Chapter 9 — Code of the Heart

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Chapter 9
Code of the Heart

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♣

The breeze blew strongly at the border with WindClan, carrying with it the fresh scent of open grass and dry earth.

The sky was clear, without a cloud in sight, and the song of the sparrows resonated among the low shrubs that separated the two territories. Bluestar walked at a steady pace, her tail raised firmly although her paws betrayed a certain weariness.

Cinderpelt followed closely, her slightly lame paw advancing over the tall grass. It wasn’t common for the medicine cat to go out walking with the leader in the middle of the morning, but Bluestar had insisted.

And she talked. A lot.

“…Perhaps, when Mistyfoot recovers, we could start by assigning her light tasks. Something to keep her visible. If they see her working for the good of the Clan, it will be harder to reject her. Although not everyone will understand. But if she proves her worth here, then they will have no excuses. Maybe, even a shared patrol could help…”

Cinderpelt had listened attentively during the first stretches of the walk, but now, her ears began to tilt backward. Bluestar’s pace was as constant as her torrent of thoughts.

“Bluestar,” she suddenly interrupted, stopping. “Wait a moment.”

The leader stopped and looked at her over her shoulder, her expression serene, almost maternal.

“What’s wrong?”

Cinderpelt looked at her for a second longer. Then she tilted her head.

“Are you really talking about keeping her here? Permanently?”

The wind seemed to change direction for an instant. Or perhaps it was the sudden silence that fell that gave her that sensation.

Bluestar blinked.

Once. Twice.

“What kind of question is that?” she replied, and although her voice didn’t rise, there was a note of discomfort that the young medicine cat didn’t overlook.

“I just… want to be sure,” said Cinderpelt, softly. “Because her Clan must already be looking for her with concern. And if the idea is for her to stay, that would mean…”

“Of course I want her to stay!” interrupted Bluestar, with a tone so firm that it made the nearby branches tremble.

Cinderpelt took a step back, surprised.

The leader sighed immediately, lowering her gaze.

“She’s my daughter,” she said more softly. “What kind of mother would let her go, now that I finally have her close?”

The breeze blew between them, carrying a tense silence.

Cinderpelt blinked. She tried to formulate a response that didn’t sound like a sentence.

“I know. And… I understand why it’s difficult for you. But… the warrior code…”

Bluestar wrinkled her nose, with a distant, almost annoyed expression.

“The code isn’t made for mothers. Nor for impossible decisions.”

Cinderpelt fell silent. The weight of those words was too great.

Bluestar started walking again, slower this time, her paws pressing the ground with indecision.

“I just… just want her to have a chance. Here. With me. Even if it’s just for a little longer. I don’t want her to return to a Clan that doesn’t know she’s their family. Not after all this.”

“But Mistyfoot already has a family,” said Cinderpelt carefully. “She has a brother, a place. A Clan that trusts her.”

“And if they no longer trust her?” murmured Bluestar. “And if Stonefur doesn’t accept her after this? And if RiverClan decides she has betrayed her loyalty?”

Cinderpelt frowned.

“Are you saying you don’t plan to return her?” repeated Cinderpelt, firmer this time, her whiskers trembling slightly with the weight of the question.

Bluestar didn’t respond.

She remained silent, looking towards the horizon, her tail still and ears perked, as if the wind could give her an answer she herself didn’t dare to utter.

Cinderpelt took a few steps towards her. She didn’t pressure her, but neither did she leave her alone in the weight of her thoughts.

“Bluestar,” she said softly. “You are the leader of ThunderClan. Your decisions must protect everyone, not just one.”

Bluestar lowered her head slightly. Her back, which always seemed as straight as a rock, leaned, as if finally admitting the weight of everything she carried.

“I know,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t feel fair. Not… not after what I had to do to keep her safe.”

“And she is safe now,” replied Cinderpelt. “She is recovering. She is alive. And it’s thanks to you. But that doesn’t mean she belongs to you.”

Bluestar narrowed her eyes, her expression turned colder.

“And what kind of mother am I if I let her return to a Clan that doesn’t know who she is? What kind of mother am I if… if I lose her again?”

“A mother who is also a leader,” replied Cinderpelt in a low voice, almost a sigh. “And who has a duty to her Clan.”

The wind blew stronger at that moment, rustling the nearby branches. Bluestar closed her eyes briefly.

