Three Moons

Even with the sharp and jagged stones that poked and prodded at their skin, even though that tufts of fur caught and tore and their own paws ached from the climb but on the cleft there, they felt infinite. Sorrelwish was kind and gentle, her words puffed out in short breaths and her laughter light in the air. She was beautiful - not in this moment but in all moments. Her eyes were ringed dark with wonder as he nudged her shoulder and motioned to the stars. He could name pegasus and the big dipper - kittypet words that had had been taught by their housefolk. Chestnutfur had once taught him the same, considering RoostClan had been the closest to the twoleg houses in general. The information had never been relevant to him, nothing that he wondered at - the Clans didn't travel so he didn't need to navigate his way. He didn't see StarClan in them but a endless void that was filled with clouds and starlight. That night, their purpose was served - to show the ginger she-cat the lights, so distant but bright all the same. He saw the stars reflected in her eyes and he knew that if those were the only stars he would ever see again, he would be damned and sentenced to a life in darkness with only her eyes as guidance.

She turned her crystalline gaze to him, flecks of silver in those hues of hers and her smile was blinding. She wasn't beautiful in the physical sense - she hadn't been his type, not the sort of she-cat that turned his gaze. All the same, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. The way her head tilted or the crook of her smile, the little bubble of laughter that rose up from her chest - loud and noisy but so full of life. She was beautiful in many aspects, the way she twittered about topics she adored, the look in her eyes, the way she'd knead her nest before she curled up to sleep. The beat of her eyelashes against her cheeks, the sound of her breath among the snores and sleep-talk of the warriors' den. The thing that endeared him most was that she had a choice - she always had had a choice, she could weasel her way into any cats' heart and yet she chose him. She smiled at him, spoke with him, he was the one she curled up with at night, her nose pressed to her shoulder and her body tucked in the space next to his. She'd kick at him in her sleep - too much fur, too little space, but if either of them awoke and as was often the case, both of them, she would giggle and apologize and tuck herself back up against him.

He hadn't given her so much as a second look until she tumbled back into his life, a horde of kits at her paws - all grown and fairly peaceful - but her laughter was still what had caught his attention. She had smiled at him and chatted with him when she was an apprentice but never laughed.

He loved the sound.

He loved the sound of her voice, the sweet and gentle tone she took, the way she stretched and curled her toes, the motherly licks behind both his and then her kits ears. The low and soft dip and groove of her vowels when she looked at him, the tilt of her head and the not-quite-playful but equally as kind crook of her mouth. The way she'd stretch up her head to nuzzle underneath his. Her kind nature - the way she doted on him when he had thrown out his paw during an invasive mission, the needless reminder for him to eat, the quick nudges when she's spotted something during a patrol.

He loved her, he loved her, he loved her. There was the fear that she would be ripped from him, so seamlessly - as if she was never there. He couldn't stand the thought of her painted in bright colours of life when she remained cold. Swiftcreek would have to press himself to her and she would not say much because she understood.

"And there's Pegasus," she chimed in, bright and cheerful and he had to nudge her shoulder a little to the left to where she motioned her paw.

"There."

She laughed and turned and pressed her face to his shoulder. Her breath was warm. (Alive, alive-) Something warm puddled at the bottom of his gut and he pressed his muzzle to her fur and breathed her scent in. "Hm, I just get so confused about these things," she admitted, but her tone is light and kind and something stuttered in his chest. "But you'll always be here to correct me on these things, won't you?"

"Of course," he promised, words a low rumble and she sighed, pleased. Nonetheless he would infiltrate RoostClan's territory again tomorrow and would likely have to make an attempt on Goldenheart life. They had shared too much with the enemy and not enough with the Clan - a spy who had gone double-agent. It was no matter - it was all for her. Everything was for her now. Everything he did - the infiltration, the rogue missions, the search and rescue, all of it was to preserve a better status of life for her and their Clan. "And the next time I return, I'll show you that lilac bush - you'll love it, I swear."

She hummed - a warm exhale that brushed along her fur - before she pulls back and smiled. "I'd love that."

