was a trade. Someday, someone would come and kill Duskpaw as well. But as the circles turned and fate wrote tales, it was not her time to die. Their were far too many bargains to be sealed. Far too many thieves who had taken and given nothing in return. Their was no malice in Duskpaw's heart, but just as her mind understood the worms and their wriggly tendencies, it found comfort in understanding the balance the forest as well. It was her purpose. Her adventure. The beasts of the forest were more than just foxes and badgers, but cats as well. Those who drew blood and sparked wars.

A thousand questions swam in Duskpaw's mind as she huddled closer to her mentor in the cold night air, sky roaring overhead. She liked the warmth of her mentor's fur. She liked the stripes that swam over his pelt. She liked his sad eyes and the scars on his body. But it was his time.

"Beartooth?" She spoke simply, standing on her tip-toes to meet the larger tom's eyes. "I have to kill you." Duskpaw took a small step back to stare into his face, green orbs calculating every expression, every glimmer. Duskpaw did not understand the water that fell from the temples of her friends. She didn't know why some cats were sad. But the apprentice wished to make Beartooth smile before his time had come. Like Emberheart's had. She understood blood and claws. She understood the worms and the trees. Duskpaw knew of the balance; the trade. It was her adventure, to uncover what lay between the lines.

With each flash of lighting, the expression that crossed the she-cat's maw was clearer. She was calculated, thinking. Duskpaw's mind wrapped around the greater intricacies of the world, many of which his mind had never begun to comprehend. His salvation was the code that had been gifted to the clans all those many seasons ago. It had given him the duties that busied these massive paws for the whole time in which he had walked the forest. Events had churned around him. Love came, love left, and love returned. Death had risen. Great battles had been fought and events that had shook the clans down to their very core. Regardless the change or the reason, Beartooth had stayed. He had been born in the rut in which he now resided, never seeking greatness or looking for something that would complete him. Ever since birth, the monstrosity of a tabby had simply sat. Life turned around him in the shifting, complex channels in which it did.

And he was content to simply let it, without so much as a thought.

But Duskpaw, the way she considered it, questioned it, and even poked it with one claw was what made the pair drastically different in their own rights. They each had their place. He had never once been able to draw out the emotions of another cat unless the air hung heavy with an obvious sign. Now, all he could do was sense the decisiveness in the air; he could not decipher what it meant. There was a moment passed, and another, before he felt the warmth of her fur press into him. Was it an acceptance of the apology that flowed so freely from his eyes? Beartooth could not tell, but he relished in the warmth of her fur. For so many moons he had lived with the misdeeds of his paws. It was not a guilt sown from his own heart and his own nature, but impressed upon by the disdain and accusation of many cats, namely the ones he had found himself loving so purely and deeply. That was one of the few things that came easy to him, love. It was one of the things that had pushed him through the pain of this life.

Now, he felt that love for this apprentice that he had trained. Flintfang's daughter was a creature that had been born into death, much like Houndheart. He swallowed at the internal comparison. What she said next should have set his fur on end, but rather it soothed the part of his soul that had writhed since Beepaw's death. The sweeping numbness, icy claws, pressed into his chest for so long. All at once this young cat had melted the chill and scraped away the horrible remains underneath. She offered him freedom from the past, release from the things he had never been able to shake from his coat. But, above it all, the she-cat offered him redemption from the condemnation brought upon him by his own birth. As she looked into his eyes, stretching upwards, Beartooth stared back. He did not move for a moment, drinking in what was happening. The simple-minded tom thought little of the complexities of the circumstance, little of anything else, except for the flashes of the cats he loved back in Thunderclan.

He would protect them from the stars. Harefoot and Ferretnose would have each other. Oakstar and Dustcloud would curl together at night as they always had. Thunderclan was strong, resilient, and it did not need the many things that he brought with him. Not any more. For once in his life, the self-less tom found a spark of selfishness. He lay down the burden of his life as he tucked his paws beneath him and settled down into the snow.

"Thank you."

Thank you. Beartooth said thank you. Duskpaw blinked and her constant string of living halted. She didn't understand what went on inside his heart. Their was a vast difference between them, and it frustrated her. Her curiosity knew no bounds, but never would it know the deep emotions Beartooth was now feeling. She could only watch from the outside. Watch and guess. They were so different, just as Duskpaw was to the rest of the world. No one would ever dare bring their deputy to the corners of the forest. It took a special kind of cat, one willing to kill beasts and bury their bodies in the ground. It was her who had to carry the balance. She would ensure every trade saw it through. Duskpaw whimpered and pressed her face into Beartooth's chest once more, wanting so desperately to relate to the cat before her.