“For so many moons I pretended it didn’t matter. That I could move on. But every time I saw a queen licking her kits, every time I heard a mother laughing with her children… I felt that void. A void that not even the most solid rock could hide. And now she is here. Here. And I have her close. I can look at her. Hear her breathe.”

“But you haven’t told her the truth,” pointed out Cinderpelt, gently.

Bluestar opened her eyes slowly.

“Because if I do… I won’t be able to let her go.”

The words hung in the air, heavy as clouds before the storm.

Cinderpelt remained silent for a moment. Then she sat beside her, without judgment, without anger.

“I know it’s difficult,” she murmured. “I can’t imagine what you’ve carried all this time. But you can’t keep her just because you have her again. If Mistyfoot chooses to stay… it must be her decision. Not yours. Even though no one will want her here nearby.”

Bluestar dug her claws into the ground.

“I don’t want to lose her again… Cinderpelt,” murmured Bluestar, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “Perhaps… perhaps I can create a new warrior code. Reformulate it. So Mistyfoot can stay.”

The words hung in the air like lightning without thunder.

Cinderpelt turned her head quickly. Her eyes narrowed, not in judgment, but in incredulity.

“Bluestar,” she said, with a calm but firm voice. “First of all… calm down. You’re breathing too hard.”

The leader closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. Her chest inflated with an unstable rhythm. The emotions tensed her as if she were facing a battle.

Cinderpelt took a few more steps closer, her tail raised, but without raising her voice.

“Listen to me,” she whispered. “You can’t let fear make you rewrite everything we are.”

“And if what we are is broken?” countered Bluestar, through gritted teeth. “And if the warrior code isn’t enough to protect what matters most?”

Cinderpelt blinked. Her face hardened slightly.

“Then we face it. Together. But it’s not just about you… nor about Mistyfoot. It’s about the Clan. All of us. If you lose your balance, ThunderClan will too.”

Bluestar lowered her head, her muzzle pointing to the ground. She scratched the earth with one of her paws, as if the answer could hide beneath it.

“I have led with strength for many moons,” she murmured. “But I have never felt as weak as I do now.”

“You’re not weak,” replied Cinderpelt, getting even closer. “You’re just hurt. Like everyone. Like Mistyfoot. But you can’t heal yourself by twisting the root that holds all the clans together.”

Silence settled between them for a moment. Long. Deep. The sun had almost hidden behind the hills, and the orange light filtered through the trees like a last sigh of the day.

It was then that a soft crack broke the stillness.

Both turned their heads at the same time, their ears perked.

Fireheart walked among the nearby bushes, his expression serious as he reinforced the scent marks on a fallen trunk. He was alone, focused on his task, but upon seeing them, he stopped, his head tilted.

“Bluestar?” he meowed in surprise. “Cinderpelt? Is everything okay?”

Bluestar raised her head slowly, recomposing her posture with the elegance forged by many moons of leadership. The vulnerability she had shown seconds before was trapped in the sigh she didn’t release.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice composed. “We were just… walking.”

Cinderpelt noticed that Fireheart seemed about to say something more, but she flicked her ears and approached.

“I decided to reinforce some marks before night falls. I saw some somewhat close traces of WindClan. Probably old, but just in case.”

Bluestar nodded.

“Good initiative.”

Fireheart sniffed the air carefully.

“Curious…” he murmured, narrowing his eyes. “I could notice the trail of Longtail and Lostface around this area a little while ago. Quite close to here, in fact.”

Cinderpelt intervened quickly, moving her tail lightly.

“Probably they were marking some parallel route. Maybe Longtail wanted to show her new patrolling paths.”

Fireheart looked at her for a moment, but then nodded slowly, although the suspicion didn’t completely leave his gaze.

“It could be…” he said, with a distracted purr. “Anyway, I’ll do another round. The air feels different today.”

“Different?” asked Bluestar, with a hint of alert.

“Just… restless,” replied Fireheart, shrugging. “Maybe it’s just the wind. Or the change of season. But something isn’t quite right.”

Cinderpelt watched him, and for a second, it seemed she was about to say something more.

But she didn’t.

Bluestar, for her part, just nodded gravely.

“Do what you think is necessary. I trust your judgment.”

Fireheart inclined his head, and then disappeared among the bushes, leaving behind the soft crack of broken branches under his paws.

Once alone, Cinderpelt turned to Bluestar.

“You should talk to him. To Mistyfoot. To someone.”

Bluestar shook her head. Her gaze was fixed on a point on the ground, where the earth mixed with dry leaves and exposed roots.

