Ember | COMPLETE | Warrior Cats Fan-Fiction Novel

S I X

Emberstorm felt empty. Her insides were a void, a swirling vortex of nothingness. She was a twisted, blank, faceless creature that knew only darkness. She was sculpted from decay and smashed into shards. The shadows swallowed her and spat her back out. Emberstorm wanted nothing more than to melt into the icy snow.

Laying before her, smelling of lavender, was Frondberry. She was surrounded by soft green ferns, pine branches, and what few flowers remained on MountainClan territory. Her body was still and seemed to be as empty as Emberstorm.

Thunderstrike was furious. He snapped at every cat who approached him and interrogated different cats, desperate to find Frondberry's killer. Her throat had been cleanly slit; most likely a sneak attack from behind.

The dark tom sat on the Great Pine, whiskers twitching and tail lashing. "Frondberry was a brave, loyal, kind, and smart MountainClan warrior. She will be missed." He recited the ritual speech, then snapped at Grousefeather to continue asking questioning warriors. "We're supposed to be a Clan!" he hissed. "Not a pack of rats! Whoever killed her will pay!" He stormed into his den, tail lashing and breathing hard.

Grousefeather padded over to Emberstorm, snout lifted in the air and tail sticking up.

Stupid, smug, pika-brained, lynx-hearted Grousebutt, she hissed inwardly. I pity his kits.

"Emberfur," Grousefeather chirped, "it's your turn!"

Emberstorm ignored the name and flicked her tail. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about your time with Frondberry."

"Well," Emberstorm began, "I went out to visit the prisoners where Frondberry was dutifully guarding them. Quickbreeze and Icefern wanted to go to the Field. Frondberry told me to guard Brackenfern while she escorted them there. I agreed and she went on her way. Then, Frondberry came racing back, saying that they had escaped. So, I kept guard while she got help."

Grousefeather tilted his head. His face was painted with disappointment. "Very well. What motive might someone have to kill her? You spent some time with her, so you might have some idea."

Emberstorm's mind spun. What would make a cat want to murder Frondberry? Perhaps jealousy; she's gotta be desired. Or... what if it was punishment for failing at guard duty?

"Uh. Nope, I got nothing." The lie rolled awkwardly off of her tongue.

Grousefeather narrowed his eyes to thin slits. "You made a face."

"I made a face?"

"Yes. You realized something, but don't want to share. This is a murder investigation, Emberfur. I'll take anything I can get." He leaned forward. A disturbing hunger was smeared across his gaze.

Emberstorm's heart began to pound. Would he imprison me, consider me a traitor? Or would he actually consider what I have to say? "What if some cat was punishing her for letting two prisoners escape? What if...."

"Spit it out." Grousefeather's eye seemed alight with a passionate haze of fire.

"What if Thunderstrike killed her?" Her voice was soft and hoarse. Please, StarPelts above, don't let him imprison me.

Grousefeather's eyes widened, whiskers quivering. "You really think that?"

"It-it's just a theory, really, not really a --- "

"You could be right, Emberstorm. I'll confront him, ask him some questions." Grousefeather stood, looking satisfied, but concerned.

Emberstorm nodded, her shoulders sinking in relief. He believes me --- and got my name right.

Grousefeather padded away, tail straight up in the air with a final nod. There was something about the way his voice sounded and that strange look in his eyes that made Emberstorm's insides quiver.

Emberstorm got up and padded over to the waterfall, briefly mystified by her reflection. She had medium-length, thick black fur with a little bit of white on her chest. Her eyes were a blazing golden-amber color. From the outside, she didn't look like a cat who was afraid of brown tabbies or a cat who hid in her den. She didn't look like a cat who just accused her leader of murder.

Emberstorm looked like a normal cat.

Slatefeather suddenly padded up to her and stopped, standing at her side. She, too, stared at her reflection blankly.

"I'm never going to get over them," she choked out, referring to her lost kits. "Never."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Slatefeather then murmured, "I think you should know who the father is."

"Really?"

"Yes." She sighed, tracing her claw along the ground. "The father was Blackfrost. We had a whirlwind romance and he was so sweet and ---" her voice caught. "Then I had kits and he loved them and I loved them and I loved him. But his love for me had faded."