erratic pawsteps [closed for chicken]

Maybe it could be attributed to the numbness, the way that her pawsteps faltered and swayed. Unsteadied steps lead her slowly towards the leader's den. Really, it was more of a sweeping uncertainty than anything. Kitefire didn't know what drew her to seek out Minkstream. She and the leader had never been well-acquainted and she knew very little about the tom who was taking Nettlestar's place. Maybe it was the fact that she was brought up to believe leader's possessed some otherworldly wisdom granted by Starclan, or the fact she desperately needed something to cling to other than the dark-pelted warrior who was a whole forest away.

"Minkstream. I need to talk to you." The words were taught and tension, threatening to stick to the back of her throat. How she wished to be pressed into the pelt of Buzzardpaw, to seek comfort from somewhere. But to tread into the lives of her clanmates felt like more and more of a violation with each passing day. Thunderclan camp was stifling, filled with crushing memories of a world rendered unsafe by those who had violated the sanctity of her home. Kitefire fought the desire to race away into the forest, wrestling with the churning in her chest at the mere idea of racing through the forest alone. She paused waiting for him to invite her in, give her a reason to move those faulty pawsteps through the entrance way. Something was particularly condemning about this evening, with the sun so low on the horizon and clouds covering the sky.

Once a response came, she drew forward, away from the prying eyes of her clanmates and stared into eyes that would decide her fate for her - a feat she no longer considered herself capable of, "Minkstream, I've taken up a mate. And he's in Riverclan." Kitefire's heart beat erratically at the confession, realizing it was something that she was digesting herself for the first time. Her eyes were hard as flint, daring him to chase her off without hesitation. As if tempting fate further, she spoke once more.

"His name is Jayshriek."

They'd told him to stay out of trouble, to take some rest and not go out for anything strenuous. Especially if his head was aching. Right now, that meant hiding away in the leader's den underneath the Highrock, with the quiet of its walls pressing in and the vague glimmer of light coming in through the entrance. At first, he'd hated it here; memories of tight spaces and the sight of a still body lying on the mossy nest, an adder lying limp by the wall prickling at his fur. This space is Nettlestar's, not mine.

But right now it was a haven - a space away from prying eyes, a lonely spot where the outside world couldn't touch him and the conversation of those who inhabited it was muted. His eyes were closed, resting on his paws as he lay on the moss, the feel of his flanks inhaling and exhaling steadily an oddly mesmerising action - the only one that filled his mind for the moment. Breathe in, breathe out; his heartbeat filling the space between, the soft thump echoing in his head with an ache that refused to leave.

Pawsteps on the sandy ground outside.

His ears tilted to catch it, eyes remaining closed as he vaguely noted the odd cadence, a familiar scent tainted with tension drifting down to his nose. A voice - as taut as her scent - came through the screen, and green eyes opened with a vague frown, his head rising. Something told him he knew this cat, muddied swirls of memory touching the corners of his mind. A reddish pelt touched with burnt brown; ears that tilted a unique way to catch the sounds around her.

Kitefire.

It was a relief to feel the name come to the top - a rarity, these days. He sat up, his tail curling around his paws as he opened his maw. "Come in."

It was then that he realized her words had slipped away, leaving him only with the tone of something dreaded, and the feeling of tension that almost literally crackled in the air as she stepped through. His annoyance at himself faded as he caught her eyes, a haunted yellow that almost seemed to look through him - a gaze that made him sit up straighter and pinged inside his core like an echo. That look was familiar, an acquaintance that had made itself at home when he wasn't looking.

And so as she spoke, every fibre of his being was focused on catching her words, not letting them slip away to the bottomless swamp of his mind. Her first few words didn't ease the feeling of nameless suspicion starting to stir in the pit of his stomach - no one would be this tense about announcing that they'd taken on a mate. The follow-up settled it, an odd sense of fatalism replacing the tension.

"And he's in RiverClan."

He stayed quiet, his expression closed for a moment as he studied her tortured face, eyes defiant and hard, daring him to speak up. Perhaps he should have felt something. Nothing came. Nothing except for a vague sense of the den's floor dropping out from underneath him; the floating feeling of falling before the shock of the ground hit. She gave him a name, and he forced himself to focus on it, impressing the feel of it into his mind, holding it as well as he could.

One of his warriors was mate to a tom in RiverClan. That's never happened before. Finally, a stirring of emotion came - a vague sort of pain. For just a moment he stared back at her, memories of days wandering in RiverClan's camp with the horizon calling to him drifting through the den's walls. "How long have you been seeing him?" He asked at last, his voice quiet.

With each passing second, she felt a weight like stone settling deeply into the pads of her paws. It threatened to press her into the ground and render any attempts at standing a useless endeavor. But when Minkstream straightened up, so too did she, in a sheer defiance of life's circumstances. Of course Kitefire's own origins had flitted through her mind in the most condemning of matters. Caught somewhere between wanting to snarl at herself and scream at the forest at large, the she-cat settled for slitting her eyes in wait for an answer. Allowing the uneasy feeling to slowly crawl across her pelt seemed to make her feel more at ease; it was pointless to struggle against such a hungry beast.

