Chapter 7 — Whispers and Claws

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Chapter 7
Whispers and Claws

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♣

The ThunderClan camp began to dissolve into activity.

Warriors departed in different directions, patrols formed and organized with a precision that only duty could impose. Fireheart walked alongside Sandstorm, both followed by a pair of apprentices with their tails raised, excited to train.

The sandy-furred cat trotted beside him with a slight smile, her eyes shining every time she glanced at him. Her step was agile, and although she didn’t say anything, the movement of her tail spoke for her: she wanted to be close.

Longtail, as he moved away from the northern entrance of the camp, cast a sidelong glance towards them.

Sandstorm has always been direct. Too much, sometimes.

He flicked his tail once, a slight shake that dispersed the thought before it took too much root.

Beside him, Lostface walked in silence. Her body was discreet, withdrawn, as if she tried to make less noise with her paws. The forest welcomed them with cool shadows and the soft crunch of dry leaves, but the silence between them was denser than any breeze.

“Where do we start?” she finally asked, her voice faint, as if she didn’t want to disturb with her mere existence.

Longtail didn’t look at her. He just snorted lightly, without sarcasm.

“Follow me. I know the way.”

And he did.

He led her through intertwined roots and bushes speckled by the low rays of the sun. The forest’s moisture brushed their fur, but the route was quiet, without recent traces of intruders. Still, Longtail remained alert, his ears turning to every sound.

They walked like that for a while. Without talking.

Until the silence began to weigh.

And Longtail, who knew heavy silences, decided to speak first.

“Did you know that when I was an apprentice, I got lost in this part of the forest?”

Lostface blinked, somewhat bewildered.

“Really?”

“I had my nose so deep in a badger’s trail that I didn’t notice I had separated from my mentor. I ended up trapped between some brambles near the old rabbit burrow. I spent the whole night there.”

Lostface tilted her head, interested despite herself.

“And how did you get out?”

“A ShadowClan apprentice found me. We looked at each other for an hour. Then he left without saying anything. I suppose he spared my life. The next morning, a patrol found me asleep on top of a branch, all full of thorns.”

She let out a small laugh, very soft, almost as if she were afraid to let it escape. But it sounded genuine.

“That sounds… quite pathetic.”

“It was,” said Longtail with a resigned growl. “But no one knew, because the patrol that found me didn’t say anything. I suppose they didn’t want to admit they had lost me too.”

Lostface laughed a little more, covering herself with her tail as if the simple act of laughing was a daring move.

“I suppose it’s easy to get lost if you don’t have someone following you.”

“Or if you don’t want to be found.”

Both walked a few more steps.

The borders were approaching, marked by the scent of ThunderClan mixed with the moisture of the boundary. Longtail sniffed quickly, identifying traces of ShadowClan, but nothing fresh. Still, he rubbed his flank against a trunk, leaving his scent.

Lostface imitated him, somewhat clumsy at first, but without him mentioning it.

“You’re better than you appear,” he commented, without looking at her.

“Huh?”

“You don’t follow me like an apprentice. You know how to move. Silent, precise.”

She lowered her gaze.

“I just try not to bother.”

Longtail stopped and looked at her.

“Stop saying that. If you were in the way, I’d let you know.”

Lostface tensed, but then nodded. It wasn’t a soft compliment. But it came from Longtail, and that was already much more than she had received lately.

“Thank you… I suppose.”

Fortunately, the forest was quiet.

Branches cracked under their paws, but the sound was soft, absorbed by the thickness of the moss covering the ground. The elongated shadows of the trees enveloped them as they walked near the border, in a comfortable silence that began to settle between the two.

Lostface approached one of the nearest trees. She stopped for a few seconds, sniffed carefully, and then left her mark, rubbing her side and urinating carefully to reinforce the boundary. When she finished, she stepped back two paces, looking at him with her tail slightly lowered, awaiting approval.

Longtail did the same on a nearby trunk, turning his head towards her as he finished.

“This is harder work than some think,” he murmured. “But it’s lucky you weren’t assigned anything today. You were free, so you saved me from doing all this alone.”

Lostface nodded slowly.

“Anyway… there was no one else left.”

Longtail snorted softly, without sarcasm, just a low sound of disagreement.

“Even if there was someone else, it wouldn’t help,” he said in a flat voice. “I don’t get along with almost anyone around here. They all think they’re better for some reason. But you…”

He paused, and the silence seemed to fill with thorns.

“You’re quiet.”

Lostface lowered her ears, unsure if it was a criticism or a compliment. The habit of interpreting everything as negative was hard to break.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered without looking at him.

Longtail growled slightly, turning his head towards another tree further ahead.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not bad to be quiet. Sometimes, silence is the only thing that doesn’t lie in this Clan.”

She looked at him, still not fully understanding.

