Weary Paws Catch More Prey

[Yoko]

Silence can grow heavy when met with weariness. This was Lizardeye's observation after what seemed like a never-ending hunting patrol. The tabby tom's paws hardly lifted from the semi-solid ground before landing heavily one before the other. Eyes that usually flashed with icy intelligence were dull and half-shut with desire for sleep.

Still, he hunted as best he could for the sake of his siblings, Twistedclaw, who was actually sick; and Snakertail, who was half mad with worry about Twistedclaw, Adderkit, and Ivykit. Snaketail had declined to join this third hunting patrol of the day, so that he could strengthen his daughter's makeshift den, which he built to isolate them from the nursery after Spiderkit died. Lizardeye had disapproved at first, but his brother's instinct had been correct, because the plague spread quickly amongst the rest of the Clan. Adderkit and Ivykit were healthy so far...

As concerned as he was for his siblings, he was also concerned for his hunting companion. Brindlepelt had suffered the loss of two sisters to the plague. Lizardeye shuttered at the thought that he might lose his own siblings the same way, but he wasn't sure that Brindlepelt was bound to her siblings as he was to his. His curiosity urged him to question her about her family relationships, but he did his best to push it away. He had never cared for prying into another cat's business before...

But Brindlepelt was not just any other cat. Her mystery had interested him from the beginning. His guilt about her shoulder injury had held him to her throughout her recovery. Now something else seemed to bind them. Something strangely similar to affection, but a bit more forceful and more difficult a concept to grasp. In any case, if asking Brindlepelt about her recently deceased siblings might cause her any pain, then Lizardeye refused to do it.

With tired paws, he walked on, scenting for more prey.

[. s p o r e l e t t ♪]

Brindlepelt's world was a fog.

Her paws were numb to the cold, damp ground on which they tread. The pungent swamp air was dull in her mouth, the spread of gnarled trees in front of her a featureless grey wasteland. Once there had been colour and movement, hadn't there? She had walked this stretch of swamp a hundred times in the company of her sisters and Clanmates, hunting and talking, revelling in the peace of the shadows and the thrill of each hunt. But the patches of gloom from which she had stalked Lightfeather as a young warrior were empty and pointless, and she took no pleasure in chasing down and slaying her prey. Enjoyment, for Brindlepelt, did not exist any longer, and she could not foresee a time when it ever would.

Brindlepelt was not grieving. To grieve she needed to accept, and acceptance required surrender. And she could not acknowledge the truth of her sisters' deaths for long enough to even begin that process. It had been only days since Lightningclaw had been buried beside Lightfeather outside of camp. Death had claimed them faster than she had believed possible, taking both in the span of a mere quarter-moon. The nests beside her own were empty and cold. When she remembered to eat, she ate alone and in silence. Brindlepelt went through the motions of her life because there was no other alternative, and as she had always tried to do, barred that which was painful from her mind.

But it was hard. It was very hard.

She was hunting again, doing the job which so many in the Clan could not, and which some never would. Brindlepelt was not alone, but that knowledge floated like a film over her thoughts, transparent and easily ignored when paying attention to what lay just beneath. Movement jerked at the edge of her vision—a frog hopping into the shelter of a fern. The fatigued she-cat adjusted her course to pursue it, but another series of jumps carried the amphibian out of range of her paws. She had not slept for almost a full day, and the results were telling. But she could do more yet. Brindlepelt had become familiar with her own limits over the last several days, as she stretched them increasingly thin. A few more kills, and she would return. Just a few more.

[Yoko]

Lizardeye stopped walking. Part of him knew he shouldn't have, and the rest of him didn't really care at this point. What had stopped him was Brindlepelt's sudden movement. He twisted his head in her direction to observe. It took him a moment or two to discern what she was chasing, a frog, but just as he saw it, the creature vanished. She had been a bit slow in her pursuit of it, but he wasn't her mentor and he certainly wasn't there to judge...just to watch.

Unable to move towards her due to his own tiredness, he settled for mewing quietly from where he was, "There will be others." Usually it was Snaketail who made comforting comments about missed catches. He wasn't sure the words sounded very comforting coming from him, but at least he tried. They came out more as a statement of fact. There would, in fact, be other frogs to catch. There would be many frogs to catch because there weren't as many cats in the swamp to hunt them...The smaller, more tired patrols, tended to catch considerably less prey than a normal well-rested one would have. The prey might still be plentiful, but if the cats weren't catching it, what difference did it make?