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Cinderpelt watched her with a mix of compassion and concern. The wind blew gently among the brambles, shaking the slender stems with a whisper that seemed to want to sweep away the unsaid words.

Bluestar didn’t answer right away. Her muzzle remained tight, her eyes lowering more and more, as if seeking refuge in the shadow cast by her own thoughts.

“Because if I do…” she murmured, “I don’t know what will happen next. Maybe I won’t want to hear what they have to say to me. Or worse… maybe I’ll realize I’ve ruined everything.”

“Sometimes, if you unburden yourself by telling everything to someone, you can think things through better,” Cinderpelt told her softly.

“I already do,” replied Bluestar in a low voice, with a weary grimace. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Then try something different,” insisted the medicine cat.

Bluestar raised an eyebrow, not understanding. She turned her head to look at her, confused.

“What do you mean?”

Cinderpelt took a breath, and then dared.

“Perhaps it’s time… to try falling in love again.”

Bluestar stood still.

Her ears lifted slightly, and her tail froze. For a moment, not even the wind seemed to move. Only the beat of her heart, like a distant drum, echoing in the shadow of that silence.

“Are you serious?” she finally asked, without taking her eyes off her.

Cinderpelt nodded slowly.

“Yes. I’m not saying it as an order, nor as something you must do to solve all your problems. Just… maybe it’s a way to heal what you’ve lost. What you’ve torn from yourself for the good of the Clan.”

Bluestar turned her gaze back to the horizon. Her chest rose and fell slowly, but the tension was evident in her shoulders.

“My first love was Oakheart,” she said with a deep sigh. “What I felt for him was… impossible. Intense. Beautiful. And also the most painful thing I’ve known. I loved him despite the code. Despite myself. Things were different back then.”

“But you’re not the same cat anymore,” said Cinderpelt. “You’ve lived a lot. You’ve learned. You’ve suffered. That doesn’t prevent you from feeling. It shouldn’t.”

Bluestar closed her eyes for a few seconds.

“And you think there’s someone… here?” she whispered.

“There must be at least one ThunderClan warrior you find interesting. Someone you can trust with more than just patrol decisions. And please…” she added with a sidelong smile, “let it be from the Clan this time.”

Bluestar purred lightly. A dry sound, but authentic.

“You’re bold, Cinderpelt,” she said. “But you’re right. Maybe…”

Both fell silent, and at that moment, among the shadows of the nearby bushes, they saw a silhouette moving with agility. Fireheart passed by a nearby tree, leaving new marks with his chin. The sunset light drew golden reflections on his reddish fur as his tail slid smoothly among the ferns.

Bluestar watched him for a few seconds.

Then she opened her muzzle.

“Fireheart… is handsome.”

Cinderpelt blinked.

Her body tensed immediately. She didn’t say anything at first, just turned her head slightly, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard correctly.

“What…?” she murmured.

Bluestar kept looking at Fireheart, even though he was already disappearing among the shadows.

“He is. He has a strong, noble heart. And when he speaks, he does so with sincerity, even if it’s hard for him. I didn’t think him capable of so much when I brought him to the Clan… but now…”

Cinderpelt lowered her gaze.

There was a sensation rising from her chest, uncomfortable and heavy. She couldn’t define it. She only knew she didn’t want to hear more.

“Bluestar…” she began, trying to keep her voice neutral. “You can’t… you shouldn’t…”

“I know what you’re thinking,” interrupted the leader with a calm voice. “He’s younger. He’s a loyal warrior. A pillar for this Clan. And that makes him more valuable… but also more dangerous if he gets involved with his leader.”

Cinderpelt didn’t respond.

The wind blew between them.

Bluestar tilted her head and looked at her gently.

“It’s not a decision. Nor a plan. Just… a thought I didn’t know I had, until I said it.”

Cinderpelt let out a brief, dry laugh, more to break the tension than because she truly felt amused. The air between them had become thick, as if the words spoken minutes before still floated around, refusing to dissipate.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have meddled with that topic,” she murmured, more to herself than to Bluestar.

She moved her tail with slight nervousness, trying to shake off the discomfort.

“But come on,” she added in a lighter tone, seeking to restore balance. “Isn’t there another cat in the Clan that you find even… minimally interesting? I don’t know… Longtail? Darkstripe?”

Bluestar turned her head slowly. Her expression wasn’t mocking, not even annoyed. Just a firm and calm gaze. As if she had already considered those options and discarded them long ago.