Then he added, in the same low tone, as if talking to himself:

“And having someone pretty around once in a while doesn’t bother me either…”

Lostface blinked.

Once. Twice. Three times.

She wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly.

“What did you say?” she asked, tilting her head. Her heart gave a confused leap.

Longtail snorted again, this time louder.

“Mark that tree over there,” he ordered brusquely, pointing with his tail. “I told you not to bother me or I won’t hunt anything for you.”

Lostface, without saying anything more, obeyed with a mix of bewilderment and a warm pang in her chest that she didn’t know how to accommodate.

She headed towards the indicated tree, the buzz of Longtail’s words still pulsing in her ears.

In the distance, among the trees, cheers of encouragement, quick instructions, and the brief clash of bodies in training could be heard. They were the apprentices. Their voices were recognizable even without seeing them: nervous, enthusiastic, somewhat clumsy.

Longtail, upon hearing the noise, raised his tail in a halt signal.

“Stop,” he told Lostface without turning his head.

She, who had been following him with light steps and her body low, stopped immediately.

“Are those the apprentices?” she whispered, tilting an ear towards the sound.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone drier than usual. “They’re in the training area near the fern clearing. We’re taking another path.”

Lostface nodded, without asking more. She followed him in silence as they turned towards a less traveled route, where the sunlight filtered with greater difficulty through the branches, and the air smelled more of damp earth than fresh herbs.

The silence fell between them again, but it was no longer uncomfortable. Despite Longtail’s reserved nature, Lostface noticed something different. Not warmth, exactly. But yes… tolerance. Consideration. A kind of discreet respect, hard to earn and even harder to maintain.

She had followed him throughout the patrol, obedient, without complaining. And he, for his part, had not reprimanded her. He had not pushed her away. Not once had he looked at her with pity.

That feeling clung to her chest like warm moss.

She dared.

“Why are you being so…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t know what word to use. Kind didn’t fit. Different was too vague.

Longtail didn’t respond.

He kept walking.

“I mean… you’re not like this with everyone,” she continued, more in an attempt to understand than to bother him. “Even the other warriors say you prefer to hunt alone.”

“Yes,” he finally replied. “Because I don’t like stupidity.”

“And I’m not stupid?” she asked, half in jest, half seriously.

Longtail stopped for a second. He looked at her sideways.

“No. You’re quiet, you work without complaining… and you don’t think you’re better than others just because you know how to mark a tree.”

Lostface blinked. It was the closest to a compliment she had received in many moons. Though, coming from Longtail, that harsh tone of voice was still laden with sincerity.

They continued walking, now closer to the border with the fallen trees. The marks they had left were clear. There were still a couple of points to check before returning.

But the silence returned.

This time, denser.

More full of unsaid things.

And Lostface broke it again.

“What do you think of Mistyfoot?”

Longtail didn’t respond.

She looked at him sideways.

“About her staying in our Clan, I mean.”

Longtail walked a few more steps. Then he stopped.

He turned his back to her while sniffing the base of a bush. There were no enemy traces. Nothing new. Nothing out of place. Still, he took his time.

“She shouldn’t be here,” he said finally.

Lostface nodded but didn’t add anything.

Longtail continued speaking, his voice lower and somewhat harsher than before.

“It’s not about her. It’s because no one is saying things as they are. Everyone knows. But they pretend they don’t.”

“You mean the part about her being…”

“Bluestar’s daughter. Yes.”

Lostface opened her muzzle but didn’t say anything.

The weight of that revelation—though she already knew—still had that effect. It was like a stone thrown into a river that didn’t dare to stir its waters.

“And that bothers you?” she asked.

“I don’t like secrets being treated as if they were part of the territory,” he murmured. “In the long run, they rot. And they drag everything with them.”

There was no hatred in his voice. No disdain. It was… concern.

Lostface lowered her gaze to the ground.

“I suppose sometimes secrets are the only way to move forward.”

Longtail turned to look at her.

“And what do you know about that?”

She looked at him too.

The marked part of her face didn’t tremble. But the other side, the intact one, showed an old sadness. One that no longer needed words to explain itself.

“I know enough,” she whispered.

Longtail walked with a steady pace, his paws pushing aside dry leaves and fallen branches with some roughness. The sound of the forest was faint at that hour, barely the whisper of a gentle breeze among the trees, as if everything around him held its breath.

“After all,” he said suddenly, without changing his pace, “it’s just a supposition. No one has confirmed anything.”

Lostface looked at him, still processing the conversation he had initiated minutes earlier. He didn’t seem to want to dwell on what he had said, but neither did he hide that something more was brewing inside him.

“If Mistyfoot is really Bluestar’s daughter,” he continued, “then maybe Tigerclaw was right. Maybe he would have been a better leader.”

