Chapter 8 — Fox and Guilt

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Chapter 8
Fox and Guilt

╚─── ¤ ◎ ¤ ───╝

♣

The leaves crunched under their paws as they walked among tall trees, the scent of nearby dens permeating the fresh air.

The sunlight filtered through the branches, casting irregular shadows on the backs of Cloudtail and Darkstripe. Both advanced towards the southern end of the territory, where the patrol had tasked them with checking a possible fox den.

Cloudtail was slightly ahead, his pace a bit faster than necessary, but not so much as to draw attention. His thoughts weighed heavily in his mind, though his face tried not to betray them.

“So…,” meowed Darkstripe in a casual, almost lazy tone, “how is Mistyfoot?”

Cloudtail barely turned his ear, not looking at him.

“What?”

“The injured cat,” clarified Darkstripe, with a barely perceptible smile. “I could barely get a look at her. Is she better now?”

Cloudtail growled softly, pretending he was only thinking about her health.

“She’s just a warrior with an injured paw. But I’m sure she’ll get better soon. Nothing our medicine cat can’t handle.”

Darkstripe let out a dry purr, a joyless laugh.

“I wasn’t talking about that,” he said. “I mean, how pretty is she?”

Cloudtail tensed.

The fur on his back bristled slightly, but he hid it well. He just lowered his head a bit, moving a step faster. He didn’t respond.

“I saw you, you know?” continued Darkstripe in a lower tone, approaching his flank. “You went into the den where she rests. You stayed there a good while. What were you doing?”

Cloudtail let out a light, nervous laugh, more to divert the conversation than out of real humor.

“We were just talking,” he replied.

“Mmm… sure,” murmured Darkstripe, purring louder. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

Cloudtail clenched his teeth but didn’t respond.

“I mean,” continued Darkstripe with a twisted smile, “it’s not like cats from other clans are immune to the charm of a good warrior. It must have been nice to have some different company, right?”

Cloudtail kept walking. He didn’t look back. But his paws stepped harder.

“Anyway,” added Darkstripe, “I hope she leaves soon. No matter how good she is, she’s still a risk. If someone from RiverClan finds out we’re taking care of her like this, we could get caught in a bunch of accusations. Is it worth it?”

Cloudtail’s silence was denser this time. Only the crackling of branches under their paws broke the tension.

Darkstripe noticed. And he didn’t stop.

“Though, of course,” he added in a lower, almost intimate tone, “it would also be interesting to see how far you can go with her. To see if one day, when no one’s looking, she lifts her tail and we can…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Cloudtail’s tail struck his muzzle firmly.

The blow wasn’t violent. There were no claws. But the gesture was clear.

Silence.

Darkstripe froze, his eyes wide for a moment, perplexed by the sudden reaction.

Cloudtail looked at him sideways. His eyes, usually bright and proud, were now ice. Fixed. Serious.

There was no fury.

Just a firm line he didn’t intend to let them cross.

“Did I anger you?” asked Darkstripe after pushing the tail away with a low growl.

Cloudtail didn’t respond. He just sighed.

And raised his chin, pointing with it to the semi-hidden entrance of a den surrounded by branches and displaced earth.

They had arrived.

Darkstripe narrowed his eyes, annoyed, but contained any other comment. He observed the hole cautiously, the recent fox trail still fresh in the ground.

Cloudtail advanced first, without looking back.

But in his mind, the image of Mistyfoot was still there, floating with the same calm with which he saw her sleeping in the den.

And the memory of Darkstripe trying to reduce her to a vulgar comment ignited something deep, a spark he had no intention of extinguishing.

The forest became denser near the den. The shadows tightened among exposed roots, and the smell… that fox smell was getting stronger. Pungent, harsh, penetrating. A scent that bristled the fur by instinct.

Cloudtail crouched and advanced stealthily, his whiskers extended, each step measured. Beside him, Darkstripe sniffed the air without as much caution, with the sullen expression of someone more interested in finishing than in doing it well.

“It’s fresh,” murmured Cloudtail, narrowing his eyes as he approached the den entrance. “There are foxes here. Recently.”

Darkstripe snorted with disdain.

“Then let’s make it quick. I can already imagine how good a warm stone under the sun would feel right now.”