I love you, is what he planned to say, down by that lilac bush, with ever fibre of my being that I wasn't aware I even had. You could be the north star - I would follow you always.

He never did manage to say those words. Instead, what he pointed to and muttered the name of was another constellation and her eyes tracked the skies while he watched her and only her.

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Batkit was small. He felt tiny among his paws - a small weight, barely more than a leaf and all the same he was perfect. He was tucked in between the curve of his massive paws - paws that were once so clumsy, even back when he had held Sorrelwish but she had laughed it off and now - he was so afraid to break the kit. Batkit kept quiet, his eyes shut tight and breathing slow and steady. Swiftcreek shivered and not all of it due to his injuries. He was retrieved successfully from the failed recon mission, three moons later, and he had been worse for wear. An eye swollen shut, a dislocated shoulder, fractured hip and numerous bruises tinged his skin yellow beneath the thick of his fur. Ashswoop had been kind about it, even though his eye was nothing but a gaped wound and his tongue nearly cut to shreds for spreading lies. RoostClan had never liked outerClanners in their territory, even hostages that they planned to swap out. Still, Ashswoop was as honest as they came and when he slunk to Swiftcreek's side, his other bruised eye heavily-lidded and a tremor to his gaze - unsteady and unfocused, his pupil slid in the opposite direction, enough for the younger warrior to suggest, "Maybe you're the one who needs to stay here."

"And you shouldn't," Ashswoop agreed, but his tone is serious. He has never spoken a lie to him.

"Ashswoop?" he prompted, confused and drugged. Worry came a seconds too late and it seemed to be well met - the silver tom grimaced an apology after apology rained down from his lips. It's garbled words, almost incoherent but Ashswoop has never told him a lie and what he told him was this: "She moved on." It does not take long for him to figure who he meant.

"When?"

"Not long after you were pronounced dead - it was so long, Swiftcreek. She made up with Stonebark - has a son named Batkit."

He could have been mine. Instead, what he stated with an air of solemnity was, "Three moons."

"Yes."

"Three ... moons." Ashswoop made a small noise of comfort. It did little to help. Swiftcreek heard thunder in his blood - a landslide behind his heart, a skipped beat, a loose cannon. Everything slid out from beneath his paws - he swayed when he got up and Ashswoop did not move to help him. He had to stand on his own, to accept this fate. "Three moons," he whispered, horrified and awed and - something tore at him then. Something sharp that nipped and dragged him down - he felt as though he couldn't breathe. He blinked at Ashswoop with a confused haze, a sway to his step. Ashswoop stepped aside and bowed his head, a deep arc to his shoulders and a somber sway to his tail.

The nursery is only a couple turns down the cave and he was there too quickly and not quick enough. Sorrelwish stared up at him when he stood - towered - in the doorway. Her eyes were hooded and sad and she ducked her head down when he approached. She refused to look him in the eyes and he didn't blame her - it stung all the same and the warped and ugly feeling in his chest grew.

"I want to see him," he whispered.

"You shouldn't be out of the medicine cat den," she replied, equally as quiet, but her eyes flick up to him and she steps to the side - a low bend to her back of defeat and her paws heavy on the ground. "His name is Batkit." Those words are damning and he glanced at her - not quite betrayed but the feeling was as heavy. He glanced back and past the curls of the nest - Batkit was small, or perhaps he looked that way because no littermates sprawled out beside him. He looked much like Rowanpatch did when he was a kit and Swiftcreek's mouth grew dry at the thought.

"I want to hold him," the words come out slow and sluggish and she made no motion of protest. "Can I?" Her voice was solemn in agreement and the nest too small for his frame but he makes it work and he tucks the kit along the dips of his paws. I could love him, the thought came too slow but it came all the same and lingered. Like he was my own. I could steal him - and you - away and love you both, if that was all it took to survive. If you could survive off of love alone you would prosper and be gods. Instead, he pressed his nose to the kits cheek and breathed him in. Even his scent was familiar. All of it was Sorrelwish and nothing like Stonebark. Where is he? Who dares to leave their mate and child like this? I would have treated you better. But the thought is cut short with a, But you didn't want better, you wanted him. I can't compete with that. Your affections will lie where they will.

