Fight or Flight

Littlepaw blinked dazedly, the air tasting like dust and metal. His green eyes shot open as he realized that the apprentice's den was filled with smoke. Sunpaw stood just outside the entrance, Moonpaw pressed to his side. He knew they were looking for their father, Waspstrike. Littlepaw spotted the massive golden tom the same time that they did and they both bolted to him where he was attempting to help Mousewhisker collect all of Mapleclan together to escape. 

The small, gray deputy was shouting orders, shoving the elders, queens, and kits into the center of the huddle. Littlepaw found himself swept toward the entrance as soon as he reached the group and looked around frantically. Where was his father, Cloudpaw, Moonpaw? His senses were filled with smoke and all he could do was run forward, away from his home, without even a final glance at where he had spent the first seven moons of his life. 

Smoke danced around him like a taunt. There was nowhere he could turn that he didn't feel its gritty sting in his eyes. The air rushed against his face, hotter than the brightest Greenleaf day, and beneath the smothering smell swelled the fear of his clanmates. Trees began to creak and groan over his head. He felt their pain along with them and knew his forest home was dying. His paws felt like they were not his own, swept forward by the bodies around him. 

Suddenly, a deafening crash brought everyone skidding to a halt. Ash and dust swirled around and as it began to settle, he felt the breath in his lungs vanish. Beneath the wide fallen tree, lay a sickeningly familiar white pelt. The wail rising in his throat sounded like it was coming from behind him as he crept forward. Whitestar's tail lashed, his hindquarters trapped beneath the tree. His father's blue eyes looked through him as he rasped, "go on, and carry me in your heart."

He began to try and dig Whitestar from beneath the massive trunk. Glowing embers burned his paw pads, but he hardly felt it. Suddenly, teeth closed on his scruff. It was Hawkfang. Seething anger flared in his chest and he hissed and struggled, fighting to free his father. A strong but gentle voice sounded in his ear. "Littlepaw, go on. We will be with him." 

He turned his panicked face to meet the eyes of one of Mapleclan's three elders, Brightfur. Her cream-colored fur was stained with black soot, but her yellow eyes were clear. She licked Littlepaw's head and then shuffled in beside Whitestar. All of the clan knew this was his final life. She licked his snowy ears, her own laid flat in sadness. The other two elders walked forward now, both black toms, their graying faces held high with pride but their pelts quivering with terror. They positioned themselves next to Brightfur just as a flaming branch came crashing down behind the hesitating group, causing all the cats to bristle and hiss. "Go!" Brightfur yowled. "Save our clan!" 

Hawkfang nudged the dazed Littlepaw, more gently this time, and soon they were rushing on again, plunging into the blistering darkness. Orange flames wreathed around and Littlepaw gasped for air. He realized with a jolt that they were headed for the stream that bordered the edge of the clan's territory and he felt new strength pumping his screaming muscles on toward that small hope of salvation. 

Just as he thought they were growing near, another smoldering branch crashed down, right in the center of the group. Littlepaw could not hesitate to see the aftermath this time, leaping to the side as red hot flames licked his fur. He ran as fast as he could possibly go toward that stream. Finally, he burst through a gap in the trees and made it into the water in three strides. He splashed through it only to collapse on the sandy bank. His tail still hung limply in the water, but he didn’t care. He didn't know how long it took him to find the will to lift his head and turn around, but he almost immediately wished he hadn't. 

All that lay before him was a black and orange wasteland. The stars were completely obscured by clouds of smoke and the place he saw was unrecognizable. A terrible wailing made him snap his head around. A black cat crouched a few tail lengths to his left. He struggled upright and crept over to her. It was Nightwish. She was hunched with her muzzle pressed against a small, dark shape. Littlepaw's breath caught in his throat. It was Ravenkit. He tried to find the words to comfort her, but couldn't, so he pressed his side against her. 

She immediately reacted, arching her spine and hissing at him ferociously. Littlepaw started and stumbled backward into the stream. "Don't touch me!" she shrieked. "Don't touch him!"

Littlepaw cowered against the ground, unsure how to respond to the furious mother. Another dark shape appeared at his side and he recognized Hawkfang's scent through the smoke. The older tom led him slowly away from Nightwish as she resumed her crouching and wailing. Looking up to where they were headed, Littlepaw saw the unmistakable, gleaming silver coat of the very cat he had hoped to find safe. When he reached Moonpaw, he curled tremoring against her side and squeezed his eyes shut. She did not fight it, and wrapped her tail around him. Hawkfang pressed himself in front of both of the apprentices, watching with searing yellow eyes. Littlepaw could not have been more grateful to have him here. 

He watched Nightwish, an unmoving black shadow. He knew it must be unimaginable heartbreak to lose a kit, but the hate in her face had startled him to his core. He wondered where her other two kits were and if they had made it away safely with other clanmates or their father. His heart ached. The clan had been separated. He had no way of knowing who was safe and who wasnot. They did not sleep that night, only huddled together and shivered despite the heat. Littlepaw prayed with all his might, to Starclan, to his mother and his father, that the rest of those he cared for were safe.