sleep so well [rendezvous]

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She curled in on herself, her paw cradled to her chest. Her eyes were screwed shut. Her breath whistled between her clenched teeth. She groaned and rolled onto her stomach. Every nerve in her body protested. Her entire right sight pulsed with excruciating pain. But she could see her mouse. It lay a few feet from her, waiting for her. And the sight of that one kill, the first kill she’d been able to make in more moons than she could count – made the pain worth it. She rolled back to her side with a sigh, attempting to calm her breathing. She wouldn’t be able to move, not yet. This she knew. The moment she tried to rise, put even an ounce of weight on her paw, she would crumple. She laid her head back, allowing her eyes to flutter closed. She would return to camp triumphant, her mouse in her jaws. Perhaps she would bring it to her fellow queen – or present it to Froststar herself. But for the moment, all she wanted was to sleep. The pain still pulsed in her, but it was beginning to ebb, ever so slightly. It was calming, retreating back into the depths of her body.

She had been consumed in her pain, and her triumph. She didn’t notice Pinestep until his light nose touched her fur. She hissed in surprise, jerking her head up with a gasp. He stood over her, unperturbed. He nosed along, checking her for injuries. Pure shock took over. Ashcloud found herself remaining obediently still. He was careful, more gentle than she had thought him capable of. He didn’t say anything, didn’t laugh or mock. He simply checked. Ashcloud slowly released the tension in her muscles, allowed her head to loll against the ground once more. She gritted her teeth. Despite his care, his occasional nudges sent flashes of pain up her leg. Her ears flicked back, pinning against her skull. She closed her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t have gone out. She wasn’t a youthful hopeful warrior anymore. She had aged, impossibly it seemed. She knew her limits. Yet that didn’t stop her from pushing them. When she spoke, her voice was halting, slightly rasped with pain. “I – I’m alright.” She rolled again to her stomach, gingerly keeping her injured paw from being jostled. Her fur was cluttered with bits of leaves and other debris. She was a mess. But she didn’t care. She looked past Pinestep, to her mouse waiting a few lengths away.

She ducked her head. She was reluctant to look at him. Despite her success, she was embarrassed, humiliated by her own weakness. It was one thing to hobble quietly through camp. But to be found like this, so helpless – literally brought to her knees, it sent white hot flame to her cheeks. Her tail flicked against the ground. “I’m still a warrior, Pinestep. This forest is my home.” She couldn’t explain what had possessed her, the need to push her limitations. But in a way, despite her determination to simply bring home prey, the forest had called too. She had longed to wander it’s expanse, to let her paws squelch in the swamp. It was home to her. It’s scent wrapped around her, reminding her of what she was, what she would always be. What generations of Shadowclan kittens would know. She heaved a sigh. Ducking her head away from Pinestep’s observant gaze.

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Ashcloud put her head down, resting on her one good paw. Slowly, yet surely, the pulsing pain was subsiding. She found she could move, shift slightly. The pain had left her weak, her legs shaking as exhaustion settled onto her shoulders. She tucked her paw underneath her, out of the way, yet in a position so she could gingerly cover it without crushing it. She focused her vision ahead, in between the towering pines. Up above her, she could hear the crows calling to each other, the occasional squawk. She closed her eyes, a memory inadvertently washing over her. She swallowed. She ceased to see the pines, hear the circling crows. Pinestep vanished, even the scent of her freshly killed mouse. The ground beneath her, everything was gone. She let a sigh out.

She had just been released from the Medicine Cat den. Acornpatch had cautioned her to remain near the camp. He’d kept an anxious eye on her. She’d suspected that he’d felt guilty, responsible for his inability to reset her paw. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t blame anyone. Willowbranch was at her side. Her sister had never left, not for a moment. And it was Willowbranch, her eyes full of hope, who had lured her sister out of camp. Ashcloud had moved slowly. Her hobbling had been interminable then. She hadn’t learned how to hold herself, how to move as effectively as possible. She was glad simply to be able to move. She’d resisted leaving the camp, but Willowbranch had cajoled her, farther and farther until the sounds of the camp were gone, until nothing remained about the forest. Ashcloud remembered the thrill, the adrenaline of scents and feelings she hadn’t heard – hadn’t experienced – since the day she’d lost the use of her front paw.

Eventually Ashcloud had refused to go further. She’d been exhausted by even her limited movements. She’d sat, sucking in breath. Willowbranch had sat at her side, silent without judgment. And then, just as now, the crows had circled. They’d cawed and squawked at each other. She couldn’t remember why, but Ashcloud had shivered. Something about the sound had disturbed her. She’d remembered thinking to herself that the scraps, what wasn’t wanted by anything else – was left to the crows. She opened her eyes, returning to the moment. Pinestep was still at her side, her mouse waiting. But all she could think now, faced with her dimming memory, was a single question. Should she have been left to the crows? She shivered, her skin prickling. She wanted to escape, encase herself in the nursery once more, where she knew she would be safe. She shook her head, her legs shaking as she pushed herself to a sitting position. Her twisted paw was still cradled gently against her chest.