Why did he have to die? Why wouldn't the forest spare him? Her tears soaked into his scarred frame, lapped up by his dusty brown fur. Duskpaw sniffled and replayed Beartooth's words in her head. Thank you. Thank you. Beartooth would be free from whatever thoughts were in his head. Duskpaw only spoke in terms of physical; blood, claws, tussles in the snow. But Beartooth had been enlightened to something so much more. A part of the world that Duskpaw would never know.

She began to groom his chest, soft, quiet rasps of a tongue. With every motion, Duskpaw found she respected the cat before her. The large deputy with many many scars. Someday she'd have as many scars as Beartooth did. And someday Duskpaw would have to answer to the balance as well. The sky mourned and crackled, flashes of lightning illuminating their two forms only for a moment. Duskpaw liked storms. She was glad for it now. Tears soaked her cheeks as she gently flattened Beartooth's pelt. Every laceration on his body was covered by the parting of fur, until he looked new. He was still impossibly tall, a massive tabby. Duskpaw had always envied his size, but knew that it was something she could not change, and that was alright. His body would rest in the forest, like Emberheart's had. It was time. It was his time.

Duskpaw's maw reached his neck, and ever so gently her teeth sunk into his throat. Blood spun beautiful ribbons from the wound, and Duskpaw released him gracefully, with as much dignity as she could muster. Beartooth's chest fur was now crimson. Crimson like the cedar trees. Crimson like the squirrels. He was one with the forest. He had paid his end of the bargain, and all his dues had been wiped away. Beartooth was laid down in the snow, and the sky cried for his loss. A quiet rain burst from the clouds above, pattering on the melting snow, wiping the red away from Beartooth's neck. Duskpaw watched the sky for a long time. She watched as the wind carried the clouds over the forest. She decided then that she liked the rain, the rain was gentle. Gazing back to Beartooth, and his wound had been washed away. Duskpaw heaved herself to his side and closed his eyes with a soft paw, cradling herself in his cold frame. Beartooth. The deputy. The mentor. The murderer. She cared for him, she liked his sad eyes, and brown fur, and long stripes that split his pelt. And now he was free. "Goodbye Beartooth." Duskpaw whispered into his ear, her gray fur mixing with his of brown. "You're free."

Wind whistled around them, the only sound he hear for so long in their final moments. It tossed and tugged at his fur, as if willing him to his paws and longing to whisk him away. But the tom was rooted to the soft bed of snow he resided on. This would be his final resting place. There couldn't be anything better than laying underneath the crackling sky in the midst of this beautiful, snow-laden territory. Through closed eyes, he did not witness it, but Beartooth could picture it. He'd padded through this way countless times. The land had been his domain. Patrol after patrol he had sauntered these paths, weaving and twisting as he ran from the insurmountable torrents that had raged inside and drowned out the nose of the world around. Few things had broken through that, few things had reached the bulky deputy. Now, he thought of them, finding himself to be grateful for each of the cats whose pawprints had become embedded in his heart.

The faces of many Thunderclan cats crossed through his mind. And then there was Amberdawn too, the former Skyclan medicine cat who had first shown him how to care for another. Ridgelight, a bitter sweet memory, now brought a flicker of a smile to his maw. Even Houndheart, who had sworn off their relations not long before. The conflicted young tom was his son, regardless of where circumstances had placed them. He would go on to do great things as a warrior of the clan. Harefoot believed it, so he had to trust that it would be so. Back in the nest he had spent so many nights, there lay two warriors whose love had kept him moving, kept his heart beating, until this very moment. He loved them as fiercely as one could. Then there were his apprentices... Dawngaze, Lynxtail, and finally Duskpaw who would now relieve him of the burden of life. Each one he had loved as his own kits. Each one he had failed to show how much he cared, similar to what he had done to his own flesh and blood. Was it simply because had been born with overgrown pads? Or was there something about him that he could not blame on his birth? Beartooth swallowed. Oakstar. Aspenpaw. Mossbloom.

Thunderclan had been good to him. And now he had to return that favor to them. With each stroke of the she-cat's tongue, her neat grooming lulled him into the peaceful submission that would bring about his death. The tom did not seek to fight it; he accepted this, and he knew it was only right. If he believed in such mousebrained things as fate, this was one of them. Finally, her fangs sunk into his throat. Beartooth's breath was trapped in his lungs, unable to escape as blood pooled over his chest and covered his final moments in a scarlet hue. The last thing he felt was the icy sting of rain. It was a welcome sensation, a vibrant contrast to the warmth of his life blood and the pelt of his killer next to him. He pried his eyes open for one last look at the stormy sky above. There was an immeasurable sadness shining in those depths, but a genuine smile crossed his maw as he gazed on the territory he loved. As the edges of his vision blurred the answer was obvious...

Freedom lay beyond this world.