Her head tipped slightly, catching the softness of his timbre. Despite how unimposing the words came across, the seemed to split the air in two. Kitefire felt her claws pick at the earth, willing her to stay silent in an equal measure, as retribution for the unending moments the leader had forced her to wait. But she hardly was content with the silence, in fact, the warrior longed to be beat at it in equal measures as the persistent desire to flee. There was barely a thought of the answer before it was bubbling up from her chest in measured syllables, "A moon."

Perhaps she had entertained his company before than but being in the presence of another clan's warrior was hardly a violation of any laws. The circumstances and nature of their relationship was still something that the little russet-pelted warrior was still digesting. All Kitefire knew was that she was slowly being suffocating by some otherworldly force every moment spent away from the fish-brained tom who stood on the other side of the river. Relief from this sensation only came when her pelt was pressed to his, providing a comfort that seemed possible only in the realm of contented dreams. With each pounding of her heart, Jayshriek's name seemed to flicker at the depths of her mind like a minnow stirring the surface of the river.

"I suppose you'll seek to punish me then? Or strip me of my warrior title? Honestly, I could care less what you decide, Minkstream, but I'd rather you get it over with than keep me waiting all night." With how quipped the words were, Kitefire considered for a moment how odd it sounded erupting from her own maw. Outside of confrontations with the dark-furred warrior, the she-cat generally had a more even disposition. It seemed more than one thing was slipping away tonight. Something caught in her through and she stole her gaze away to try to combat it. There would be no going back from this, and for some odd reason, that thought was comforting.

She took a moment to respond, agitation visible in every slight movement of her muscles - even that unique tilt of her head that had seemed cute when she was a kit. It had been moons since the apprentice ceremony, when he'd apprenticed her to Robinloft - somehow he'd still vaguely thought of her as that happy, excited kitten from so long ago. He focused on the beat of his heart, holding the information he'd just received as best he could until she spoke, her words almost rigid, the pounding of her heart in waves of tension underneath.

A moon. He nodded slowly, a slight frown crinkling between his eyes, the tip of his tail flicking against the mossy bedding behind him. She cared about this warrior, that much was obvious. A memory poked at him, seeking to try and rise to the surface - green eyes that lit up with a mischievous smile, a quickening of his heartbeat.... He pushed it aside for now, a churning sort of dread slowly stirring in the pit of his stomach. This was an offence punishable in most Clans by exile. Nettlestar wouldn't have tolerated it, Torrentstar had made it clear he detested it - until, that is, he committed the exact same crime.

Stars, what am I meant to do? I'm guilty of the exact same thing.

And then her words caught his attention, a flash of her eyes, a hint of white teeth. Like a slap in the face, her words stung, digging unexpectedly into his flesh. Stiffening, he locked his gaze with hers, all his previous thoughts suddenly shot through by a flash of... of.... Blood pumped through his veins, warmth that beat in his ears surely and steadily, and he found himself sitting straighter. Suddenly alert and alive, aches forgotten, the uncertainty burned away to a flicker of cold in the depths of his eyes.

"I could care less...."

"If you could care less, why did you come, Kite? To insult me to my face?" A hint of a growl touched the edge of his tone, and he felt a muscle in his cheek twitch as he forced the flash of temper down, plowing on before she could start to answer. "I don't know what in the stars possessed you to come here if you didn't want punishment, but if you did, you came to the wrong tom."

He rose to his paws, tail lashing as he turned and paced away from this young cat burning up from the passions of stupid but genuine youth, the scent of tension thick in his nose making him want to grit his teeth and stalk in circles. But with the lack of space this place had, he was forced to keep that circuit small, turning to look her in the eyes once again. Suddenly it felt clear, like the ripples of a pool stilling to show the sky, unmarred and perfectly smooth. "The only 'punishment' I will give you is a choice: Since staying here seems so painful for you, I'll let you leave and join RiverClan to be with him." He watched her closely as he spoke, knowing the feelings that must have run underneath her pelt with the intimacy of mistakes made and promises broken. "Or, you can choose to stay here with the rest of your family, your friends, and your Clanmates; and convince him to leave his own for you."

As he had to choose, so would she. Stars give that she would make the right one.

Tensions crackled through the air like lightening, fracturing the vibrant navy sky. Kitefire blinked as a bewildered expression slowly began to wash over her features. The tom spoke with such vehement passion, just barely suppressing the rage that seemed to crawl underneath his pelt, and yet, the meaning of the words struck far deeper than his tone. Minkstream was offering her compassion, a choice. A sharp sensation welled up from her maw and the she cat realized her teeth had become clenched tighter than she ever thought possible. This position she was no in put the power back in her paws and allow her to control her own fate; it was maddening, and she didn't want to face it.