“I’ll be dragged back someday, by you or whoever happens upon me.” The words were sudden, neither self-pitying nor cynical. She had ceased hating herself, in a way. She still held guilt, of course, over her perceived uselessness. But she had also become a realist. She knew, living as she was her chances of surviving to old age were limited. Yet she was thankful for what little she had been given, a reprise from the elder’s den. She shook herself, dislodging a piece or two of the debris. Bits of leaves, dirt, had been trapped in her fur when she’d fallen. She bent her head, grooming her fur lightly. She found herself suddenly embarrassed by her rumpled appearance. She cleared her throat, looking to Pinestep with a sudden wash of gratitude. She looked away again. His words struck her. And despite her natural instinctive aversion to the tom, she was curious. Her ears flicked and she looked him up and down. “How could you help me?”

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Her ears flicked back at the mere mention of the elder’s den. She’d spent time there, laid amongst the old and the failing. And while she had the utmost respect for them, for what they had been – she was not one of them. She’d felt their weakness, the fragile constraints of time, wrap around her. It had been suffocating. Even the thought made her shiver. She flicked her tail uncomfortably. She knew what she would do when Ternkit and Lightkit were grown – exactly what she had done every day since her narrow escape from the elder’s den. “Froststar saved my life. I will do the only thing I can do for the clan, I will raise the next generation of warriors.” And truly it was a happy life, in her eyes. She loved kittens, their youthful innocence. She loved each and every one of them dearly.

Yet when Pinestep began speaking, it was as if a strange passion awoke in him. Ashcloud couldn’t remember ever hearing so many words come from his lips – or with such fierce emotion. It took her by surprise, and she found herself left in silence. She rose, balancing perfectly on her three paws. One of the few things she had gained from her injury was near perfect balance. She looked at Pinestep carefully. “It has taken me nearly a full rotation of seasons to simply be able to move, to transport myself from the camp to here. And though it may not seem it, I am much faster than when I began,” She fell quiet, pausing for a moment. Her voice held no pessimism, no pain or hurt or other such self-pitying emotions. “I can hunt, albeit in a limited fashion. Though I have long since quite given up on the idea of running.” A slight yearning smile passed over her lips.

How many times had she dreamed of sprinting, of feeling a breeze through her fur? The ideas, what Pinestep was offering, it was tantalizing. She yearned for it, wanted to sink her claws into it. But it was also precarious. It was full of what-ifs. There were no guarantees, no plan, not even a likelihood that what he spoke of was possible. And yet, it niggled at her. It taunted her, lured her in. What if the possibility existed, only for her to turn her back? She swallowed. And just then, Pinestep began to retract the offer, to turn away. She saw her dreams melting away. She spoke quietly, leaning forward. “No! I mean, if you could help, I would be in your debt.”

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Her claws unsheathed, not with aggression but rather with anticipation. She kneaded the soft ground beneath her with her one good paw. Her ears flicked indecisively. It was tantalizing, made her mouth water, metaphorically of course. She looked away from Pinestep. She hadn’t resigned herself to life as a perma-queen. In truth she had embraced it. She’d wanted it. She’d never been truly cut out as a warrior. She didn’t have that natural aggression, that fire, the desire to sink her claws into another’s fur. She’d been happy to escape such a future. She would have been happy as a provider, a quiet mother.

She hadn’t sunken into the only option left. She’d been given all she desired. But it had come at a price. Everything came at a price. She heaved a sigh. A part of her didn’t really believe him, all the things he promised. She’d been told, gently of course, but irrevocably that she would never run again, never sustain herself. She flicked her ears back. She didn’t often get moments away from Ternkit and Lightkit. Honestly, she didn’t look for opportunities to slip away from them. Eventually, however, she simply dipped her head. She acknowledged Pinestep’s words, his caution.

She stood, hobbling towards her mouse. She bent, though hesitated before picking it up. She looked to Pinestep. “Don’t promise me anything, Pinestep.” Her tone wasn’t hostile, angry or withdrawn. Simply quiet, calm. “I’m content with my life.” With that she bent, picking the mouse up gingerly in her jaws. She held her head high, moving at Pinestep’s side. She moved slowly, of course, but with pride. She needed no assistance. Her paw was kept gingerly off the ground. She had learned precisely how to balance in order to move her back legs forward as her front leg hopped forward. She glanced sidelong at Pinestep, a light smile over her lips. Whatever this was, whatever he felt the need to give her, it was intriguing.