With that thought in mind, he strained his eyes, ears, and nose, to find more prey. He didn't have to look far. A mouse poked its head from a fallen leaf. With great effort, Lizardeye forced himself to move towards it softly. Without the energy to pounce, he settled for darting forward and crushing it beneath his paws, leaf and all. After dealing the killing blow, he kicked a little dirt over it. He paused again, glancing back for Brindlepelt.

[. s p o r e l e t t ♪]

Brindlepelt spent a few long moments staring after the escaping frog, feeling dispirited at its escape but far too exhausted to pursue it any further. Another failure. She heard the quiet voice of her companion and thought that she should try to take it in stride. There were many frogs in the swamp, after all. But the difficult part was catching them, and at the moment Brindlepelt didn't feel capable of doing anything.

She forced her paws to move and her body to turn, heading back towards Lizardeye so that she wouldn't become separated from him. Brindlepelt caught up with the tom just as he was burying some new piece of prey, and felt herself deflate. She did try to be a competent warrior, a good Clanmate, a dutiful sister. But she was no longer one of those, and it felt increasingly impossible for her to succeed at the others. Without her kin she was incomplete, a decayed fragment of a cat who was no longer capable of doing anything on her own.

Brindlepelt stared blankly in Lizardeye's direction as the accumulated failings and doubts that haunted her overwhelmed her tired thoughts and brought their crushing weight to bear. Worthless. Stupid. Weak. Pointless. Failure. Immature. Selfish. Vermin. She couldn't do it any more. She couldn't pretend to be normal, to be functional, sane. "I... need to go," she whispered, and fled Lizardeye's presence.

Desperation gave her speed; she could have run no faster if a family of foxes had been pursuing her. But eventually her flight had to have an end. Brindlepelt splashed through brackish puddles and plunged through a bramble thicket, heedless of the thorns ripping her fur. She didn't stop until she came to the bush where she had buried her kits over three seasons ago, and there she curled, trembling, like a kit beyond all comfort.

[Yoko]

Her voice barely reached his ears before she turned and fled. He stood for a moment in paralyzing confusion. His mind quickly went over the entire hunting patrol, had he said or done anything to upset her? He felt strangely relieved when his calculating mind told him "no".

The decision to follow her was easy. His concern for her safety easily overtook his earlier desire to give her privacy. His steps after her were still heavy and tired, but his legs found a determined stride. She had seemed distraught. It was so unlike her. The cold tabby could not read her as well as he could his own siblings, could not predict her moves when she was in such a state, if he had ever been able to predict them at all.

It was frustrating, but it didn't make him any less willing to follow her. In fact, it stepped up his pace. He had been able to hear her early as she ran, but now he was working solely from her scent. Her scent which had become so familiar to him in these past few moons. It took him a while, but at last the scent trail had come to an end. His green eyes grew sharp as they searched for her. She was not in sight. Finally, he located a bush that smelled strongly of her, and he paused beside it.

"Brindlepelt?" he mewed.

[. s p o r e l e t t ♪]

Brindlepelt wasn't usually inclined to wallow in self-pity. She much preferred to keep her mind off of unpleasantness as much as possible, and certainly she was no prima donna. Indulging in her own frustration was a useless, weak thing to do, especially at a time when no cat could afford to waste time on themselves. But just the act of crossing that brink made it so much harder to pull herself together. Brindlepelt whimpered and curled up more tightly.

It was just so difficult to live as if nothing had changed, to continue serving her Clan while the only cats she had called family lay in the ground. Part of the reason she stayed away from her Clanmates now was because it was just too much effort to put on a strong face for them. She didn't want to be strong any more. She just wanted to be with her family again. With everything that was going on in ShadowClan, she was sure that her presence wouldn't be missed.

The soft sound of approaching pawsteps had Brindlepelt's ears pricking. She cracked open one eye and saw brown paws outside of her bush at the same time she heard Lizardeye's voice. No. No no no no no. Why had he followed her? Wasn't it obvious that she needed to be alone? Brindlepelt considered staying silent in the hopes that he would go away, but even in the depths of her despair she was loathe to be rude to a cat who had done her no harm—even if Lizardeye was the last cat she wanted to be speaking to at that moment.

"Yes," she whispered. Lately she couldn't manage anything louder. "You can go back without me if you're done. I'll be come in a bit." Brindlepelt settled deeper into the dirt underneath the bush's branches. Would Lizardeye feel responsible if she didn't return? She hoped not, but he had better things to worry about. She was sure that he would forget about her soon enough. She just wanted to sleep...

[Yoko]

Lizardeye blinked. He did not take a single pawstep away from the bush. His sharp green eyes remained fixed on where he thought Brindlepelt's face would be. Well, this was an unfortunate dilemma. He had not expected that on his third hunting patrol of the day his partner might snap from emotional stress and refuse to return to camp with him. The tabby tom felt no annoyance at her refusal to return, only an increased exhaustion as he slowly ran down his options.

