Issues and Walls [Cricketpaw]

Cricketpaw followed the patrol, eyes darting towards each snapped twig and far-off crunch of snow. She didn’t even notice the cold, she was too busy trying to subtly take glances at her patrol-mates. The unfamiliar warrior posed the greatest risk, leading her so far from the rest of the clan. Even if she was distrustful of most of SkyClan she knew her siblings would look out for her, Ospreykit in particular. She had a tentative truce with Wolfblossom as well, and as long as Cricketpaw kept up appearances that she was serving her clan, the deputy was duty-bound to keep her out of harm's way. At least, she should be, things were quick to change afterall. But there was no one here to protect her, Wolfblossom or otherwise. No one would even hear her screams over the howling of the wind. The snow softened their steps, and all it would take was one gaping mouth full of teeth against the back of her neck, or the slice of a claw across her throat.

That left her denmate, Harepaw. He was Honeypaw’s brother. Honeypaw had gained Paledove’s favor, and the flame-pointed molly had not crossed her yet. If Mother had trusted Honeypaw, Cricketpaw could consider the gentle she-cat a tentative ally. She certainly wouldn’t thrust her neck against Harepaw’s teeth anytime soon, but given the circumstances, it would be wise to have an ally while on this patrol, so she wouldn’t have to face the older, stronger stranger alone. Or maybe more realistically, she could guilt Harepaw into not joining the warrior when they turned on her.

The tabby and white she-cat glanced at the warrior, they were still content to taste the wind and pause to leave a scent mark. Cricketpaw fell back a step and turned her strange mis-matched gaze on Harepaw. She blinked softly at him in greeting, taming the wild fear that roared in her chest. He wouldn’t immediately hate her, right? She took a subtle, centering breath. She needed him to protect herself, and she hadn’t even said anything yet. He couldn’t possibly hold silence against her, could he? There had been no mistake. No mis-step. This was fine, everything was fine. She missed Yewkit and her littermates terribly. At least with them she knew how to act and what to expect. There was nothing for it, nerves or not. Anxiety prickled at her pelt, but she shoved it aside in favor of lightening her voice, trying to sound casual.

“We’re going to head this way, I think I scented prey.” She said in her soft cadence, words nearly getting lost in the billowing snow. Don’t follow us. Don’t follow us. She thought desperately as she gently flicked Harepaw on the shoulder with her fluffy tail, and guided him away. As soon as they were out of earshot, Cricketpaw felt her chest loosen. That was better, they were safe, kind of. The she-cat froze suddenly, her tail swaying behind her in a slow lash. There was prey here! A bird with a fluffy chest of pale white feathers was picking through the snow, trying to find insects hiding in the rocks. She could use this.

Cricketpaw dropped her voice to barely a whisper. “If you sneak over on top of those rocks, I can startle it towards you.” Teamwork would surely endear her to him, and if Harepaw managed to catch the bird, then maybe he would remember the favor and not gang up on her later.

Cricketpaw nodded to Harepaw as he got settled on the rocks. Hopefully he could just reach up and swat the bird out of the air once she startled it towards him. Dropping into a balanced crouch, the same one Stoatclaw had praised her for, she slunk silently across the snow, ears pressed flat back and fluffy tail completely still. She was made for stealth, every movement of her body carefully cataloged and controlled, her white and brown pelt blending in with the snow and stone. Two more quick slinking strides. Perfect. Her strange mis-matched eyes were bright with the hunt.

The bird may be destined for the freshkill pile, but the glory was for Harepaw. And hopefully the boost to his ego would forge an alliance between them. Then she would be a little safer from the hulking shadow of the warrior who had insisted on dragging them way out into the cliffs. All he had to do was catch it, and all she had to do was sing the right song.

The molly burst from her static stillness into a sudden riot of motion and noise. Her paws crunched purposely in the snow as she flung herself at the bird with her claws outstretched and teeth bared. The poor creature immediately took wing and rushed blindly towards the golden tom hiding on the rocks with a panicked flurry of beating wings and stray feathers. C’mon Harepaw. She thought silently, her blue and green eyes zeroed in on the bird’s trajectory, burning with a quiet intensity. Give me something to sing about.

Cricketpaw purred softly, her ears tilting back and her strange mismatched gaze shining in a gentle warmth, as she stepped lightly over the snow to sniff at Harepaw’s impressive catch. “Wow, you leapt so high that bird never had a chance.” She said quietly, before stepping back and returning Harepaw’s tentative smile. There, now he was in a better mood, and maybe she could get back to camp with her throat intact. Still, it felt good to coax that fragile satisfaction out of him, to be important, to be useful, to have the power of shifting emotions and crawling into her denmate’s good graces. She needed allies. She needed to be safe.

“It was your skill that made the catch, I just nudged the bird in the right direction. But we make a pretty good team.” Her voice was still as soft as freshly fallen snow, every part of her subdued, wrapped in that timid grace, a perfect mask that dulled the sharpness of her claws and the consuming suspicion that burned a hole in her belly. Harepaw was less intimidating than some of her other clanmates, his quiet composure was both calming and nerve wracking. He wasn’t poisoned with the overwhelming crush of drive or passion or blind loyalty that some of her clanmates possessed. The kind of thing that ended in stupid deaths, that led to bodies in the dirt being wrapped in words like honorable and noble, not that those titles made them rot any slower. But she knew all too well what the silence hid. The way it could be calculated, twisted to plot and plan and fester.

She didn’t trust anyone other than her littermates as a rule, but Harepaw seemed to be both a potential ally and a potential threat, she would keep everything close to her chest, as usual. Still, it was nice to sink into the comfortable silence, no need to respond to casual conversation or risk slipping up by saying the wrong thing. His motives were inconclusive. She needed more time to learn how to read him, to figure out where his weakness was. The tabby and white she-cat flicked an ear shyly, glancing back up at the golden tom. “Maybe we could go on another patrol sometime?” She asked in her usual quiet cadence, as if her voice was incapable of being anything other than gentle. “I love my littermates to death, but it’s nice to have some different company sometimes.” The laugh that lifted into the frigid air was quiet and tumbling, as fragile as quivering moth wings.

Make him feel wanted. Make him feel important. Did he want friends? Did he like company? Was he lonely? Did he care? She would tie herself in knots to know the answers. She would shove herself into whatever shape she needed to in order to find out. And maybe under all her careful scheming, under the fierce protectiveness and crippling suspicion. Under her own grief and careful mask, she wanted to know if she was made of anything other than fear. If friends could even exist in the rattling cage of her mind. If anything could fit between her smothering desire to survive and her collection of faces. If she could feel anything other than duty and rage.