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Exhaustion weighed heavily on Ashcloud’s shoulders. Her short hunt, and the time it had taken for her to recover from the pain, had utterly drained her. Her eyes were sagging, her body ached. Even the mouse in her jaws felt heavy. Yet she refused to allow herself to falter, to stumble and fall in Pinestep’s presence. Something about him niggled at her, got under her skin. His mere presence forced her to the brink. Under normal circumstances, she would have rested. She understood her own limitations. And she wasn’t ashamed of them. But in front of Pinestep, his muscled form and masculine scent surrounding her, she wanted to seem something more. Perhaps, as foolish as it was, she wanted to seem whole – unbroken, unblemished. She wasn’t unusually humble, but neither had she ever viewed herself as uniquely beautiful. She held no dissatisfaction with her physical appearance, but neither did she take great pride in it. She looked to him, the mouse in her lips preventing her from speaking. But her brows knit together, a question in her eyes. She couldn’t imagine what it was that could keep Pinestep up at night, what burrowed beneath him robbing him of contentment. After all, he was deputy. He had everything he had wanted, right?

Ashcloud found her mind wandering. She was unable to focus, to maintain concentration. Her eyelids sagged. She found she wanted nothing more than to collapse to the ground, curl up in sleep. But without Ternkit and Lightkit, without the assurance of their tiny warm bodies, she wouldn’t rest a moment. This she knew for certain. In some ways, those kittens were as much her life and love as they were Froststar’s. She wouldn’t claim they were everything. She had her sister, Willowbranch, her parents. But they were something different. They were something she could care for, protect and nurture. She had spent moons of her life being nurtured, cared for. And for a change, she could give something back. Pinestep’s words pulled her from her thoughts. She lifted her head, pausing in her movements. She dipped her head, dropping her catch lightly on the ground. She couldn’t very well mumble incoherently around the rodent. And honestly she was relieved with the chance to rest her aching body. She tilted her head at Pinestep, watching him carefully. Before she could answer, promise honesty and confidence, he was speaking again. She opened her lips, closing them again and pursing them together. Her ears flicked back. She looked away or a moment. “I think you are ambitious, that you want it more than the rest of us. I think you are powerful and strong, that you care for nothing more than you care for this clan.” She paused, there was hesitation in her voice. She drew herself up. “But I also fear you. You’re a slowly falling cedar. Whether you fall forwards or back, I cannot tell. And I fear what could be crushed beneath you.” She dipped her head quickly, snatching the mouse back up. And so as to avoid his eyes, his questions, perhaps his anger, she began to move once more.

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The sound of her paws, thumping against the ground, was rhythmic. It was distinct, almost comforting to her in a way. Thump - thump thump. One - two three. Her jaw tightened slightly around her kill, a reflex to her anxiety. She concentrated instead on the rhythm, on her breathing, on ignoring everything but the pound of her own steps. Because she knew, with a frightening sort of certainty, that she should have kept her mouth shut. She had learned, after so many moons, how to hold her tongue. Yet this knowledge had failed her, perhaps when she needed it most. And she could not take words back. She couldn’t hide them away, pretend that they had never left her trembling lips. They were out in the open, to be judged. Ashcloud kept her gaze straight ahead, a part of her dreading a glimpse of the look in Pinestep’s eyes. She knew, instinctively, that to offend him could be dangerous. She swallowed, yet her mouth was entirely dry. Even the mouth-watering scent of the mouse she carried seemed bitter on her tongue. When he spoke however, she could do nothing but freeze. There was no anger in his voice, no reprimand. She paused, bending her head once more to release the mouse from her jaws. In truth, this would become quite tiring to stop each time she wished to speak.

“I have much time on my hands,” She kept her head ducked, her voice quiet. She’d always been gentle, a little shy, by nature. And in truth, she’d had endless hours to simply lay and watch. And so she had. She’d watched every movement, every interaction. She’d learned what she could. She watched him, her eyes narrowing pensively. She moved slightly closer to him, his words set a dull ache in her heart. There was such misery there, such undeserved misery. “We’re all bound,” She gestured with her own crippled deformed limb, “You and I are the same, but while I sport my chains outwardly,” her tail flicked towards his forehead, a light cautious brush, “you hide yours elsewhere.” She didn’t mean to make little of his suffering. Rather she saw it as an act of solidarity. She didn’t pretend her paw didn’t cause her misery. And she suspected that whatever Pinestep kept locked in his mind was no less worthy of misery and despair. She tilted her head slightly. “You’re afraid to be seen.” She said it quietly, hesitantly, on a breath.