The hole in front of them was narrow, bordered by displaced earth and crushed grass. The entrance had recent marks, small claws and drag marks. Young foxes. Cubs.

Cloudtail leaned in further and carefully put his head inside. The air was warm and dense inside the den. He blinked to get used to the dim light and then he saw them.

Two fox cubs, curled up against each other at the back of the tunnel, asleep. Their reddish fur was covered in dust, and one of them had its paw resting on the other’s back.

Cloudtail backed out.

“There are two. Asleep.”

“And the parents?” asked Darkstripe, sharpening his gaze.

“I don’t see them. But they could return at any moment.”

Darkstripe didn’t wait any longer. He stepped forward, snorting with impatience, and crouched in front of the tunnel.

“I’m not going to stay and watch while the foxes become a problem. Hopefully, just scaring them off will be enough.”

“It’s a risk,” warned Cloudtail.

“Everything we do is a risk,” replied Darkstripe with a growl. “But leaving a live den right here, in Clan territory, that’s stupid.”

And without waiting another second, he put a paw inside the den, feeling carefully. Soon his claws hooked into the fur of one of the cubs and he pulled it out.

The little fox screamed instantly, a sharp and desperate sound that tore through the forest’s silence.

Cloudtail tensed at the sound. His fur bristled completely.

“Not so hard!” he growled, looking around. “You’re going to call the parents. And if they’re nearby…”

“Then move,” Darkstripe released the struggling cub. “Scare it. Make it run and ensure it doesn’t come back.”

The little fox tried to crawl away, whimpering, still too small to defend itself or even understand.

Cloudtail watched it with a frown. His mind thought of Mistyfoot for a moment, her injured body, how vulnerable she had seemed the first time he saw her lying down, defenseless.

And then he returned to the scene in front of him.

A fox cub, as young as an apprentice, thrown into the wilderness.

But they couldn’t leave it there.

They had to act.

“I’ll take care of the other one,” said Cloudtail.

He entered the den more carefully, held the second cub by the scruff—without digging in his claws—and gently dragged it out of the tunnel. This one also screamed, wriggling, but without real strength.

“Now drive them away from the territory!” he growled. “Towards the ravine. Make them fall on the side where they can’t return.”

Darkstripe rolled his eyes but nodded, taking the first cub by the scruff.

“At least they’re lighter than a fat mouse.”

Both began to drag the little foxes towards the steepest limit of the border, attentive to the slightest rustle among the bushes.

The bushes swayed with every step they took, branches tearing through the air with brief crackles as the sun began to descend among the trees, casting elongated shadows that seemed to move around them. Cloudtail advanced in long strides, the little fox hanging by the scruff between his jaws. The cub’s shriek vibrated between his teeth, sharp, constant.

Behind him, Darkstripe dragged the other, with less delicacy and without worrying about the noise. They moved fast, but not fast enough. The forest seemed to close in on their path.

And the smell… the smell of adult fox was getting stronger.

Cloudtail felt his fur bristle, not from the cold, but from the pressure. The foxes could be nearby. Very close. A single roar from the bushes could turn things deadly.

I don’t want to fight a fox today. Not two.

He turned his head, but saw nothing beyond motionless trees and branches swaying in the wind.

“Where is that damn ravine?” he growled softly, without releasing the cub. “You said it was close.”

Darkstripe spat out a harsh laugh as he stepped firmly on the damp earth.

“It was close. If we had gone straight, yes. But we took a detour with those shrieks and now the parents are surely following the trail.”

Cloudtail twitched an ear. The air behind them vibrated. He hadn’t seen the foxes yet, but his instinct told him time was short.

“We have to do this quickly,” said Cloudtail, more to himself than to his companion.

“Or change the plan,” replied Darkstripe, turning to the right and sniffing the wind. “What if we leave them at the border?”

“The border with what?”

“The River Clan.”

Cloudtail stopped. The cub he carried wriggled between his jaws.

“Are you crazy?”

Darkstripe turned, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“Why? It would be a good gift for them, don’t you think? Imagine: fox cubs near their camp. Maybe even within their territory. It’s not our problem if they can’t defend themselves.”

Cloudtail clenched his teeth.

Something in his stomach twisted.

It wasn’t just about the plan. It was about what it evoked.

