Chapter 14 — Borders of the Heart

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Chapter 14
Borders of the Heart

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♣

The center of the camp bustled with the usual movement.

Warriors stretched, apprentices scampered with clumsy paws, and the air, heavy with the fresh scents of newly brought prey, indicated that ThunderClan had started the day with vigor.

Fireheart, by the pile of fresh meat, had finished giving the patrolling instructions. His voice sounded firm, though his thoughts still wavered under the weight of the previous night. As he spoke, his gaze sometimes drifted, as if searching for Bluestar… but she hadn’t appeared yet.

Not many noticed, but he did. And that kept him uneasy.

A few steps away, Longtail walked with a confident stride, his well-groomed fur and focused eyes. Beside him was Lostface, who stayed a few steps behind, looking at everyone with that mix of reserve and shyness that so characterized her. Longtail stopped, turned to her, and without much preamble, licked her cheek.

“Let’s go,” he murmured in a low voice, almost a possessive purr. “We’ll go mark the trees on the border with WindClan.”

Lostface blinked, surprised by the public display of closeness, and silently nodded, following him.

But they didn’t get far.

“Can I go with you?”

The voice came from behind. Cloudtail approached with a somewhat forced smile, his ears half-drooped, as if trying to appear casual without quite succeeding.

“You?” huffed Longtail, with a smirk. “I thought you already had other things to do.”

Cloudtail stood still for a second, not understanding.

Lostface looked at both, noticing how the air seemed to become thicker.

“I’m just asking. I could help mark. No problem, right?”

Longtail let out a low growl, shaking his tail.

“Do your thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Cloudtail, not hiding his irritation.

But he got no answer.

Because just at that moment, two figures crossed the camp entrance.

Cinderpelt and Mistyfoot.

Cloudtail’s eyes shifted, almost reflexively. Mistyfoot entered with a clumsy but firm step, her paws still with traces of mud, her fur tousled but her posture upright. It was evident she was still recovering, but also that she was no longer a prisoner. At least not entirely.

And just as their gazes met, Mistyfoot saw him.

It was only an instant. A glance. A greeting with her eyes.

But it was enough.

Cloudtail greeted her too. Clumsily. As if he didn’t know whether to smile or stay still. His tail twitched, an involuntary sign of nervousness. And just at that moment, something hit his nose.

Longtail’s tail.

“There’s your girl,” he said with a twisted smile. “Stop bothering Lostface and do your other things.”

Lostface narrowed her eyes. There was a sting in her stomach that wasn’t easy to ignore. She wanted to say something, open her muzzle, retort. But before she could, Longtail turned and put his muzzle over hers.

“Shhh,” he murmured, gently pushing her with his tail towards the exit. “We have work to do, remember?”

Anger flashed in Lostface’s eyes. But only for an instant. Enough for Cloudtail to notice. And that glint hurt him more than he expected.

She didn’t look back.

Cloudtail stood there, still, feeling like a stone in the middle of the river.

He could barely return Mistyfoot’s greeting.

And when he saw her pass, his mind was a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts.

Why do I feel this way? Why do I look at both of them and don’t know who to follow?

And meanwhile, Lostface walked away with her tail low, saying nothing.

Just leaving behind something that, until recently, she thought was hers.

On the other hand, Cinderpelt checked the base of dry leaves at the foot of the bed. The movement was agile, almost automatic, as if her body worked on its own while her mind was still occupied with thoughts more tangled than an old cobweb. Every so often she let out a huff, muttering things under her breath.

“I’ll go out for a moment,” she finally announced, turning her back to Mistyfoot. “There are some herbs that only grow near the stagnant water, by your Clan. I’ll cross quickly. I don’t want the RiverClan cats to think I’m moving in.”

“I’m already here,” said Mistyfoot with a light purr. “So that wouldn’t make any difference.”

Cinderpelt raised an ear, not turning all the way. For a second, her tail twitched in a sign of humor, but soon she huffed.

“If the cats in my Clan don’t drive me crazy, this border exchange will,” she murmured, and left the den without saying goodbye.

Mistyfoot watched her silhouette fade behind the hanging leaves of the entrance. Her ears turned back, and she slowly lay down on her bed with a long sigh. The fresh moss was warm from the sun filtering through the bramble roofs, and for a moment she wanted to close her eyes… but her mind didn’t cooperate.

Her mother.

Bluestar. And Fireheart.

The idea still swirled in her head as if it were a thorn stuck in her throat. She didn’t feel shame. Nor repulsion. Just…

Strangeness.

As if, finally, the bond between her and that distant figure she once thought aloof and rigid now became too… human. Too close.

Too real.

She shivered. The fur on her back bristled reflexively, and then, when her stomach growled like a hungry kit, she lowered her head with annoyance.