The most appealing option was to avoid confict. Go pick up the little prey they had caught and take it back to camp. Perhaps she would return soon after and the problem will have resolved itself. If she did not return soon after, Lizardeye could bring Snaketail back with him. His taller sibling could talk a frog into being a squirrel. He wasn't sure of what it was about him, but Snaketail had a gift for communication that neither he nor Twistedclaw possessed.

This option was shot down by Lizardeye's inability to predict what Brindlepelt would do out here alone. She was clearly in a fragile state. Even if she wasn't, the Clan was doing less border patrols which meant the territory was less safe. She could be attacked by anything, from a fox, to a dog, to a cat from another Clan. There were too many unknown variables in their unstable environment. Not to mention the inexplicable dull ache in his chest that he felt while thinking of walking away.

Guilt. It's guilt from the shoulder injury. I just want to be certain I don't make the wrong choice again.

Somehow that didn't sound very convincing, but Lizardeye became vaguely aware that he had been standing quietly over the bush for a while now.

"Brindlepelt," Lizardeye mewed firmly. "I am not leaving you out here. It's not safe. With the lack of border patrols, anything could be wandering on our territory. Also, I am not comfortable with leaving you alone in your state. You have experienced something rather traumatic and in my experience that's not something you can get through alone."

My experience... Lizardeye cut off the thought. There would be no flashbacks, it was long past. Besides, his experience couldn't compare to the loss of siblings...no matter how terrible it was.

"I'm not going to demand that you come out," Lizardeye continued. "Take however long you need to pull yourself together. But if you need me-"

He sat down facing the bush, the exhaustion hitting him like a wave.

"I will be right here."

[. s p o r e l e t t ♪]

For Lizardeye to refuse to leave came as a surprise to Brindlepelt. It was true that they had spent more time together over the past few moons than they had ever before, but he didn't seem the type to remain with a Clanmate out of unfounded concern for their well-being. Frustration had her sinking her claws into the ground, ripping it in tiny jerks. Of all the cats she could have been patrolling with, she would have thought he was the safest bet to give her privacy. Why did he have to choose now to be different? He wasn't leaving. No, he was...

He was talking.

Lizardeye was giving the longest speech she had ever heard from him. The shock of it dulled her hysteria, leaving only frustration and sadness that she was too tired to do anything about. Brindlepelt stayed quiet, but didn't close her eyes again. She continued to gaze at the spot where Lizardeye was sitting, contemplating the terrifying, impossible prospect of taking him up on his offer.

He was a good friend to her. When had she managed to gain him as a friend? What had she done to deserve it? She had grown closer to him without realizing it. But Lizardeye was not family, and he couldn't replace what she had lost in her mother, her sisters, her kits. He was just one cat, one tiny star in an inky black void.

Was it possible to survive off of such feeble light? Right now it seemed impossible. The space between them was too vast, and too cold. She would freeze without anything else to warm her. But that was the thing about stars. Each one gave off its own light, its own heat. One might seem insignificant from far away, but it had the power to change lives.

You just needed to get closer.

I don't know if I can... Brindlepelt remained hidden in her shelter, afraid to emerge. On some level, she had come here to die, so that she could be with her kits before she joined her mother and sisters in StarClan. It was too large of a commitment to abandon in an instant. But she could speak, if she dared. She could tell Lizardeye why she was here. He would listen to her, too. She knew that he would. All she had to do was open her mouth, take a breath, and...

"You don't know," she mewed. "You have your brothers. I lost everything."

It sounded like an accusation. Perhaps it was—but she was talking. It had taken unbelievable circumstances to even get to this point.

"My mother," she continued. "My sisters. And... and my...." Her throat constricted, so that forcing the words out was a struggle. When she did, they were only a strangled whisper. "My kits. They're all dead. I don't know what to do..."

[Yoko]

He had not really expected her to talk. He had gotten as comfortable as he could on the ground, prepared to wait it out. In an attempt to avoid thinking of his own disconcerted feelings, he had started paying attention to their surroundings.

The prey of the swamp seemed to have crowded around them. Now that they weren't actually hunting, he could hear frogs croaking, birds flapping their wings, the scurrying of squirrels and mice...These sounds did not incline him to move and hunt while Brindlepelt remained in her shelter. Rather they made him feel more comfortable. Familiar sounds enticing him to sleep. He resisted the lazy shudder of his eyelids a while more, wondering if Brindlepelt would respond.