The River Clan. Mistyfoot. Her Clan.

A gust of her scent crossed his mind, so vivid he almost believed he had her close again, talking to him with that voice he still heard in his most recent memories.

“What do you say?” insisted Darkstripe. “Are you in or not? Answer me, quick. The parents’ smell is getting stronger.”

Cloudtail swallowed. He looked at the cub between his paws. It trembled.

It’s not your fault. You don’t know what you are. You’re just following those who brought you into the world.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, seeking clarity in the chaos.

But he found nothing.

Only the weight of urgency, of the possible fight if he didn’t decide.

And of the judgment if he did.

“…It’s okay,” he murmured. “Let’s go.”

Darkstripe smiled. A twisted, satisfied smile.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

And they ran.

Through bushes and roots, jumping over fallen trunks and broken branches, they followed the slope towards the eastern boundary, where the river’s scent began to mix with that of the forest.

The water reached their hind paws as they carefully ventured into the River Clan’s territory. The river flowed with gentle strength, whispering among stones and roots, hiding beneath its music the gravity of what they were doing. The fox Cloudtail carried wriggled weakly between his jaws, its fur soaked and its body trembling with each abrupt movement.

Cloudtail’s heart beat strongly.

They weren’t marking the boundaries.

They were crossing them.

And not just in territory.

They were getting into where no cat should. In the shadows between what was right… and what was useful.

Darkstripe advanced ahead of him, with decisive steps. Though soaked up to his belly, he seemed completely comfortable in the transgression.

“There are recent tracks here,” growled Cloudtail in a low voice, stopping to smell a half-submerged rock. “Stonefur. He was here recently.”

Darkstripe didn’t turn around. He just flicked his tail impatiently.

“Then hurry. We don’t want to run into any river cats, right? We go in and out. Quick.”

Cloudtail swallowed.

His white fur dripped cold water, clinging to his ribs. His paws were already trembling, and not just from the cold.

“Look for a den,” continued Darkstripe. “As close to the center as you can. Hopefully, the parents of these cubs will follow the trail here. And when the River Clan finds them… well, we’ll have done half the work.”

He laughed under his breath. A dry sound, without a hint of humor.

Cloudtail didn’t respond.

He advanced a few more steps, dodging a group of tall rushes. And then he saw it: an old den half-covered by willow roots. It wasn’t deep, but it would do.

He crouched, placed the cub gently inside, and then backed away. The other, which Darkstripe carried reluctantly, was thrown in with a snort.

The shrieks of the two little foxes were weaker now. Tired. Hungry. Scared.

Cloudtail looked at them.

Then he closed his eyes.

What am I doing?

“Ready?” murmured Darkstripe behind him. “Now we have the rest of the day free. Do you realize? This was easier than I expected. No need to dirty our claws if others can do it for you.”

Cloudtail clenched his teeth. A cold sweat ran down his neck, though the water already soaked him. The knot in his stomach didn’t loosen. He didn’t know if it was from anger, remorse… or the fear of having agreed.

Then he heard it.

A crack of branches. Quick. Close.

Steps.

Cats!

Both turned their heads at the same time. The scent came with the wind: RiverClan.

“Let’s go!” whispered Darkstripe, already turning around.

Cloudtail didn’t argue.

They ran. The water splashed with each leap. They didn’t look back. They just ran, with their chests tight, their hearts pounding in their ears, and the buzz of remorse embedding deeper with each stride.

The water splashed with each stride. Cloudtail’s paws barely grazed the muddy ground as he ran after Darkstripe, who advanced with relentless agility, almost with joy. The sun filtered through the trees like blades of light, flickering in their eyes, dazzling them at times.

Behind them, the River Clan’s territory receded quickly. And yet, not as fast as Cloudtail would have wanted.

“Can you imagine?” Darkstripe laughed between gasps. “The next gathering will be fun! Foxes in River Clan territory… maybe even within their camp. Let’s see how they explain that.”

Cloudtail didn’t answer.

The water soaked his paws and chest. But that wasn’t what bothered him. It was the weight on his chest, the buzzing in his ears, the memory of the fox cubs’ shrieks, of Mistyfoot’s fragile gaze when she woke up in the den, trusting him. As if that hadn’t already been madness.

And then he heard it.

