dark path, guide my paws [closed]

The journey to the Thunderpath had been one fraught with overwhelming silence. Between the two clanmates was an overwhelming air of anger, disdain, and long-lasting malcontent. Stoatfur had been trying to be better. It had started with Minnowpaw and despite the fact that his paws had lingered when it came to Appledapple, he had finally forced himself to invite her on a patrol. It hadn't been a heartfelt reunion that immediately mended their bond or brought them closer. In fact, at some point, the deputy had begun to doubt his own decision and found that he longed to return to camp. Maybe there were some things that were simply too big to overcome. Maybe some fractures pieces left too many splinters to repair. Maybe he wouldn't tell her that some part of him had eventually become relieved by the way she yowled so unabashedly in his face.

Not entirely, partially. There was some truth, but not all truth.

Although, the more that he thought about it, the more Stoatfur was certain that was simply the nature of things. Every so often his ear would twitch uncomfortably and his eyes focused straight ahead. The rumbling of the Thunderpath was a welcome sound, comforting after the painfully quiet patrol. Feeling the earth quake under his paws surprisingly did not feel abnormal. They weren't far off now, even if the path was just out of sight. Instead, they were in a small clearing, barely big enough for the both of them to stand. Deadened foliage comprised their surroundings, bathed in snow, and twisting in uncomfortably bogged down ways. He'd been prepared to take a step when twin pools of yellow light appeared right before his nose. Likely, the rancid scent of the path had robbed his senses. Claws unsheathed but he spoke first, "Leave now so we won't have to chase you off."

She was so close, the strange cat and immediately a fire lit in her eyes. What had for a brief flash been a panicked gaze became a twisted fury. The rogue she-cat snarled a guttural sound, looking more like a feral predator than a cat. And she was lunging for Appledapple.

Ever since the patrol where they had fought, Appledapple's life had gotten increasingly stranger. Nightmares haunted her every waking step. Things she should have done, should have said, echoed constantly in her mind. Sometimes she felt that she was drowning again, only instead of the thick, choking river water, it was a rush of liquid bitterness that forced its way into every crevice-- ears, nose, throat-- and threatened to steal the very air from her lungs. So when Stoatfur surprisingly invited her to patrol, she hadn't been sure how to react. On one paw, he hadn't even apologized. Even after pulling his rank to stand above her and ignoring her valid criticisms, he seemed to think that they could just forget about it. On the other paw, she was lonely. The all-consuming anger that lingered around her like a shadow seemed to drive most other cats away from her. She only got along with Starlingflare these days, if only because he had the same anger. But, believe it or not, she was beginning to tire of her anger. The bitterness left an awful taste in her mouth. She kind of wanted to have a real friendship again. But there was no way she would do anything until Stoatfur apologized.

Their two-cat patrol was silent, and the rank Twoleg smell of the Thunderpath tasted just as disgusting as the lingering emotional slime that slipped around in her throat. It seemed like they might just continue to say nothing, and they might just turn around and return to the Clan not having mended a single bit of the fledgling bonds that had been burned by passionate, angry flames. Appledapple was even beginning to consider saying something, anything, just to break the awful lack of noise. But before she could follow through with that thought or any other, a wild cat appeared in front of their distracted gazes. The cat looked more like a startled prey animal than anything-- ragged, flighty, panicked-- until the dulcet tones of Stoatfur performed their predictable dance and enraged the stranger. Who lunged to attack her.

Big mistake.

At that instant, something inside Appledapple snapped. The bond of restraint that was tethering her looming pile of emotions which threatened to come loose had disappeared entirely at the sudden threat. Finally, a language that she knew how to speak; not talking, not yelling, but fighting. Her claws could say everything she wanted to and more. At the attack, which was almost like an invitation, the world around her faded to red. It was relieving not to worry about any other colors. Just red. Claws unsheathed in a fluid motion as she spun around to avoid the desperate leap, then capitalized on the attacker's confusion by striking quickly from behind. Sharp claws shredded through fur without even a hint of resistance, spraying crimson on top of scarlet on top of the deep red that covered everything. More blows followed, precise and aimed, rendering the other cat's hind legs completely useless. The rogue might have said something, but no sound lingered in Appledapple's ears. All she heard was the roaring rush of released, pent-up emotions.

Another scratch. Another blow. She couldn't tell how long it was. It seemed to take just a few seconds, or maybe a couple of bloodsoaked days. There was only red. And at the end of it, Appledapple found her fangs sunk into the rogue's throat. Sticky blood gushed from a few wounds on her own shoulders, desperate blows from claws scrabbling to gain some kind of purchase on an unstoppable force, but there was far more damage done to her opponent. The wild, panicked life ebbed out of her attacker's agonized yellow eyes, and a strangled gasp was the one sound that finally returned her to reality. The rogue was dead. Appledapple's jaws released, letting the limp form of her opponent fall gracelessly to the ground. Her gray eyes darted up to Stoatfur's, and there was a slightly wild light in them, a moment of belated rage before the red began to bleed away from her worldview, slowly returning nuance to her formerly monotone vision. She said nothing. There was nothing to say. She just looked at the deputy for a moment, before returning her gaze to the nearly-unrecognizable corpse on the ground.

Despite her best efforts, she had once again become a monster, and here was what she had to show for it.