“And now what?” she whispered, just as a familiar scent reached her from the side.

She lifted her head and saw Cloudtail peeking in shyly through the entrance. His expression wasn’t the usual. His eyes were a bit low, as if he had been dragging his thoughts like mud stuck to his paws.

“Cloudtail?” she purred, tilting her head. “How are you?”

He looked at her.

And lowered his gaze immediately.

“Can I… stay a while?”

“Of course,” she replied, settling better on her bed. “Do you want to talk?”

There was a pause. Long. Uncomfortable.

Cloudtail nodded, but his paws didn’t move at once. He took a while to sit. When he did, he did so carefully, at a certain distance, as if getting closer was crossing an invisible limit. As if his body knew what his mind still didn’t dare to order.

Mistyfoot watched him with curiosity. This wasn’t the same clumsy confidence with which he usually joked. This Cloudtail was… quieter. More introspective.

“Do you want me to tell you something funny?” she said finally, trying to ease the tension.

“Yes… yes, of course,” he replied, still distracted.

“I think I’ve gotten used to this Clan,” she blurted out, half-joking. “I’m even annoyed that Cinderpelt won’t let me get up more than necessary. And the fresh meat here tastes less watery, but more… full. I don’t know if it’s the air or what.”

Cloudtail let out a muffled laugh.

“Less watery… definitely the air.”

Mistyfoot looked at him sideways.

“And you?” she asked softly. “You seem… subdued.”

Cloudtail raised his gaze to her for a second. Then, back to the ground.

“Your Clan must miss you,” he murmured.

The phrase fell like a dry leaf, without strength. But Mistyfoot tilted her ears, puzzled.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s just that… today was a weird day. Lots of comments, lots of looks.”

His claws played with a piece of dry moss.

“I don’t know if I’m doing things right. Or if I’m just… getting into where I shouldn’t.”

Mistyfoot blinked.

“Are you talking about me?”

Cloudtail didn’t respond.

But his silence was enough.

She stayed still. Her heartbeat quickened slightly. She didn’t know what she expected to hear. Nor did she know what she felt.

Only that his presence… calmed her. And confused her.

“Sometimes I think,” he whispered, “that if this were another time, another moon, another season… maybe it would be easier.”

“What?”

“Everything.”

His gaze wandered across the floor of the den, as if the answers were hidden among the herbs, concealed in the cracks of the dry mud.

Mistyfoot narrowed her eyes. She thought she understood what he meant, but something inside her urged her to confirm it. Maybe out of caution. Maybe out of hope.

“Explain it better,” she asked, softly, without pressuring him, but with enough weight for him to know that his silences weren’t enough.

Cloudtail swallowed. His muzzle opened slightly, but the words didn’t come out.

Until Mistyfoot moved.

Quick. Fluid. As if it were part of an instinctive dance.

She lunged at him.

Her front paws gently pushed Cloudtail’s chest, knocking him onto his back on the moss bed that until recently had been only hers. He let out a slight huff, not so much from the impact as from the surprise.

He blinked.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice faltering from bewilderment.

“You’re the one who needs to be comfortable,” said Mistyfoot, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

And then, as if that were the most natural place in the world, she let herself fall on top of him. Her warm body settled over his. Her muzzle slid to Cloudtail’s chest, and she rested her face there with a long, almost relieved sigh.

His heart flipped.

His paws tensed, though not to push her away. Just reflexively. From that sweet and clumsy chaos that arises when someone touches you just where your barriers begin to break.

“What’s going on?” she asked, still with her face hidden in his fur.

Cloudtail closed his eyes. His muzzle slowly lowered to brush Mistyfoot’s ear. He purred unintentionally, the sound vibrating between them.

But then, the images.

Lostface’s eyes. Lowering her ears. The look of disappointment. The silence.

And then the doubt returned.

<<What am I doing?>>

<<What do I really feel?>>

He stayed still for a moment.

And when he finally spoke, his voice wasn’t firm. But it was sincere.

“I’ve been thinking… about Lostface.”

Mistyfoot didn’t move. She just raised an ear.

Cloudtail swallowed. He didn’t know why it was so hard to put into words. Maybe because he himself hadn’t found them yet.

“She’s… important to me. She has been for a long time. She’s like… my battle companion. She always accompanies me. And I accompany her.”

Mistyfoot said nothing. She just listened, attentive, without interrupting.

“But lately… I don’t know if things changed. Or if it’s me. Or if simply… someone else appeared and confused me.”

The cat on top of him tensed slightly, but didn’t move away.

Cloudtail felt her. He felt her doubt.

“I’m not blaming you,” he said immediately. “It’s not your fault.”

“So what is it, then?” Mistyfoot asked softly.

He closed his eyes.