A voice.

Distant, muffled by the distance and the forest. But so clear that it made him stop suddenly, with his heart racing.

“Mistyfoot?”

Cloudtail turned his neck quickly, his claws digging into the damp ground.

Through the foliage, among the shadows and the undergrowth, a blue-gray figure emerged.

Stonefur.

His firm, upright silhouette crossed between the trees towards the spot where they had just left the foxes.

“Mistyfoot… are you there?”

Stonefur’s voice wasn’t one of alarm. It was one of hope. Of need. And that hit Cloudtail like a claw to the chest.

He swallowed.

His pulse quickened even more.

He wanted to say something. To stop. To shout. Anything.

But his body didn’t obey.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Darkstripe shouted at him, without stopping. “We’re getting our paws wet for nothing!”

Cloudtail clenched his teeth.

And ran faster.

The noise of his run mixed with the pounding of his paws on the moss-covered stones that formed the crossing between the two territories. He jumped from rock to rock, the river water splashing his sides, the reflections of the sky breaking at his feet.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t hear Stonefur’s voice again.

But he carried it embedded in his chest.

Along with the knot of guilt he couldn’t shake off.

Finally, both cats stepped on firm ground on the ThunderClan side.

The forest felt more familiar, safer.

And yet, for Cloudtail… also colder.

They didn’t speak as they ran towards the camp. Darkstripe still smiled, as if they had hunted a juicy prey, while Cloudtail kept his head down, his wet paws marking the path on the soft earth.

Each step took him further away from the place where he had left something.

Something small. Defenseless.

And perhaps… also himself.

The way back to the camp should have been lighter. The sun began to descend among the treetops, dyeing the forest with orange hues and elongated shadows. The song of a robin filtered through the branches, but it wasn’t enough to calm Cloudtail’s mind.

His paws felt heavier with each stride.

The shriek of the fox cubs still hammered his memory.

And the worst was the silence that accompanied him now.

Darkstripe had stopped talking. He no longer joked or laughed as before. He was a few steps ahead, his back straight, his tail slightly agitated, as if he had just returned from a common patrol.

When they stepped into the camp clearing, several heads rose.

“Did you finish with the foxes so quickly?” meowed a queen from the entrance of the nursery.

“Wow,” said a younger warrior, “that was fast. I thought it would take all day.”

Cloudtail lowered his gaze, not responding. He noticed out of the corner of his eye how Darkstripe accepted the praises with a sober smile, and then headed without hurry to the pile of fresh meat, choosing a thrush with the same indifference with which they had left the foxes at the River Clan’s border.

“Relax,” murmured Darkstripe in a low voice, just before moving away. “Surely those river cats can defend themselves. Don’t overthink it.”

Cloudtail didn’t respond. He just stopped for a moment, as if he needed to decide what to do with his body.

He didn’t want to sit and eat. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He didn’t want to be looked at, sought, noticed.

So he turned on his paws, ready to move away a bit from the center of the camp. Maybe towards the shadow of some rock, or towards the edge of the clearing where the trees closed in again and the world seemed less full of eyes.

But as he turned, his nose collided head-on with something warm.

He stepped back, startled, and as he looked up, he saw her.

Lostface.

Her expression was neutral, but her eyes always said more than her muzzle allowed. She held a fresh mouse between her fangs, and her body didn’t move away, even though he had accidentally bumped into her.

Cloudtail looked at her for a second, confused.

His heart was still beating hard. Not because of her, but because of everything that had just happened.

And yet, seeing her there… provoked an unexpected sensation.

Security.

Or maybe something worse: understanding.

He purred softly, trying to sound casual.

“Hello.”

Lostface looked at him. Her response was quieter, a simple head movement, a faint sound muffled by the mouse she carried.

“Hmm…” was all that came out.

There was no joy. No tenderness.

But no contempt either.

Just a courteous, calm cordiality.

Cloudtail tilted his head, feeling a pang he couldn’t name. He remembered for a moment how she had looked at him days before, when he had smiled at her for the first time. As if someone had seen her. As if the world had become less dark.

Now, those eyes weren’t so different… but something had changed.

“Did you hunt that?” he asked, trying to continue the conversation.

Lostface nodded, without taking her eyes off him.

