a sea of regret [ open

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Heronflight lay draped over one of the branches in the Great Sycamore. He wasn't unusually high, but neither was he very close to the ground. But the height didn't bother him. With so many branches, climbing the tree had been no more difficult than hopping between stepping stones. Not that he was attempting to brag or show-off to whoever might pass. No, if anything the height comforted him. It literally made him feel “above it all”. He could escape the noise of the camp, the current chaos that surrounded them. His mood turned immediately sour, a frown dominating his lips. His claws unsheathed, sinking them into the bark of the ancient oak. His eyes narrowed somewhat as he stared in the direction of the Thunderclan camp. His lip pulled up in something that resembled anger.

Somewhere in that camp, their leader Sootstar would be overseeing patrols. Ashcall would bustling about, attending to herbs. Apprentices would be with mentors, kittens with queens, elders complaining in their den. Cloudeyes would be curled around their three beautiful kittens. And Heronflight, he would be here, up in the tree, trying to pretend that none of it existed. He straightened, rising to a sitting position in the tree. He moved with the utmost care, his tail flicking carefully to keep him balanced. A fall from this height would shatter bones, and crush any dreams of becoming the new deputy to dust.

The beginning of a smile flitted across his features. Deputy, it was a rank he had dreamed of. The past leader’s retirement had finally offered him an opportunity. Sootfire had become Sootstar, and as of yet the deputy position was unfilled. That left it wide open to a capable, experienced, dedicated warrior such as himself. He kneaded the bark beneath his paws. He was ambitious, he knew it. He dreamed of becoming deputy, of following after Sootstar and leading his clan with nine lives bestowed upon him from the starry ancestors. He had imagined himself rising above the others, naming apprentices, sitting high up during Gatherings. The mere thought made his chest fill with pride.

And Cloudeyes, his precious Cloudeyes, would sit beneath the High Rock. Their kittens would look to him with pride. And Owlcall and Thrushwing – well Heronflight wouldn’t spare them a glance. He had long since gotten over the betrayal, though he still held bitterness and anger towards the two. He realized, in the back of his mind, that without Owlcall’s abandonment, he would never have found Cloudeyes. And truthfully, he had stopped thinking of Owlcall. She’d ceased to be a plague on him. All that mattered was his family. A smile drifted over his lips, lit by the moonlight. Far away, Cloudeyes lay curled around their kittens. She had banned him from the Nursery. She insisted he attend to his duties, despite his opinion she and their kittens were his only duties. He smiled at the thought, imagining their little smiles.

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Heronflight rested his head on his crossed paws. One of his back paws hung lazily over the side of the branch, swinging slightly in the air. Somehow the feeling of nothing, the knowledge of the dizzying deadly drop that awaited was comforting. It was like sitting on the edge of the world, waiting for the inevitable. It was nice, in a way, to know there was nothing to be done. At times, Heronflight liked to wish life was just so. That every decision he did wouldn’t truly change anything. He was heading down an irrevocable path. Of course, every life led to death. But he liked to think that, more than that, every path led to something pre-planned. Perhaps it was foolish, to hope for destiny and fate. But it gave Heronflight some small hope, some small comfort.

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He knew, with a certainty, that Cloudeyes had been his fate. She had been his destiny, lurking on the outskirts of life until the universe decided it was time. He snorted to himself, remembering that precise moment. He’d been sitting in this very tree, perhaps this very branch. He couldn’t remember anymore. All he remembered was his own disdain, yet the irresistible pull, the allure she had held over him from that first moment he’d met her sanguine gaze. A peace settled over him, an utter contentment. He needed, and wanted, for nothing – not now.

But a voice broke his reverie, a voice that was achingly painfully familiar – even after all these moons. Subconsciously, his claws unsheathed, sinking into the bark. His head snapped downwards, his gaze landing immediately on the delicate brown tabby illuminated by a mid-hanging moon. He breathed her name, just loud enough to float down to her. “Owlcall,” He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken with her. They’d spent moons avoiding each other. And it had become a habit. He couldn’t remember the sound of his name on her lips. He rose, descending a branch or two, watching her evenly, a hint of his old anger behind his eyes. “I expect I was doing the same thing as you.” He didn’t descend all the way. He was reluctant to get too near, lest she manage to break him again.