When she did, he gave his full attention once more. Her first words were no surprise and he had no argument against them. He did have his brothers, and he would not ever regret having them. Though now...at least he had some idea of how much her sisters meant to her. They were similar then...he and Brindlepelt. They were not too open about their affection for their family members, but the bond was still strong. Stronger than cats who misjudged their quiet reserved nature could ever imagine.

Her last words startled him. Lizardeye blinked multiple times, and then stared at the bush intensely. Kits? He wondered how he should proceed. He felt that strange urge to pry into her life again. But would it be cruel to ask? Her voice had sounded pained and soft, as if they were dying in her throat. How could he respond to that? He had often heard cats say empty words of comfort or politeness, but he had never said such things and he would be disgusted with himself if he said them now. But what else could he say, when he couldn't possibly understand her pain?

After a rather long silence, that even Lizardeye would admit was rather awkward, he finally managed to say something. "I can't imagine your pain," he mewed plainly. "I'm not sure any cat can. I never knew you had kits..."

He couldn't help adding that little detail. He left it hanging there. Not a question, but a weak and true statement. She could take it up if she wanted, but he refused to press down on these scars.

[. s p o r e l e t t ♪]

What was he thinking now? Brindpelept wondered. The silence between them was long as she waited for Lizardeye to say something, anything in response to her confession. Perhaps he wouldn't. He was known for keeping his silences. She had told him because she had known he would listen, not because she wanted advice. But Brindlepelt found herself anxious for him to make some reply, an acknowledgement, something. She was unfathomably grateful when he finally spoke, and didn't know why.

"I never told anyone," she said. "Not even Lightfeather."

There was no way anyone could have known when even her own sister had been oblivious. She had told her littermate things that she had kept from every other member of the Clan, including Lightningclaw, but this was the one thing that she had not been willing to reveal even to her closest friend. Brindlepelt wondered if her sisters had discovered her kits in StarClan when they had died, and if so what they had thought. She was sure that they were all waiting for her to join them. The only question was when she would arrive.

"It feels wrong to be without them. I never thought I would be alone."

[Yoko]

It wasn't until Brindlepelt spoke again that Lizardeye realized that he had been straining his ears. The fact that his body had tensed up in spite of its relaxed pose, crouched with his paws tucked under, also struck him. Why was he hanging on her every word. His curiosity about her past should have eased, not intensified. But he felt something. He had no idea what it was, but its message was clear. He could not leave her alone out here.

Unwillingly, he was drawn into his own memories, searching for a time when he had kept a secret from his siblings. There didn't seem to be one. All of his own secrets were shared with them. Even what he felt for Dapplepelt, Snaketail had figured it out before Lizardeye himself. Snaketail had attempted to hide Helen from he and Twistedclaw, but that secret was short-lived and it certainly was not his. He again wondered about the strength of Brindlepelt's bond with her sisters, but on the assumption that it was as strong as his own with his littermates, hiding such a thing would prove extremely difficult.

A chill fell over him at Brindlepelt's last statement. His body went still, and breathing halted for a moment as he looked at the bush with slightly widened green eyes. It wasn't her words that had done this, but the feeling had intensified and it wasn't a pleasant one. He began to suspect that Brindlepelt hadn't just run off for a "good long cry", as Snaketail would say. The thought brought him to his feet, and he approached the bush but did not enter it.

He wasn't sure what he was going to say at first. This conversation had made him feel more uncertain than he had ever felt in his life. He couldn't tell her that StarClan was always with her. It sounded cliche, and he hadn't believed that when Dapplepelt was gone. He couldn't tell her that her clanmates would always be there for her, because in truth they were not. The Clan had loose bonds, growing stronger when faced with other Clans and dispersing when left to itself. He was no medicine cat, or he could tell her that her family wanted her to live on, and be happy...

"You don't have to be alone. It is a choice, and it's one of the few we're given in this world," he mewed firmly, "Being alone for me, is a practical choice. A lessened attachment to your clanmates does considerably dull the pain of losing them. I know, you must think that I can't be alone, I have my littermates. I do, but even with them I maintain a certain distance....it makes it easier to manage times like these," he paused, realizing that he should have outright mentioned Twistedclaw's illness. The distance he felt from his littermate did make that easier to manage, but not enough to suggest his possible demise. He knew that there was one point that he had not yet made, and wasn't sure if it was worth making. She had lost her sibling and kits. So it felt trivial to mention this, but he was surprised to find that he wanted to. He bit his tongue. Now wasn't the time. "For me, separating from my clanmates has proven a good decision. In your case, that might not be so. Opportunities will arise for you to bond with other cats, Brindlepelt, and it is purely your decision to encourage such bonds or reject them."