“For the elders,” she murmured, lowering the mouse to the ground carefully.

Cloudtail looked down at the mouse. The fur was still shiny, and the body warm. It was a perfect prey.

“It looks good,” he commented with a slight smile.

Lostface didn’t respond.

She just sat down, grooming a paw while maintaining a distant expression.

Cloudtail wanted to say something more.

Something about foxes. About decisions. About how, sometimes, one crosses boundaries without wanting to, and then there’s no way back.

But he swallowed the words.

Because he knew that, if he spoke now, the only thing he would do was break a silence that was safer than any conversation.

So he just sat down too. Beside her.

Not together.

But close enough to feel that, at least for now… someone else shared his space.

The silence between them became heavier with each passing second. Not uncomfortable… but dense. As if the unsaid words gathered between their paws, preventing any light gesture.

Cloudtail, still sitting next to Lostface, moved his tail slowly on the ground, mentally reviewing everything that had happened since he woke up that morning. The fox cubs. The river. Stonefur’s face calling for Mistyfoot. The echo of his decision still squeezed his chest.

Lostface slightly stood up, the mouse to one side, not yet touching it.

Her eyes remained on him.

“If you want to say something,” she murmured, with a firm tone he didn’t expect, “do it now. I have other things to do.”

Cloudtail blinked, surprised.

It wasn’t her usual tone. There was a new hardness in her voice, dry, direct. As if something had closed between them without him realizing.

The bushes swayed with each step they took, branches tearing through the air with brief crackles as the sun began to descend among the trees, casting elongated shadows that seemed to move around them. Cloudtail advanced in long strides, the little fox hanging by the scruff between his jaws. The cub’s shriek vibrated between his teeth, sharp, constant.

Behind him, Darkstripe dragged the other, with less delicacy and without worrying about the noise. They moved fast, but not fast enough. The forest seemed to close in on their path.

And the smell… the smell of adult fox was getting stronger.

Cloudtail felt his fur bristle, not from the cold, but from the pressure. The foxes could be nearby. Very close. A single roar from the bushes could turn things deadly.

I don’t want to fight a fox today. Not two.

He turned his head, but saw nothing beyond motionless trees and branches swaying in the wind.

“Where is that damn ravine?” he growled softly, without releasing the cub. “You said it was close.”

Darkstripe spat out a harsh laugh as he stepped firmly on the damp earth.

“It was close. If we had gone straight, yes. But we took a detour with those shrieks and now the parents are surely following the trail.”

Cloudtail twitched an ear. The air behind them vibrated. He hadn’t seen the foxes yet, but his instinct told him time was short.

“We have to do this quickly,” said Cloudtail, more to himself than to his companion.

“Or change the plan,” replied Darkstripe, turning to the right and sniffing the wind. “What if we leave them at the border?”

“The border with what?”

“The River Clan.”

Cloudtail stopped. The cub he carried wriggled between his jaws.

“Are you crazy?”

Darkstripe turned, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“Why? It would be a good gift for them, don’t you think? Imagine: fox cubs near their camp. Maybe even within their territory. It’s not our problem if they can’t defend themselves.”

Cloudtail clenched his teeth.

Something in his stomach twisted.

It wasn’t just about the plan. It was about what it evoked.

The River Clan. Mistyfoot. Her Clan.

A gust of her scent crossed his mind, so vivid he almost believed he had her close again, talking to him with that voice he still heard in his most recent memories.

“What do you say?” insisted Darkstripe. “Are you in or not? Answer me, quick. The parents’ smell is getting stronger.”

Cloudtail swallowed. He looked at the cub between his paws. It trembled.

It’s not your fault. You don’t know what you are. You’re just following those who brought you into the world.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, seeking clarity in the chaos.

But he found nothing.

Only the weight of urgency, of the possible fight if he didn’t decide.

And of the judgment if he did.

“…It’s okay,” he murmured. “Let’s go.”

Darkstripe smiled. A twisted, satisfied smile.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

And they ran.

Through bushes and roots, jumping over fallen trunks and broken branches, they followed the slope towards the eastern boundary, where the river’s scent began to mix with that of the forest.

The water reached their hind paws as they carefully ventured into the River Clan’s territory. The river flowed with gentle strength, whispering among stones and roots, hiding beneath its music the gravity of what they were doing. The fox Cloudtail carried wriggled weakly between his jaws, its fur soaked and its body trembling with each abrupt movement.

