Russetrye sat alone on the edge of the camp. Shrikestar had shown quite a bit of shrewdness in delegating her and Sleeps to opposite ends. She’d almost forgotten about the vigil. No one had ever performed it in her lifetime, after all. And now here she was, sitting in the snow, watching the waxing moon illuminate Highstones in an eerie, silver light. She didn’t like this. It was too quiet. Didn’t they know- didn’t any of them know how much she hated silence? It made her worry. About not fitting in with WindClan. About the pain that stabbed at her heart, the wanderlust that could only be banish by noise and talk and laughter- about Ryepaw. He’d never gotten to sit here. Why was she here, in his place? She wasn’t half the warrior he could’ve been- would’ve been- should’ve been. The red-pelted warrior bowed her head, a solitary tear dropping off into the snow. She felt like falling apart- like- were those pawsteps in the snow?
A familiar scent washed over her, and despite herself, Russetrye relaxed. Whiteburn’s angular silhouette appeared next to her- wait. That wasn’t her mother. It was Wheatgrass- since when was she so tall? Stars! Even the silent presence of another cat, even one she’d interacted with so little as her sister, made Russetrye feel a little better. A little stronger. A little braver. At least, until her sister spoke.
“He should be in your place, shouldn’t he?”
Russetrye recoiled as if struck, her older sister’s words echoing the thoughts that had swirled in her head, tears forming in her eyes. She opened her maw to reply- but she couldn’t- her throat closing up in pain. How- how could she say this? Something so cutting and hurting and painful-
”Don’t react like that. We all want him back.” Wheatgrass’ tone was flat and cold… but also broken, trembling with pain and hurt. How terrible had her vigil been? All alone, her mother sobbing into her father’s fur and her younger sister confused and hurt but- there. Russetrye- Russetkit had been with Whiteburn and Tigerstripe on that terrible day. Wheatgrass hadn’t. She’d sat at the edge of the hollow and watched her family mourn without her-
“I’m so sorry-“ Russetrye croaked out. Wheatgrass’ head snapped towards her. The red-pelted warrior could see, warring in her sister’s eyes, the desire to tell her to shut her maw and be silent, and the desire to know what there was to apologize for. The latter won. “When he- Ryepaw- died, and-“
Wheatgrass snarled. Russetrye flinched back. “I don’t want to talk about it, sister. I’m not here for your apology.” The two sat motionless for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes- brimming with tears. Both pairs.
”What are you here then, for?” Russetrye forced out. Wheatgrass flicked her with the tip of her tail, telling her to shut up, just like she had when she was a kit. Russetrye- Russetrye felt her heart grow cold and eyes harden. This was it, then. Burning the last bridge. Whiteburn had hardly looked at her for moons. Tigerstripe seemed to forget she existed. Wheatgrass, though, had waved her tail every now and then, and Russetrye had clung to that last burning ember of hope. One she was about to put out in a sorrow-fueled rage.
“Go away. I don’t need you, or Whiteburn, or Tigerstripe, or any of you!” The words were hissed, quick and low but burning and cutting and leaving a trail of blood where they hit- and they did, and they would. “I haven’t needed you for moons. But now- now I don’t want you. I don’t want to have anything to do with you. I have a new family, now, one that cares when you never did. Sleeps comforted me when Ryepaw died. She and Silverwing taught me everything I know that you should’ve taught me- how to keep my pelt clean, what the other Clans were like- stars, even the difference between a rabbit ‘n a hare! The only good part of this family was Hartstep and Ryepaw, and they’re dead. No-“ she snapped, cutting her sister off, “Go away. You’re not my sister. You’re a cold-hearted steaming pile of horse-dung! I hate you.” Her head held high, Russetrye stared down her sister, eyes cold. Maybe she was piling all of the pent-up resentment from Whiteburn and Tigerstripe onto Wheatgrass… but she didn’t care. She wanted this to be over and done with.
Wheatgrass silently turned and fumbled down the slope, walking like a blind cat. The red-pelted warrior felt only a grim satisfaction as she watched her sister head back into camp. Finally. That felt… something. Not exactly good, really. Satisfying, more like it.
Russetrye turned and sat once more, staring up at the stars. It took a few minutes for the rage to fade, but when it did- she felt cold. And empty. She loved Sleeps, and Silv, and- she’d even count Blazefang and Shadepaw and Fuzzbutt as friends- like cousins, where Sleeps and Silv were sisters. Yeah. Like that. She- she was distracting herself, wasn’t she, from what she knew was coming?
And come it did. Whiteburn. Powerful pawsteps, head held high. Despite herself, Russetrye quailed- but externally, she kept up a decent facade. For a moment, Whiteburn just stood there, gazing out at the sky beside her daughter. And then- spoke, heavily and wearily and totally unlike herself. “Don’t blame your sister, scrap. I didn’t know what to do with you- so clingy and energetic. I thought you’d be fine left alone- I had just gotten out of the nursery when I discovered I was pregnant with you. I- I let that influence me. I’m… sorry.” Russetrye’s eyes grew wide. Was Whiteburn… apologizing? Whiteburn never apologized! She didn’t have to! She was always right!
But… Russetrye just- couldn’t find it within herself to forgive her. She didn’t want to. It was petty, and, and- selfish, and, and silly and kittish- but she didn’t want to. She just sat there and stared at the sky until her mother sighed and padded back down into the makeshift camp. What was she doing? She almost- almost called after her, but that pride in her chest wouldn’t let her. The red-pelted warrior gazed dully at the sky.
It was nearly dawn when her gaze finally trailed back down to the snow- and to an odd-looking flower. A flower? Did flowers grow in leaf-bare? Russetrye felt a new spark of energy- curious energy, something that no terrible night could dispel. It was an orange one, with snow speckled on it, and a few patches of black where it had begun to wilt. But everywhere else- all the rest of the flower was strong and healthy. Sleeps’ colors, and even Silv’s! It was silly and kittish but- Russetrye didn’t care. To the Dark Forest with what Whiteburn thought. She could be silly and kittish if she wanted! She could do whatever the foxing stars she wanted! Whiteburn wasn’t in charge of her- and really, hadn’t been for a long time.
Her electric blue gaze snapped around to the land past Highstones. To the foxing Dark Forest with what Whiteburn thought. Russetrye would go beyond the horizon one day, no matter what her mother forbid her from doing. She would find out- she would run and run and run until her legs gave out and, almost, Russetrye started running right then and there- but something held her back. Not Whiteburn. Not Tigerstripe, or Wheatgrass.
It was the other dark figure at the edge of the hollow. And the slumbering silver form curled up in the warriors’ den. She couldn’t leave them without an explanation, and telling them she’d be back in no time- them and Blazefang and Shadepaw and Fuzz- and, maybe, she’d graduate Blazefang to the status of motherly aunt. Yeah. Blazefang was a good ‘un.
Russetrye didn’t know where she would go, or when, or how- but she would go. Someday soon. And she wasn’t leaving her newfound family behind.