Lostface stumbled slightly over a root but regained her step. The surprise froze her throat.

“What…? Tigerclaw tried to kill Bluestar!” she exclaimed in a low voice, though her tone vibrated with incredulity.

Longtail just moved an ear.

“Yes. But at least he didn’t break the code by falling in love with a cat from another Clan. That’s punishable by StarClan. And on top of that… a cat who did that ended up as our leader.”

His words were harsh. Cold.

Lostface lowered her ears.

Not because she didn’t understand what he was saying, but because… a part of her was starting to believe it too.

“Don’t you see that it’s wrong?” Longtail insisted, finally stopping. “We spend our lives training, risking ourselves, following the code to the letter. And yet… the cat who breaks it big time ends up with everything.”

Lostface lowered her gaze.

She had no answers.

Only discomfort.

“But…” she finally said, her voice softer than ever, “it’s just a possibility. Nothing confirms it. No one has heard Bluestar say it.”

Longtail narrowed his eyes, looking at her with a hint of irritation.

“And you think she would admit it, huh?”

The silence fell between them for a few seconds.

Then he snorted.

“The only way to know… would be if she said it herself. And I highly doubt she will.”

Lostface said nothing. She didn’t know what to say. There was something dangerous in the way he spoke. Something tense, accumulated, like a log about to break under the pressure of the wind.

“And if she did?” she finally asked, unable to help herself. “What would you gain by knowing that Bluestar is Mistyfoot’s mother?”

Longtail took a moment to respond. His body was turned away from her, his back straight, his fur ruffled by the breeze. He seemed like a statue.

When he turned, his eyes shone differently.

“I would propose myself as leader of the Clan.”

Lostface looked at him, stunned.

It wasn’t a joke. It didn’t sound like one.

“You…?”

“Yes. And I would make sure things were different.”

“Different how?” she asked, taking a step forward.

Longtail looked at her, but his gaze wasn’t arrogant. It wasn’t the gaze of a cat who desired power out of ambition. There was something darker. Something more bitter.

“Different,” he repeated, lower. “At least I wouldn’t leave any cat behind. No matter their condition.”

The silence became dense again.

Lostface felt something in her chest. Something heavy. His words still hung in the air, floating among their invisible scars. Because she understood. Because what he was saying… he was saying it for her too.

And for the first time, without knowing exactly why, she wished he wasn’t lying.

At that hour, the wind barely blew, and the sounds of the nearby apprentice patrol had been left behind, muffled by distance and the thickness of the forest.

Longtail was still ahead, his step firm, the trail of his scent marking the path with precision. But something changed, almost imperceptibly. A slight rustle of leaves at his side, a closer breath. And then, he noticed.

Lostface was walking beside him.

Not behind. Not several steps back, as before. But at his flank, matching the rhythm of his strides.

And purring.

Longtail turned his head, bewildered. The sound was low, contained, as if she didn’t want to be heard too loudly, but it was there. Authentic. Soft. A purr that ruffled his fur a bit, more out of surprise than anything else.

The cat looked ahead, her expression calm, her eyes focused but relaxed. She didn’t seem to have noticed that he was watching her. Or maybe she did… but she didn’t care.

Longtail flicked an ear, still puzzled. Why this sudden good mood? Had she liked his declaration about being a leader? He had said it more as a harsh truth, not as a comfort. And yet, there she was, walking more upright, more firm, without the usual shadow hunching her shoulders.

A part of him felt… satisfied.

The other, a bit uncomfortable.

Longtail looked ahead again and focused on his task.

“We’re going to circle the rocky clearing,” he said, marking a new trunk to his right with a brief rub of his flank. “That’s the final point before returning.”

Lostface nodded without losing her rhythm.

“Are there any dens over there?”

“Not that I know of. But some foxes have marked nearby in past moons. Better to make sure.”

They walked among gnarled roots and small ferns that bent under their steps. Birds sang in the distance, without alarm. Everything seemed calm. And, for the first time in a long time, Longtail felt that a patrol wasn’t a burden. He didn’t have to talk too much, he didn’t have to endure unnecessary meows or pretend interest in the empty chatter of other warriors.

Lostface didn’t say anything… but her mere presence had a soothing effect.

As they approached the next group of trees, she stepped slightly ahead and marked one with a more agile movement than before. She didn’t stumble. She didn’t look at him expecting approval.

She just did it.

Longtail watched her out of the corner of his eye, saying nothing. Then he marked his own, turning around the trunk.

“Not bad,” he murmured.

“What thing?”

“Having you close,” he growled, as if he didn’t want to admit it too loudly. “It doesn’t weigh on me.”

Lostface didn’t respond with words. But her purr increased slightly.

And both continued forward.

One beside the other.

Ensuring that the clan was well protected, against any threat that might be near.