Cloudtail’s heart beat strongly.

They weren’t marking the boundaries.

They were crossing them.

And not just in territory.

They were getting into where no cat should. In the shadows between what was right… and what was useful.

Darkstripe advanced ahead of him, with decisive steps. Though soaked up to his belly, he seemed completely comfortable in the transgression.

“There are recent tracks here,” growled Cloudtail in a low voice, stopping to smell a half-submerged rock. “Stonefur. He was here recently.”

Darkstripe didn’t turn around. He just flicked his tail impatiently.

“Then hurry. We don’t want to run into any river cats, right? We go in and out. Quick.”

Cloudtail swallowed.

His white fur dripped cold water, clinging to his ribs. His paws were already trembling, and not just from the cold.

“Look for a den,” continued Darkstripe. “As close to the center as you can. Hopefully, the parents of these cubs will follow the trail here. And when the River Clan finds them… well, we’ll have done half the work.”

He laughed under his breath. A dry sound, without a hint of humor.

Cloudtail didn’t respond.

He advanced a few more steps, dodging a group of tall rushes. And then he saw it: an old den half-covered by willow roots. It wasn’t deep, but it would do.

He crouched, placed the cub gently inside, and then backed away. The other, which Darkstripe carried reluctantly, was thrown in with a snort.

The shrieks of the two little foxes were weaker now. Tired. Hungry. Scared.

Cloudtail looked at them.

Then he closed his eyes.

What am I doing?

“Ready?” murmured Darkstripe behind him. “Now we have the rest of the day free. Do you realize? This was easier than I expected. No need to dirty our claws if others can do it for you.”

Cloudtail clenched his teeth. A cold sweat ran down his neck, though the water already soaked him. The knot in his stomach didn’t loosen. He didn’t know if it was from anger, remorse… or the fear of having agreed.

Then he heard it.

A voice.

Distant, muffled by the distance and the forest. But so clear that it made him stop suddenly, with his heart racing.

“Mistyfoot?”

Cloudtail turned his neck quickly, his claws digging into the damp ground.

Through the foliage, among the shadows and the undergrowth, a blue-gray figure emerged.

Stonefur.

His firm, upright silhouette crossed between the trees towards the spot where they had just left the foxes.

“Mistyfoot… are you there?”

Stonefur’s voice wasn’t one of alarm. It was one of hope. Of need. And that hit Cloudtail like a claw to the chest.

He swallowed.

His pulse quickened even more.

He wanted to say something. To stop. To shout. Anything.

But his body didn’t obey.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Darkstripe shouted at him, without stopping. “We’re getting our paws wet for nothing!”

Cloudtail clenched his teeth.

And ran faster.

The noise of his run mixed with the pounding of his paws on the moss-covered stones that formed the crossing between the two territories. He jumped from rock to rock, the river water splashing his sides, the reflections of the sky breaking at his feet.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t hear Stonefur’s voice again.

But he carried it embedded in his chest.

Along with the knot of guilt he couldn’t shake off.

Finally, both cats stepped on firm ground on the ThunderClan side.

The forest felt more familiar, safer.

And yet, for Cloudtail… also colder.

They didn’t speak as they ran towards the camp. Darkstripe still smiled, as if they had hunted a juicy prey, while Cloudtail kept his head down, his wet paws marking the path on the soft earth.

Each step took him further away from the place where he had left something.

Something small. Defenseless.

And perhaps… also himself.

The way back to the camp should have been lighter. The sun began to descend among the treetops, dyeing the forest with orange hues and elongated shadows. The song of a robin filtered through the branches, but it wasn’t enough to calm Cloudtail’s mind.

His paws felt heavier with each stride.

The shriek of the fox cubs still hammered his memory.

And the worst was the silence that accompanied him now.

Darkstripe had stopped talking. He no longer joked or laughed as before. He was a few steps ahead, his back straight, his tail slightly agitated, as if he had just returned from a common patrol.

When they stepped into the camp clearing, several heads rose.

“Did you finish with the foxes so quickly?” meowed a queen from the entrance of the nursery.

“Wow,” said a younger warrior, “that was fast. I thought it would take all day.”

