My dear friend... (Closed)

Oakstar padded through the camp. Sticks and twigs laid scattered through the freshly fallen snow from the storm the night before. Dawn rose cold and wary, but blissfully peaceful. His kits and mate were safe and soundly asleep, and overall a gentle tranquility over a raucous night. He turned his gaze towards the warriors den, where he spotted Ferretnose preparing for the day. With a tilt of his head, he padded towards her.

"Ferretnose… would you like to patrol with me today?" He asked, then paused, his gaze trailing over the camp. This was the second morning he woke up… and strangely, didn’t see Beartooth anywhere. He tilted his head thoughtfully. It was possible the tom had simply taken the night patrol. Still, he felt an uneasy twinge. "...is Beartooth in the den?" He asked, his amber gaze peering into the darkness, but among all the pelts he couldn’t see a large brown tabby’s.

Was Beartooth still on patrol? Did he stumble onto something dangerous? His muzzle frowned in concern, tempted to raise an alarm… but what good would that do if Beartooth was just hunting? The tom often did more work than was strictly needed… Oakstar felt a pang of sympathy, wishing the tom would settle down and perhaps spend time with his son… but there was little he could do about it. "He’s probably hunting… we should see him coming in as we leave." He decided, before he padded over to the camp entrance, leading the way.

The day passed with more and more anxiety, which couldn’t have been good for the kits. Beartooth had shuffled past her in the dull hours of the morning, following somebody who called his name. She hadn’t bothered to look. Being deputy was important. She recalled sliding into the warm space he left and tucking her head underneath Harefoot’s chin, breathing in the mossy scent her mate left behind, juxtaposed to her other love’s honeysuckle-flavored one. It was of her favorite scents in the world, other than the fresh minty smell of whatever Mossbloom had been giving her. It was nearly time to tell the clan of her pregnancy. She was waiting. She liked the excitement of a surprise. Besides that, she was holding out for Rainpaw’s ceremony for as long as she could. She thought of Beartooth’s scent once more as she curled up in the warrior’s den in the evening. She buried her head into the nest she shared with her mates, drinking in the last remaining inklings that he had ever been there.

It really wasn’t like him to be out so long. The rain had been something fierce, turning the white snow to slush. She had been around for enough seasons to know how dangerous the forest was in conditions like these. The monsters were much more likely to veer off the thunderpaths and make messes of themselves. And what more, twolegs took strange pity on ragged-looking clanners. Even more frightening a thought, ShadowClan would be getting hungrier. But, still, Beartooth tended to keep to himself. Him being off on his own was no shock. It didn’t bother her too much. She waited for the night patrol to return. Ferretnose’s good eye flickered over the shadowy figures as the sun slowly rose. She did not smell moss, nor did she feel a many-toed paw clamber over her to rasp Harefoot’s pelt. That was odd. Of all things, she could count on his return to camp to lay for even just a moment by his mates’ side. The queen scoffed and churned up the nest, letting indignance take the place of anxiety. It was safer to be angry than to assume he was in trouble. “I’ll be back, bunny-hare,” she murmured to Harefoot, “The big idiot’s still not back… Give him a piece of my mind… StarClan’s sake, I’m having-”

Ferretnose coughed, masking her mistake to the rest of her nosy denmates. They didn’t know. Nobody did. She grumbled and stepped out into the piercing light of day, belly swaying ever so slightly. She approached Oakstar, head dipped respectfully. She knew he was probably laughing at her display, given how graciously he had treated her and his apprentice’s union, but she didn’t care. A leader was a leader, and Oakstar was an incredibly respected one at that. Though, his tone struck her heart rather rashly. “You didn't send him on the night watch?” she gasped, “So we've found each other for the same reason… and I’m, erm, I’m getting sick, you know, and he knows, and it’s not like him to know that and not come back to camp to check on Harefoot and I. Please. Let's go.”

Ferretnose’s paws churned as she squirmed out of camp. Each quickened breath gathered fiercely in front of her face before floating away on the wind. She moved with a purpose, only vaguely registering the crunching of Oakstar’s paws in the slush. She sucked in breaths as if the inhalation could pull her mate right up to her muzzle. His scent wasn't there. It was mostly snow and nothingness. Not even prey dwelled here. ”Beartooth!” she whistled nervously, ”Come out, come out! Playtime’s over!”

"You’re getting sick?" Oakstar’s voice raises in alarm. His amber eyes filled with concern as the she-cat continued and began to pad on. He leapt after her, his tone worried. "Have you seen Mossbloom about it?" He asked as he hurried in front of her. His mind urged him to force her to go back… but his concern grew with hers.

