Darkness

Beartooth can't remember ever being scared of much. He'd had a reputation among his Clan, and it wasn't one that had been earned frivolously - he was fearless, hard-working, possibly the most accomplished warrior around. Other cats often told him he deserved to be deputy, and any day now, he would get there. As soon as Maplebark died. As soon as Wolfstar died.

But Beartooth had never exactly been ambitious enough to covet the deputy's position; at least, not in the right ways. He felt ambition, of course. One didn't crawl out of his nest and scout out enough tiny scraps of fur to feed the entire apprentice's den without ambition. But he didn't want to lead them. He felt loyalty to the Clan only tangentially. These cats had been his family for his entire life, and he cared about them deeply, but being the one in charge of them, the one they fell back on and whom they placed their lives in his paws - it just wasn't for him. And besides, leading would've cut severely into his quiet time. One of his favourite things was to get away for a while, trek out towards the pine forest in the dead of night and let the local bats swoop down to take bits and scraps he'd saved for them from his own meals. Bats were quite remarkable - and they seemed quite affectionate once he'd done this over a few moons. They'd cling to his fur, chirping quips he would never understand. But he would listen, content in the snow, wrapped in the darkness like a cool blanket as he stared up at the stars.

But things change. Beartooth isn't exactly sure how long it's been. Since he saw his real friends and family - not the cheap replicas that whispered past him every now and again, through the mist of this wretched forest. Since he saw the stars, even. His bats had followed him that night, when the forest had called his name, the words seeming to worm their way into his brain like a gentle, muddling fog. Part of him was glad - he could still feel their tiny claws gripping his fur, hanging on as if they would never find him again if they let go. Maybe they wouldn't. But he felt bad as well, for trapping them here with them, sealing them to this fate. He wasn't even sure why he deserved this fate, really.

The darkness used to be a great comfort to Beartooth. An escape, from the busyness from Clan life, and a stabilizing comfort that he knew would always be there, that he could always return to when things got tough. In the darkness, he could truly breath.

But here... here, the darkness was suffocating. It never ended, no matter where he looked, where he went. He wasn't sure he would ever escape, or see the stars, or the light ever again. Never escaping the dark, never becoming free once again... it was his greatest fear.