Cloudtail lowered his gaze, not responding. He noticed out of the corner of his eye how Darkstripe accepted the praises with a sober smile, and then headed without hurry to the pile of fresh meat, choosing a thrush with the same indifference with which they had left the foxes at the River Clan’s border.

“Relax,” murmured Darkstripe in a low voice, just before moving away. “Surely those river cats can defend themselves. Don’t overthink it.”

Cloudtail didn’t respond. He just stopped for a moment, as if he needed to decide what to do with his body.

He didn’t want to sit and eat. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He didn’t want to be looked at, sought, noticed.

So he turned on his paws, ready to move away a bit from the center of the camp. Maybe towards the shadow of some rock, or towards the edge of the clearing where the trees closed in again and the world seemed less full of eyes.

But as he turned, his nose collided head-on with something warm.

He stepped back, startled, and as he looked up, he saw her.

Lostface.

Her expression was neutral, but her eyes always said more than her muzzle allowed. She held a fresh mouse between her fangs, and her body didn’t move away, even though he had accidentally bumped into her.

Cloudtail looked at her for a second, confused.

His heart was still beating hard. Not because of her, but because of everything that had just happened.

And yet, seeing her there… provoked an unexpected sensation.

Security.

Or maybe something worse: understanding.

He purred softly, trying to sound casual.

“Hello.”

Lostface looked at him. Her response was quieter, a simple head movement, a faint sound muffled by the mouse she carried.

“Hmm…” was all that came out.

There was no joy. No tenderness.

But no contempt either.

Just a courteous, calm cordiality.

Cloudtail tilted his head, feeling a pang he couldn’t name. He remembered for a moment how she had looked at him days before, when he had smiled at her for the first time. As if someone had seen her. As if the world had become less dark.

Now, those eyes weren’t so different… but something had changed.

“Did you hunt that?” he asked, trying to continue the conversation.

Lostface nodded, without taking her eyes off him.

“For the elders,” she murmured, lowering the mouse to the ground carefully.

Cloudtail looked down at the mouse. The fur was still shiny, and the body warm. It was a perfect prey.

“It looks good,” he commented with a slight smile.

Lostface didn’t respond.

She just sat down, grooming a paw while maintaining a distant expression.

Cloudtail wanted to say something more.

Something about foxes. About decisions. About how, sometimes, one crosses boundaries without wanting to, and then there’s no way back.

But he swallowed the words.

Because he knew that, if he spoke now, the only thing he would do was break a silence that was safer than any conversation.

So he just sat down too. Beside her.

Not together.

But close enough to feel that, at least for now… someone else shared his space.

The silence between them became heavier with each passing second. Not uncomfortable… but dense. As if the unsaid words gathered between their paws, preventing any light gesture.

Cloudtail, still sitting next to Lostface, moved his tail slowly on the ground, mentally reviewing everything that had happened since he woke up that morning. The fox cubs. The river. Stonefur’s face calling for Mistyfoot. The echo of his decision still squeezed his chest.

Lostface slightly stood up, the mouse to one side, not yet touching it.

Her eyes remained on him.

“If you want to say something,” she murmured, with a firm tone he didn’t expect, “do it now. I have other things to do.”

Cloudtail blinked, surprised.

It wasn’t her usual tone. There was a new hardness in her voice, dry, direct. As if something had closed between them without him realizing.

He lowered his ears slowly.

“Are you okay?” he asked, without moving.

Lostface said nothing. She looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide if that question was sincere or just a habit.

Then she averted her gaze to a nearby bush.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Cloudtail hesitated.

But he didn’t want to let it end like that. He still felt he owed something. To her. To himself.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked, in a softer voice. “I was thinking of going to train the apprentices for a while. Or go hunting something. Maybe both things. You could come with me.”

It was a simple invitation.

But he knew that usually made her happy. To get away from the camp, to feel useful, even if it was just a walk to reinforce the boundaries or watch the forest. Sometimes, with her, silence was the most comfortable thing he knew.

And today more than ever, Cloudtail needed to clear his mind. To go out. To run. To feel like a common cat of ThunderClan and not the accomplice of something he still didn’t know if he could forgive himself for.

But before Lostface could respond, she tilted her head.

