The trees seemed to whisper softly to one another in the night air. Silver moonlight filtered through the branches, reaching the forest floor, rich with the sounds of prey.
A slim tabby shape slipped silently through the thick undergrowth, coated in the shade. His pawsteps were rushed, turning every bush and tree trunk with eyes shifty and ears pricked. Looking up at the sky, he saw the full moon peering through the canopy, like a wide eye glaring accusingly at him.
He felt paranoid, aware of every step and every brush of his fur against the bushes. He paused from time to time, opening his jaws to taste the air. He wordlessly hoped that no one was out hunting right now, or was out on patrol.
The Gathering’s tonight... they’ll be wondering where I went. StarClan, is this really a good idea?
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he steadied his gaze on the dark path ahead. This wouldn’t take long, and he would make sure he would get back to ThunderClan in time for the assembly to leave.
His tail curled as he noticed the forest beginning to thin out. After a few more pawsteps, he was at the edge of a small Thunderpath. The branches of tall trees stretched over it, shadows like long claws on the moonlit Twoleg path.
He pricked his ears. It didn’t seem dangerous for now; he couldn’t hear any incoming monsters, and by the scent of it, they hadn’t passed in a while.
He tasted the air, then drew back. “Kitsch! I know you’re there!”
No reply. The young tom flicked his tail crossly, heartbeats of silence like a roaring in his ears. “Kitsch!” he tried again.
Still no reply came, and the silence was becoming unbearable. He turned away, ready to leave.
“Wait! I’m here!”
The sudden sound made him turn back. Slowly, another cat emerged from the dark and into the rough, black rock of the Thunderpath, and as he drew closer, the tabby began to recognize him properly. His smooth soot gray pelt and frosty scent were unmistakable, awakening hazy memories in him.
He had something in his jaws; a scrap of gray tabby fur, pitifully small. A kit? The tabby wondered.
The tabby puffed out his chest as the other cat neared. “I really don’t have all night, Kitsch.”
Kitsch purred as he placed the kit down on the pebbly ground. “I don’t need the entire night. Just wanted to see you’s all. How are things going for you?”
The tabby forced himself not to dig his claws into his pads. “Look, you told me to come here a few days ago. Whatever you’re going to say, just spit it out.”
Kitsch sighed, silent for a heartbeat. He turned to meet his gaze; eyes flashing yellow. “I can’t tell you much. I just... wanted you to know that I can’t take care of him. Not anymore.”
He looked down to where the kit was huddled in front of him, shivering. The tabby stepped forward and bent down to smell the kit. It had a bitter scent, mixed in with something oddly sweet, like the heather flowers in WindClan. This was Kitsch’s son, too; he could tell from the slight frosty scent they both shared.
He glared at Kitsch. “If you think ThunderClan’s a place where you can just dump your unwanted kits whenever you like, then get lost. We’re not that kind of Clan.”
“His mother is gone,” the gray tom meowed bluntly. “I really don’t have a choice.”
“You mean...”
Yes. Frisk was the mother. She died because she couldn’t recover from giving birth to him. This kitten’s our only one.”
Only one.
The young tabby’s heart seemed to stop, memories awakening in him once more; vivid and vibrant, then shattering into pieces. For a heartbeat, it was like he couldn’t breathe, trapped under the lake’s frozen surface during leafbare.
Looking at the kit again, he noticed that it was scrawny; he could see bones against his little pelt, matted and tangled in places. He felt for this kit, and his heart twinged with pain when the small crouched figure turned its dulled amber eyes to meet his blue.
Kitsch blinked at him. “I understand this is a tough request to make. I’m not forcing you to. But I know you’re a good cat, after so long together. And if we ever meant anything to you...”
“This isn’t about meaning,” he snarled. “All I want to do is to make sure that this kit gets the care it needs, somewhere safe.” He scooped the kit closer to him with a paw, unusually light. “I’ll be taking this kit to ThunderClan. Not for you, or for Frisk. For him.”
Kitsch dipped his head. “Thank you, Ritz.”
The tabby narrowed his eyes. “Don’t call me by that name. My name is Volepaw. Nothing else.”
“Okay, Volepaw. Take good care of him for me, okay?”
Volepaw nodded curtly, and was about to pick up the kit when Kitsch suddenly brushed his tail against his flank. The muscled gray tom’s eyes were soft.
“You’re young,” he mewed. “You’re less than a year old, right?”
“So?” Volepaw tilted his head in confusion. “I’m not that young anymore.”
Kitsch breathed. “We used to travel around together, remember? A little band; me, you, and Frisk. We would go everywhere, walking on, knowing we had each other. We fought, ate, and helped each other out whenever we needed it. And... you left us.”
Volepaw hissed. “You’re accusing me of being a traitor!”
“What I mean is that you were only five moon-cycles--”
“Five moons old,” Volepaw cut him off.
“My point is that you were young, and it might have been something you decided on impulse.” He looked around. “It’s not too late, you know. Once you leave my kit with ThunderClan, if you want to, then... you can join me again. It’ll be just like before.”
“If you think I’m ever coming back, then you’re mousebrained.” The light brown apprentice scoffed, not hesitating on his answer. “ThunderClan’s my home now. I made my decision long ago. I’m sticking by it.”
Kitsch shrugged, with a disbelieving flick of his ear. “I don’t understand how you can choose a life with so much rules and boundaries over complete freedom.”
Volepaw’s eyes glinted almost confidently. “Those rules and boundaries you talk of are what bind us together. They are what make us warriors, and it has been that way for more years than you can ever imagine.”
He crouched to pick up the kit by its small scruff. It dangled from his jaws like a freshly caught squirrel, hardly moving. “This is the last time something like this will happen again. Starting tonight, I don’t know you.” He turned away. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a Gathering to attend tonight.”
With a wave of his tail, he picked up his stride and bounded back into the thick forest, disappearing under the cover of shadows once more.
The moonlight shifted.
Kitsch’s whiskers twitched, his eyes ablaze with dark amusement. “Oh, dearest Ritz. I’ll be seeing you a lot sooner than you think.” He looked to the forest beyond the Thunderpath. “In due time, I’ll get what I want. For now, we wait.”
Behind him, many pairs of eyes opened in the darkness beyond, hiding, seeking, each one glowing fiercely.
Kitsch’s message was loud and clear.