sage | a warrior cats fanfiction

chapter thirty six

He woke up at his usual time.

It was somewhat pleasant out, with the world mildly warmed by the sun that was just starting to creep over the horizon. The moon and the stars alike turned tail and dashed off from all that was light, and with them, they dragged along the darkness that harbored itself within the night sky. Clouds, too, apparently, for at seeing the sun, they disappeared.

There was not a single trace of snow within the camp, though at the edges small puddles of water had gathered. They looked warm enough, at least to the pale warrior who had stepped carefully out of the warrior's den and exited. His dark gray eyes swept camp momentarily, noting the lack of snow, and glanced to the fresh-kill pile.

It was empty once more, and his stomach rumbled uncomfortably loud. When did I eat last? He thought, ears twitching. It felt like it'd been moons and moons since he'd last eaten at least just a scrap of prey, yet he knew that to be untrue. It'd probably been yesterday, maybe late the previous day. However, it didn't seem to matter, because the moment he attempted to move only a few pawsteps from the den, he nearly tripped.

Instantly dizzy, Adderheart glanced around and black dots danced at the edges of his apparently dissipating vision. Huffing as though to take a breath, the tom forced himself to settle down at the edge of the warrior's den, unwilling to move much more in case the exact same thing happened. Over time, his head began to hurt, earning a sort of pounding quality about it.

With a soft breath of air escaping his maw, he saw his breath cloud within the chilly leaf-bare breeze. Shifting, he moved closer to the den as though trying to snag some form of warmth from it, but the warmth couldn't protect him from the pawsteps that suddenly echoed within the camp, and the voice that soon followed it, too.

"Adderheart?"

Willowdapple.

It didn't even need to happen yet; his headache immediately got worse and he looked up to her, offering a smile that simply seemed fake in its very being. He grimaced soon after, lifting a paw and pressing it to his cranium, all before he realized she was carrying something within her jaws, and she dropped it in front of him soon after.

"I took this from the pile last night, and I wanted to save it so we could share together."

It was a large, decently so, anyways, piece of prey. Wingspan large and feathers prominent, the cardinal's soulless black eyes stared into his dark gray ones. Shifting, he rose to his paws and cleared his throat before answering, hoping that his voice was still a little powerful in nature.

"Can we go to the nursery?"

"Why?" She asked, tipping her head.

I can't say anything other than kits, can I?

"The kits—"

"Of course," she murmured, casting him a loving look as she pressed to him momentarily. Suppressing a shiver, he followed her to the nursery, slipping within the den and settling down in one of the nests. However, upon seeing her litter, he allowed himself to inch closer.

Memories of her two deceased kits popped up within his head, and he shifted uncomfortably, attempting to remind himself that these two kits were alive. They'd gotten bigger in previous days, he realized, with slimmed bellies as well as heightened features. He nosed them gently and one squeaked.

If he could do one thing to try and convince her that he loved her, it was do things with the kits.

She was not the kits, and he wasn't the father of the kits, either. Everybody already knew that he wasn't the father; it was clear by his actions within previous moons, and really, that was all he cared about. So, the tom simply settled closer to her litter, and she did the same on the opposite side, nudging him the bird.