Her nose twitched slightly.

She smelled something.

Her ears tilted back. Slow. Silent.

The gesture was so minimal that another cat wouldn’t have noticed.

But Cloudtail did.

She was smelling him.

And instantly he understood what she perceived: the scent of the River Clan. Still imbued in his fur. The moss from the other side of the river, the slight trace of moisture that wasn’t from his territory. The trail that the crossing water hadn’t managed to erase completely.

Lostface didn’t say anything.

She just lowered her gaze for a moment, and then, with the same quietness with which she usually lived, she raised it again… different.

There was no longer softness in her eyes.

Just a slight shadow. A disappointment that didn’t even need words.

“No, thank you,” she said.

Her voice was calm, as always. But there was something in it that hurt more than any blunt rejection.

Cloudtail swallowed, about to say something more.

But Lostface was already standing up, taking the mouse between her teeth without looking at him again.

“You should also do your things,” she added, turning around. “It’s noticeable that you’re… busy.”

The final word had an edge.

Without raising her voice. Without anger.

Just a farewell. Brief. Sufficient.

And she left.

Cloudtail didn’t follow her.

He remained sitting in the same spot, with the weight of the foreign scent on his fur, and the certainty that he had done nothing but take one more step away… from everything.

Cloudtail remained in the same spot where Lostface had left him.

The camp clearing continued to vibrate with the day’s activity, but for him, everything sounded muffled, as if his mind had raised a barrier between his body and the world. His gaze was lost in a point among the nearby brambles, and his tail, usually restless, lay motionless on the ground.

What are you doing?

The question didn’t come from outside. Nor from another cat. It was his. Sharper than any external criticism.

He sighed and decided to lie down. Maybe sleeping would help clear his head, relieve the tension in his muscles, and hopefully, soothe that tangle of emotions that had tied him up since they returned from the river territory.

He rested his head on his front paws. He closed his eyes. The murmur of voices became fainter. He could feel the warmth of the sun against his back. Maybe… just maybe…

Some paws stopped in front of him.

Cloudtail opened his eyes, hopeful.

The shadow was familiar. His heart gave a small leap. He flicked his tail with a short, cheerful movement. Did Lostface come back? Did she change her mind?

But no.

It wasn’t her.

It was Longtail.

His gaze was hard. Sharp.

He didn’t stop to greet. He just looked at him with that tense frown that seemed engraved on his face since he was born.

“What are you doing there lying down?” he said in a dry tone. “If you want to sleep, go to your bed. The camp is not for having lazy cats decorating the ground.”

Cloudtail blinked, disoriented.

“I was just… resting a bit,” he replied, without raising his voice.

Longtail snorted, turning halfway.

“The Clan doesn’t need useless paws now. If you have energy to be outside, better do something useful.”

And he left.

Cloudtail watched as his figure disappeared among some ferns. The discomfort settled in his chest more firmly.

Before, those words wouldn’t have bothered him. He would have confronted, replied. But now… now they only made him more aware of his state. Of what weighed on his conscience.

He snorted and stood up with a clumsy impulse.

“Great,” he murmured. “Now I’m also the lazy one of the Clan.”

He didn’t feel like being in the clearing. Nor did he want to return to his bed. Nor did he want to see more faces judging him for something they didn’t even understand.

So he turned around and slipped towards the camp entrance.

He didn’t look at anyone.

He didn’t greet any cat.

He simply left.

The forest welcomed him with its usual calm. The sunlight played among the branches, and the wind was fresh, laden with the scent of bark, sap, and moss. In the distance, the song of a robin broke the silence, like a long, melancholic whistle.

Cloudtail walked without a fixed direction. He just wanted to get away.

From the reproaches.

From the guilt.

From the looks.

And from the voices, even his own.

Finally, he found a small clearing hidden among twisted roots. The ground was covered with dry leaves and the moss formed a kind of natural cushion. There were no patrol noises, nor the echo of the camp.

Just forest.

Pure and silent.

He let himself fall with a long sigh.

He rested his head on his paws again.

But this time, even though he closed his eyes, he couldn’t sleep.

The images returned.

The cubs. Stonefur. Lostface’s gaze.

And his own, reflected in the river water.

His head hurt. And he decided to sleep with his ears lowered.