"Three moons," is what he said finally - nothing that could have changed her mind because he didn't want to try. She had made her choice and he would not tear her from it. Her eyes are wide, infinite spheres of starlight, broken promises and words left unsaid in the dark of night. I loved you, is what he thought but didn't say.

"I'm sorry," she answered, as if it answered anything. Perhaps it did. He closed his eyes for a moment - the words helped alleviate the sting but it didn't soothe the wound. He exhaled.

Swiftcreek peered down at this child - this kit that looked so much like her. The tufts of her fur, the texture, the tone of his coat, the dark blush of coconut that was the colour of their eyelashes. The same shade for their nose, the long whiskers, the dangle of his paws - the way he kicked in his sleep, the curl of his tail. Even the way he arched his foot and parted his jaws - not quite a snore but not sleep-chatter either. All of it was Sorrelwish. But if he looked beyond that, he could see the healthy weight to his cheeks, the familiar sway of his chest and the way his body folded. Even the lines of his ears rang a familiar tune in his heart. Swiftcreek let out a choked sob. He saw what he wanted and nothing more. "He could have been ours," he said, and the words are chopped and broken and barely coherent but it's enough for her face to crumple. Swiftcreek never would have wanted to see that expression on her face - he'd have expected himself to be bitter, to hate her for her choice to move on so quickly, her neglect to wait for him, for his body to be retrieved at the very least. He'd have wanted her to paint him. Instead, all he felt was pity for the kit that nestled among his paws. The kit who looked so much like her, the one who he wanted to believe so desperately could have, at one point, looked like him.

"I'm sorry," is what she said and her expression broke. Her lip quivered and her ears flattened and she tucked her chin to her chest.

Swiftcreek opened his jaw - a slow crick from the tension and he finally voiced the words that he couldn't bring himself to say before: "I love you." Her expression folded and so did her spine - it was awesome in the terror that those three little words did. He did not say them to spite her, but as a goodbye to another chapter in his life. He was not surprised that it turned out as it did but it hurt all the same - he had wished for a better ending. One that had involved him. "Everything I had done, it was for you." He kept his gaze steady on her until she could look up through those lashes he had grown so familiar with and his voice was barely above a whisper as he added, "You had been the one thought that had kept me going there. And now, you will be the one who lets me move on. I love you, but I - have to let you go. I'm sorry. But I also know you're happier without me."

"Excuse me," is all she has to say, her voice broken and her gaze shattered. She left and she took his phantom heart with her.

He turned back to the kit. So small, so seemingly insignificant. "I love your mother very much," he told him. Batkit wriggled in his sleep in response, then yawned with a wide parting of his jaws. Swiftcreek felt a fond, sad smile touch the corners of his lips. "And I think I could love you, too. Batkit - what a name, hmm? Such a ferocious creature, you'll be a fine cat someday, won't you? I only pray that I can be there to see it. I'll protect you for as long as I can, though, I swear." He paused, then nudged the kit with his nose. The kit swatted at him and then blinked at him with eyes beaded with sleep. "Ah, there's those eyes - such a charming young tom. So handsome. Just like your momma. You'll be a cat killer, won't you be?" Batkit cooed and he smiled. Something in his chest beat painfully. He could almost breathe easier. "Okay, bud, how about a promise?" he paused, as if to wait for Batkit's agreement and when the tom gurgled in response, he flicked an ear and nudged his paws - a bounce that the ginger tom delighted in and squealed happily over. "You like that, do you? Alright." He did it again until Gigglekit seemed a suitable name change for him - that or Flailkit. His paws swatted at the air, white shapes of a chubby kit. His heart, although it ached, swelled at the sight. "When you get older, and if I'm still kickin', I'll show you this place - it's a good place. Your momma was going to love it and I'm sure you will too - it's a lilac bush, and it's just gorgeous." He rattled off little stories, visions of lilac bushes and moths taking flight and stars that light up the night. Above all else, he told Batkit about his mother.

And later, when the moons bled into a year, up on that very same hill, Swiftcreek would point out the constellation of Pegasus to Batpaw.