She shook her head gently.

“Longtail is too busy thinking the Clan revolves around him. And Darkstripe…”—she paused, her ears lowering slightly—”there’s no sincerity in his eyes. Never has been.”

Cinderpelt couldn’t help but agree with that. Her silence was her only affirmation.

“The only one I truly trust now is Fireheart,” said Bluestar, turning her gaze back to the bushes where he had gone minutes before. “Besides, he’s my deputy. That already makes him someone I should trust with more than patrol decisions or strategies.”

Cinderpelt tensed.

The conversation was returning to the same point.

“I could… talk to him,” continued Bluestar, as if she were releasing the idea carefully, testing the ground of her own emotions. “Now that I think about it, he stayed with me recently. He listened… to everything. He didn’t complain. He didn’t interrupt. He was just there. And not only that… he always worries about me. About how I sleep. If I’ve eaten. About how others see me.”

Her voice softened with each word, almost becoming a whisper.

Bluestar’s eyes were lost in some point beyond the brambles. Maybe in a memory. Maybe in a possibility.

Cinderpelt flicked an ear, uncomfortable.

“Bluestar…” she said in a low voice.

But the leader didn’t listen.

“And what if I like him?” she blurted out, almost without thinking, her head still raised, lost in thoughts.

Cinderpelt opened her eyes in surprise and quickly shook her head, a movement so abrupt it made the stems of the bush beside her vibrate.

“No, no,” she said hurriedly. “Bluestar, you can’t… you shouldn’t think like that. He is…”

“My deputy,” Bluestar completed with a slight sigh. “But he’s also someone who has stayed by my side without being asked. Who has shown me more loyalty than many others born in this Clan.”

“And he’s young,” added Cinderpelt, lowering her voice a bit. “Very young. I don’t want to seem rude, but… what if that loyalty is just admiration? Respect? Not… the other.”

But Bluestar wasn’t listening to her anymore.

Her gaze remained lost. Among shadows. Among memories.

And in those memories, Fireheart was there. In her den. In the patrols. Under the rain. Supporting her. Looking at her with those green eyes filled with questions and loyalty.

Always willing.

Always present.

A part of her knew that this connection was dangerous. That it was born from a need, from a void that perhaps Fireheart simply filled with his kindness.

But another part…

… another part wondered if there was something more.

Cinderpelt called her again, a bit firmer this time:

“Bluestar.”

But the leader didn’t respond.

She was too far away.

Cinderpelt swallowed, fixing her gaze on an invisible point among the leaves shaken by the wind. Her body remained still, but in her chest, something pulsed with increasing strength. The air had become denser, warmer, as if the atmosphere knew what she couldn’t say.

She… liked Fireheart.

Not in the way others admired him for his courage or loyalty. It was something else. More intimate. More secret.

She understood him. Knew how he thought. Had healed wounds in him that others barely noticed. Had seen him doubt, fight, grow. Had shared silences with him where they didn’t need to speak to understand each other. And in those times, when he looked at her with gratitude, with trust… a part of her wished he would do so with affection.

But she couldn’t take the first step.

Not as a medicine cat. Not with her place in the Clan. Not with her duty.

And now… Bluestar.

Her leader. Her patient. Her friend. Her figure of respect.

She had dared to utter what Cinderpelt barely allowed herself to feel.

“Do I like him?”

The question hammered in her head.

Bluestar was a strong, decisive cat, with history, with authority. If she pursued Fireheart… she would have him. He wouldn’t dare to say no. Why would he? She was Bluestar. She had fought for the Clan more than anyone. And Fireheart respected her. Admired her.

Understood her.

Cinderpelt lowered her ears. She didn’t know how to respond. Nor what to say. She only knew that inside, something hurt.

Bluestar looked at her, tilting her head.

“Are you okay?”

The question was soft, but direct.

Cinderpelt didn’t lift her head immediately. She kept it low for a few seconds, as if she needed to tame the tremor that threatened to shake her paws. She inhaled slowly. Then she raised her face with a calm smile, well-rehearsed, but with barely dimmed eyes.

She nodded.

“Yes. Everything is fine.”

Bluestar observed her for a few more seconds, as if trying to decipher something, but she didn’t press.

“Well…” said Cinderpelt, forcing a light tone. “You could try it. Fireheart… seems to be single.”

Her voice trembled slightly as she said it.

“Although, you know…” she added, seeking excuses in the air. “Sandstorm sometimes seems interested in him. I don’t know how wise it is for a leader to compete for a cat with one of her warriors.”