It was one thing for him to not have seen Beaetooth… but for Ferretnose to be surprised as well… dread tightened in his stomach as he padded along the normally well worn trails that lay covered in fresh snow. He paused each time he encountered a small patch of dark on in the bushes and trees. His paws were numb from the cold before he tripped over a large rock.

A large… furred… he paused in though. His amber eyes wide in horror and shock. His heart plummeted down to his paws, and into the ground below. He new that paw. He knew that muzzle… that pelt. His heart clenched in new agony. Beartooth… his deputy…

Was gone.

Ferretnose walked at least fifteen paces, eyes set gallantly on the place ahead of her nose, before she noticed the sudden silence. Oakstar was no longer behind her. With a sudden lift, the queen turned around with a grin for the ages. "Oh, you caught a scent?" she mewed. The worry melted off of her shoulders, lifting the heavy-pawed and stubborn weight off of her pace. She was no longer a disgruntled mate searching for her wayward tom, but rather chasing her lover in a kitlike game through the wood. She weaved around the trees to find her leader's tabby coat stark against the soggy and greying powder.

But Oakstar had stopped moving. He stared forlornly at a heap in the snow. It was a ragged looking thing, icy and dull. It had fur, too, which was even more unnerving. Balled up and with its back to her, Ferretnose could not entirely make out the species of the poor creature by one-eyed sight. But she had seen that fur before, as well as those muscles. It was entirely too familiar a sight. Too large. Too brown. Too scarred. Too handsome.

She did not dare step closer.

"Oakstar, stop," she rasped. "It's a raccoon, that's all. I bet he killed it. Let's go." Ferretnose swallowed and kneaded her paws, pleading with the tom to step over the body and follow her. In the time they spent staring at one another, a hawk cawed dangerously overhead. She didn't flinch at it. Neither did Oakstar.

"Are you listening to me? Let's go!" Ferretnose barked, breath hitching as she stumbled, knees trembling underneath her and belly brushing the snow. "That's enough! Quit looking at it like that! That's not... There's not even blood, Oakstar, he wouldn't just decide to take a nap in the freezing cold!" A voice within her whispered: unless that's exactly what he did.

"N---n-n-o," she cried out to nobody. A great beast woke up inside Ferretnose, and she drove forward towards the body. Every inhale was a wheeze, every exhale a choking noise. She was drowning. She was drowning and he was drowning and she had kits inside her belly. Ferretnose yowled, raising a sheathed paw and pelting Oakstar in the chest, pushing him away from Beartooth. "MOVE!"

Ferretnose tumbled to her mate's side, pressing her nose to his scruff. He was icy, pieces of his pelt flecked with tiny white bits. And worst of all, he smelled of nothing but snow. "Wake up," she hissed, lapping his cheek. His head only lolled off in the opposite direction. It was placed delicately on his many-toed paws, in the way he often slept. It was sickening, the way his body nearly smiled in such a grievous occasion. She always thought she would cry when this happened, one day far from this one. She was the youngest of the three. No matter how her heart sank into the Dark Forest's hold, gripping it with thorn-like claws, she couldn't cry. Instead, she parted her maw and screamed.

Oakstar forced himself to brush away the snow that had gathered on the large tabby’s frame. Forced himself to look at the tom’s face and side for any sign of life… and let himself be pushed away by Ferretnose with a soft noise in his chest. Where grief built, and forced down his walls with the force of a tidal wave.

There was no mistaking that Beartooth was well and truly dead… and worse, he looked peaceful about it. As though he had simply decided right then was a good time to rest. Guilt clung to his mind. It was his fault. He pushed Beartooth too hard, he expected too much of the large tom… had trusted him with too many tasks, and now, he was forced to see the penalty.

He’d never know what drove Beartooth to rest… but he could only assume the tom felt like he had to hunt an extra shift. Oakstar hadn’t been hunting enough, taking an extra patrol or two off to tend to his own family… and that had led to Beartooth overworking.

Worse still, he expected the quiet tom to tell him if it was too much… but the quiet tom would never have done so. He felt guilt so acutely it was as though shards of ice had dug into his head and chest. This was his fault. Completely, and totally.

He lowered his head with a trembling breath. Puffs of air escaped his muzzle in a steam as the sobs he held back, ripped out of his throat and into the ground with his tears.

It was his fault.

He might as well have killed Beartooth with his own claws…

His fault.