Her gaze seemed to flicker as if she was staring into the depths of a fire, tracing the lick of flickering flames. Another heartbeat and the roaring of blood pounded in her ears. It was merely a sensation on the one side, drawing her attention to the deafened appendage. The russet warrior turned away, positioning herself in a manner that would stifle further speech. Such a move was uncharacteristic, as she had spent her entire life trying to accommodate for the lacking sense and seeking out sound. For once, Kitefire longed to forget the words of her leader that now felt so distant. Who was Minkstream to make her decide such a thing? He was supposed to be the head of the clan, guiding Thunderclan's pawsteps and directing them in the way they should go; he had denied her that.

She wanted to hiss, to snarl, but the sound never broke through her maw and fizzled away after bubbling at the back of her throat. The lashing of Minkstream's tail flickered at the fringes of her vision and drew her back for just a moment more. As she spoke, it was taut and strained, vibrating with a cacophony of emotions, "Fine then. Tell your warriors if they see me on the territory to treat me as they would lawless rogue. I've never been a Thunderclan cat and it is about time we all stop pretending." Kitefire swallowed back the dryness that stuck in the back of her throat. Her gaze was cold and empty as glanced at the new leader once again. There was a lingering of her pads, something that stuck to them like honey and begged her not to move away. She ignored it and turned her back, both on the tom and the life that she had known here among the trees.

Thinking about it was far to painful, so she simply ran, and ran... far away from the shadows that chased her tail and clawed at her back.

Into an unknown future.

She turned away, hurt and anguish mixing in the tension of her muscles as he watched, and he clenched his jaw, the movement sending a flash of pain through his head that he ignored. If she hadn't wanted this, she shouldn't have come. I won't go back on my decision. She has to make a choice, whether she wants to or not. Life was a storm of choices; you couldn't hide from them, you couldn't ignore them. Eventually they'd come and they'd demand a decision.

And her actions demanded that of them both.

The Code was clear, the very rules they lived by wouldn't let him simply nod and pretend he'd never heard anything. More personally, he couldn't watch as her actions tore her apart. It had to be one... or the other. A part of him railed against this, protested that it didn't have to be this way, that there had to be some solution. But the blood pumping through his ears told him this was the right path, steeled him against speaking again - not that she would hear him, anyway.

And so he watched as the emotions swirled under her pelt, his eyes like flint, tail swishing behind in slow, deliberate movements. His ears caught the faint choke of a strangled growl in the back of her throat, but he didn't move, keeping his gaze fixed on her. Tone straining with a maelstrom of emotion, her voice followed that sound, the words sinking into the pit of his stomach like a rock dropped with a crash through the smoothness of thin ice - like claws slashed through his fur, shocking in their suddenness. What?

"Kite-" He moved to step forward, bewildered frustration rippling through him. What in StarClan was she talking about? Why would he treat her like a lawless rogue? That wasn't what I-

"I've never been a ThunderClan cat and it is about time we all stop pretending."

Coldness. He stopped mid-step, as if frozen. It hit him like the ground after a fall from a tree. Cedarheart. No father. Littlestream. Ginger patches and blue eyes. All the breath had drained from his lungs, fallen through ice into shockingly cold water, the chill like lightning that flash-froze his veins as her yellow eyes - burning with injustice - met his.

She turned and ran.

For a heartbeat that lasted far too long, his head spun with flickering images, a whirlwind of emotion ripping through his veins and pounding in his head. His paw snapped up, body tensing to run after-

And stopped himself.

No, there's nothing I can do.

His paw came back down, bitter acid rising in his throat, claws digging into the ground beneath him with the heat of it. Rumbling in sudden savagery through the den, a growl burst free of his maw as he spun away, his paws tearing at the sandy earth and moss beneath them. It opened into a snarl, pure venom spitting free of his tongue. "Foxdung! Dark starred strangling eels- YOU IDIOT! You frog-dunged eel-tail! You-" He cut himself off and raised a paw to his forehead, spikes of pain lashing through his mind as he forced his jaws to shut tight, panting breaths hissing between them as he closed his eyes and forced his ears to unflatten.

You half-Clan freak. Look what you just did.

The smell of warm blood suddenly tingled in his nose, and he forced his paw to relax, the pain of claws digging into his skin the barest niggle compared to the agony roaring under his skull. Slowly, his breathing calmed down again, hissing dying down to more measured puffs, his haunches thumping onto the ground. By all rights, this memory should have slid, but the image of her turning and running was burned into his brain - yet another mistake. The burning sensation drained thickly to a bone-deep exhaustion, his head thumping to every beat of his heart as a slow sigh echoed in the space beneath the High Rock. When his voice came again, it was filled with immeasurable tiredness, like mud clinging to his paws; a quiet, single word that neatly summed up this whole mess.

"Foxdung."