Bluestar let out a low purr, almost amused.

“Don’t worry about that. When I was with Oakheart, I knew well how to conquer a feline. Time has already given me experience.”

She raised her chin with a half-proud smile, and Cinderpelt felt her stomach tighten.

Bluestar had a different determination now. An energy she hadn’t shown in a long time. And, to her misfortune, that energy was focused on Fireheart.

The medicine cat didn’t say anything.

She couldn’t.

She just nodded slowly, feigning a neutral expression while her mind seethed.

Bluestar approached and rubbed her cheek against hers, a warm gesture, of gratitude. Of closeness.

“Thank you for the advice,” she whispered. “I’m going to look for him.”

And she walked away.

Cinderpelt remained still.

Watching her leave.

The sound of the leaves under her paws seemed louder now. More cruel.

When Bluestar disappeared among the bushes, Cinderpelt closed her eyes.

One second. Just one.

And then she sat, alone, among the undergrowth, letting the wind comb through her fur while her heart, the one she had always tried to keep out of the path of duty, throbbed wounded… in silence.

Cinderpelt brought a paw to her face, pressing gently between her eyes as if she could erase what was said, turn back time by just closing her eyelids tightly.

“Why did I open my mouth?” she murmured to herself, her voice buried in the wind.

She lay down in the grass. The ground was cool, covered with a thin layer of old leaves and broken stems. She looked at the sky, pale blue, stained by the last orange lights of the sunset.

A cloud shaped like a paw slid slowly overhead.

“Is this some kind of StarClan joke?” she murmured, her voice laden with irony.

But she knew it wasn’t.

There were no divine signs in this. Just poorly accommodated emotions, human impulses hidden in the heart of a medicine cat who was supposed to leave all that behind.

She sighed, turning on her side.

“Fireheart could never fall in love with me.”

“Not with the code in the way.”

Because she was a medicine cat. Her duty was to the Clan, to the wounds, to the stars. Her life was tied to a path that couldn’t deviate. Love was a luxury that didn’t belong to her.

And yet…

Seeing him with someone… hurts.

If it were another cat. Another face. Another name. Maybe it wouldn’t shake her so much. But Bluestar…

Bluestar was her leader. Her friend. Her trust. And now also her rival, although the word made her stomach churn with discomfort.

“Damn warrior code…” she whispered, more bitter than a rotten berry.

The wind carried her voice away.

And then it brought footsteps.

Cinderpelt tensed immediately and sat up, her ears rising nervously. Her fur bristled briefly as she heard the paws on the grass. A moment of pure startle… until she recognized the gait.

Lostface.

The young warrior emerged from some ferns with a mouse between her fangs. Upon seeing her, she raised her eyebrows with a mix of surprise and discreet concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked, dropping the prey on the ground.

Cinderpelt forced herself to calm down. She nodded quickly.

“Yes, yes. Just… resting.”

Lostface didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t insist. She sat nearby, her posture relaxed, observing the sky that still held traces of light.

“I heard you,” she murmured after a moment.

Cinderpelt swallowed, straightening up slowly.

“It’s not what you think,” she began to say, already feeling the heat rise to her ears. “I was just…”

“Don’t worry,” Lostface interrupted her, with a calm tone, without judgment.

She turned to her with a small crooked smile, as if they shared a silent secret.

“Truth is, I also think the warrior code has things… poorly written.”

Cinderpelt blinked. She didn’t expect that response. Nor that calm.

“What…?”

“I know how it feels,” Lostface continued. “Loving someone. Not being able to say it. Not because it’s exactly forbidden, but because… it doesn’t fit with the rules. Because the Clan expects you to bury it in your stomach and act as if it doesn’t hurt.”

Cinderpelt didn’t know what to say.

And then Lostface added:

“Maybe I can help you with that.”

The medicine cat looked at her with narrowed eyes, confused.

“Help me… how?”

Before Lostface could respond, a soft sound distracted them. Light paws on dry leaves. Both turned their heads at the same time.

Longtail.

He appeared from the bushes with a neutral expression, although his eyes narrowed briefly upon seeing Cinderpelt. He stopped beside Lostface without saying a word, as if his presence there was completely normal.

Cinderpelt looked at him, then at Lostface, even more confused.

The young cat showed no surprise at his appearance.

The three of them spoke for a moment…

And the medicine cat felt, for the first time, out of control in her own emotional territory.