Stoatfur hardly had the time to blink. But it did not seem to matter - Appledapple was a capable enough warrior on her own, she didn't need him to fight her battles. Flashing before his eyes was a torrent of claws, teeth, and fur. Then, there came blood. It brought memories of seeing Wolfblaze limp and stretched out. Blood had become a terrible omen, a stinging reminder of the fragile dance between life and death that he had tried to hard to ignore. Yet it was their life, the lives of warriors, and the purpose that pounded through their veins was to protect those that they cared for.

He tore his eyes away to glance around in case there was company, but also because even if he was calloused, the deputy wasn't sadistic enough to watch. There were no flickers around them, the snow was let unstirred outside of this tiny enclosure. Stoatfur turned back as the screeching subsiding. The rouge's body lay still and at peace. Whatever twisted the desperate creature into such rage had been quelled. Appledapple looked distant, covering whatever emotions simmered underneath the surface. He nodded slightly and meowed lowly, "Rogues. Lawless creatures. Let's make sure there are no more around. I've seen a few lately but none this vicious."

The silence has been broken by the sounds of battle which made him feel it was less egregious to speak. Although he was bound by no code to protect the life of loners, it would be a lie to say seeing the death before his eyes had no impact. If Appledapple felt the same way, it was simply another thing to let sit between them. Stoatfur didn't hesitate before pushing through the deadened bracken in pursuit of their mission. His eyes shifted about, scanning the path for any signs of another enemy. Just in case.

However, as the stinging bits of foliage raked his hindquarters, releasing him from their grasp, he was met with another site. Stoatfur stopped. He blinked several times to make sure he was truly digesting the site in front of him. It seemed this rogue did have a purpose beyond itself, a life that revolved around the many wriggling bundles that resided in a scrapped together nest. She had been a mother. He swallowed trying to find his voice and any way to reason through the circumstances, "Appledapple. You need to see this."

Even as Stoatfur spoke to her, she was still in a haze caused by the fading of her rage. The mangled corpse lay at her bloodied paws, and she kept looking at it, then looking away from it, not wanting to see it but also knowing that she had no right to not see it. Appledapple had killed a cat. She had never done that before. While she hadn't intended to, there was no denying the fact that the fangs sunk into the rogue's throat had been hers, and the majority of wounds had been inflicted by her. It may have only been a scrappy rogue this time... but what if she lost control again? What if she hurt a Clanmate the next time?

Whether the deputy noticed her internal agony or was simply oblivious, she didn't know. However, he walked onwards, and so she forced her heavy paws to oblige and follow. But soon he stopped. Without knowing why, a sick sense of dread began to rise up in her. She tasted bile in her throat among the coppery traces of blood that still lingered on her fangs. What was this that caused such an expression on his face? What sick twist of fate awaited them now? With bated breath, the warrior slowly padded up behind him, peering over his diminutive shoulder to see what he saw. And a sharp exhalation left her lungs.

"Kits." Of course. That wild light in her eyes... Of course. Appledapple could barely comprehend the scene before her somewhat dulled gray eyes. Several tiny, squirming forms lay in the nest, some still, some moving. It was impossible to get a count of exactly how many, due to how they were piled up, but there were quite a few. And they were so young... eyes still sealed shut, mewling pitifully like the helpless little things they were. Rather than the love that might be in most she-cats at such a sight, a distasteful swell of pity welled up in her heart, accompanying the self-disgust that had already taken up residence. Kits. Kits with no parents... or at least no mother.

"Well, this is a bit of a predicament," Appledapple said finally, her voice subdued and a little shaky from the adrenaline that still hadn't left her veins. She couldn't look at the deputy, but kept her eyes glued onto the skinny little bundles. "If we leave them, they die. I suppose we made sure of that. But the extra mouths to feed..." Her tail lashed behind her as she thought, brain churning desperately. There were few options. "I doubt the Code sanctions the death of so many innocents. Do we bring them to camp?" There was a breathless tinge to her voice, an almost inaudible hint of hysteria that began to bubble up from inside her. The situation was unbelievable. Finally she turned to Stoatfur, eyes meeting his with a calmness she did not feel. "The responsibility to do either falls to us."

His mind raced in several directions at once, none of them to the fact that this was somehow his responsibility, at least in part. Kits? What was he supposed to do with kits? As Appledapple spoke it seemed to channel the deliberation into something more coherent. She clarified it, simplified it - regardless, their paws were the only ones capable to do anything. Stoatfur stared at them. They were helpless little things, like he had once been, like they all had once been. The last thing he wanted to do was condemn himself and them to a life of suffering. Thunderclan wasn't fit for raising a large litter of kits.

But there was no other option.

Pensive thought crossed his features before falling into a resigned grimace. Minkstar wouldn't say no to kits, warriors were duty-bound to care for them as well. That was it; that was the only option. With their mother dead these pitiful little creatures would simply become prey, or die of the cold, whichever came first. Discomfort of the impossible circumstance caused his pelt to itch. Another responsibility was draped across his shoulders, but not just his, Appledapple's as well. And the whole clan would eventually have to care for them too, train them, raise them. How unfortunate.

"There's too many to carry alone. Keep them warm and I'll fetch help. It's all we can do."

Darkness still surrounded the young she-cat's world but she could still sense the lack of her parents. How much time since they left? Was what all that noise? The grey she-cat could barely open her eyes but she struggle to move in search of her mother's warmth. There were voices near... but she couldn't distinguish them. Were they her parents? She tried to raise her small body and mew at them, hoping they would give her and her siblings the warmth and love they needed on such a harsh, cold day.

One of the kits crawled over to the source of heat, snuggling up next to a paw, mewling.