The world looked different through Duskpaw's eyelashes, closed gently against the sleet fall. Beartooth's coat had turned cold, and the rain which pattered upon the two figures now froze as the sun broke the clouds. Dawn was beautiful. Duskpaw liked the orange sky and the softly lit trees. She liked the way frost would accumulate on Beartooth's fur. She liked the way her tears had frozen into small drops of stardust on her cheeks. The sky reminded her not to be sad. The trade had been finished, Beartooth was free. Time passed like thick jelly, and the apprentice's head nodded back until she forgot what day it was. Had seconds passed? Or maybe moons? The she-cat woke up to the sound of a crow, gawking from an overhead tree. The sun was bright now, air crisp and frosty. Duskpaw found her paws and shook out her snowy pelt, gazing at Beartooth, body covered in sleet. Her mouth tasted dry, like copper crimson. Perhaps she was an elder now. ThunderClan had moved on while Duskpaw slept next to her mentor, ensuring he wouldn't be cold. But he was dead now. Dead, and the crow wanted him as food.

"Get away you mangy beast!" She hissed to the black bird, running to its tree and slamming her paws into the trunk, causing the branches to shake. The bird fluttered off, but two more appeared. They were hungry. "No!" She yowled, lashing her tail. "Don't be mean!" The crows only watched as tears fell from the apprentice's temples. They mocked her with their beady eyes. Beartooth had paid his debt. He deserved their respect. Shivering and determined, Duskpaw swiftly turned tail and ran towards the direction of ThunderClan camp, cheeks wet with emotions the cat couldn't pinpoint. The clouds had left and now only flurries fell from the sky, coating last night's sleet with a fine layer of white. The ground was icy, and Duskpaw had to dig her claws into the soil as she ran, tail streaming behind her.

The first cat she saw was Houndheart, journeying from the camp's entrance, alone. Without hesitation, she barreled into his tall frame; and they slid together in the snow. "Hound... Houndheart..." She whimpered, nose running and eyes wet. "The crows... they want Beartooth..." She sniffed and wiped her muzzle with a drenched paw, shivering. "We have to bury him..."

It was far too early in the morning to be awake, even before most of the patrols, but he wanted to get some hunting done so he could go back to sleep before Beartooth or Oakstar pestered him about going out with other cats. Besides, his mind had been restless and rendered him unable to sleep. For these reasons and many more, Houndheart felt as if his mind was filled with fog. When Duskpaw barreled into him, sending both of them backwards and spraying up snow, a hiss left his maw immediately. After getting back to his paws, the warrior shook off his coat and blinked several times as he looked down at his friend. The flakes of snow that drifted miserably downward collected on his ear and were dispelled as it flicked irritably. Until he processed what words had come from her maw. Then they were still.

Given his lanky frame, the tom stood over her, casting a bit of a shadow. He looked around, finding himself grateful there was no other cat here to witness this. Disbelief crossed his maw, flickering away with many other emotions, "What are you talking about, Duskpaw? Burying Beartooth? What is going on?" His voice was a low hiss as he ushered her away from where he had emerged and towards the direction that she had come from. Thoughts churned and bombarded through his head with every pawstep. It was as if some creeping sense of dread, despite not yet being given a straight answer, already knew the events that transpired. Houndheart longed to feel some notion of peace at the concept that his father had died of some unknown cause. But there wasn't anything. Simply put, he was filled with the greatest concerns. With the way she shivered and shook, coupled with the notion that he was the first cat to know their deputy lay still in the snow, well, the implications were there.

Without waiting any longer, the skinny tom instructed her to show him the way as he took off in the direction of her already disappearing pawprints. The snow would wipe away any trace of them. His heart thudded faster and faster as they neared the place. That was when he saw it. A sight he had never once considered before, even at the wish that his birth father would die. Beartooth's still body lay underneath thin flakes of snow. He already looked so peaceful in his sleep, as if he had desired this moment for so long. It was sickening. For such a bulky and imposing creature, there was a pathetic softness and ignorance that had wrapped the elder tabby's heart. Houndheart gritted his teeth and stared for a moment. His chest pounded even more quickly than before and the blood rushed into his ears. The blood flow, the neat markings of teeth, they told the rest of the story. Looking down at one of the few cats he had ever found himself caring for, the warrior realized he had a decision.

Panic welled in his chest and he had to stuff it down as he spoke, and as he did, his voice was smaller than ever before, "Clean it up, Duskpaw. We're going hunting. Neither of us have seen Beartooth since sunset." With that, he turned away, stomach churning relentlessly. This wouldn't go away. It would writhe and wriggle and rot within him. Even with having eaten anything, it threatened to clear away his gut. Houndheart heaved once but there was nothing. Swallowing a pit of air, the warrior shook his head several times. He couldn't deal with this, so he wouldn't. The thought of losing Duskpaw too was unbearable. Snow would wipe away their footprints and take away any physical traces of this memory, even if it clung to his pelt as thick as honey. Once she was done, they would go hunting.

That was all.