“It’s… this. What I feel when I’m with you. The way I forget everything else for a moment. The problems. The limits. The clans.”

A pause.

“Her.”

Mistyfoot shifted slightly, settling better against his chest.

“So, is this a distraction?”

“No,” he said instantly. “It’s not. That’s why it’s so hard for me to understand.”

Both fell silent, the sound of the wind filtering through the walls of the den like a soft song.

“I don’t want to take anything from you,” Mistyfoot murmured, with a honesty that hurt. “I didn’t come to ThunderClan to take places. Or affections.”

“And you’re not doing that,” Cloudtail assured. “No one can take something that doesn’t cling to itself.”

She lifted her head, and for the first time in the entire conversation, she looked at him directly.

Their eyes met.

The silence still hung between them like a leaf about to fall.

Mistyfoot tilted her head, her eyes fixed on Cloudtail’s tense face. Her muzzle was just a few centimeters from his, and she could still feel the warmth of his chest on her paws, even though she no longer touched him.

“So…” she murmured, “are you saying you like me?”

Cloudtail froze.

His ears twitched nervously, and without saying a word, he brought his paws to his muzzle, covering it clumsily as if that could hide the blush spreading across his white face.

Mistyfoot couldn’t help but laugh softly, a low, hoarse laugh that got trapped in her throat as she curled up on herself, slipping out from under his paws.

Cloudtail looked at her with an involuntary glint of tenderness. The way she moved, the way she provoked him just by existing… adorable. But that thought had barely formed before discomfort struck him again.

“It’s… complicated,” he managed to say, his words caught between his throat and his heart.

Mistyfoot nodded, now more serious. Her eyes shifted for a moment towards the entrance of the den, through which a soft breeze still entered, laden with forest scents. The air of ThunderClan, she thought. Which sometimes felt like hers, and other times not.

“I just found out,” she began to say, her voice soft but firm, “about something that has me… unsettled.”

Cloudtail pricked his ears, attentive.

“My mother,” Mistyfoot continued, not looking at him, “she… is sleeping with a warrior from this Clan. I don’t know exactly who. I didn’t ask. But I know.”

Cloudtail’s eyes opened slightly, but he said nothing.

“And it doesn’t bother me. Not exactly. It’s her life. Her decision. But…” she paused, searching for the right words. “It puts all this into perspective. What she did with Oakheart, now this… and then there’s me, here. In ThunderClan. Talking to a warrior I can’t stop looking at.”

Her gaze returned to him.

“And that unsettles me a bit,” she confessed. “Not you. But what it means.”

Cloudtail lowered his gaze. His chest felt heavier than before.

“We’re from different clans,” she said. “You know that, right?”

He nodded slowly.

“I know.”

The silence returned for a few seconds, broken only by the sound of a bird chirping in the distance.

Mistyfoot let out a long sigh. She rose slightly on her paws, approaching him again, this time with less weight on her body but more weight in her gaze.

“But I can’t help feeling… safe with you.”

Cloudtail blinked.

“Sure?”

She nodded, and for the first time, she said it without hesitation.

“I feel like I can talk to you. That I can bother you. That if I make a mistake, you won’t judge me. You won’t hurt me. You listen to me. You make me laugh… even when I don’t want to. That makes me feel safe.”

He swallowed, his eyes not quite daring to meet hers fully.

“I would never do anything bad to you,” he said, almost in a whisper.

Mistyfoot smiled slightly and rolled her eyes.

“That’s what I mean…”

Her words hung in the air, floating between them. A feeling not entirely spoken, not entirely understood. But present. Palpitating.

Cloudtail finally looked at her. Their eyes met for a moment too long to be friendly, but too brief to be anything more.

“Mistyfoot…” he began to say.

“Not now,” she interrupted softly, with a melancholic smile. “Just… stay here for a while. I don’t want to be alone.”

Mistyfoot sighed on Cloudtail’s chest, her warm breath filtering through the tufts of his white fur. His heart beat strongly, each heartbeat echoing beneath her, as if his body didn’t know how to stay still.

“If Cinderpelt or someone else comes in… this might look like something else,” he suddenly murmured.

Cloudtail opened an eye, confused.

“What?”

“Change,” she said, in a quick but low tone. “Let’s change.”

He didn’t quite understand when he felt her move skillfully, pushing with her good paw. In a deft turn, Mistyfoot ended up beneath him, her back touching the moss, and Cloudtail now on top of her, almost completely covering her with his body. The movement was clumsy, almost accidental, but effective.

Cloudtail blinked, completely blushing. His paws were on either side of her body, and his tail twitched with evident nervousness.

“W-what are you doing?” he managed to ask, his voice broken by surprise.

Mistyfoot smiled calmly at him, as if the situation weren’t as compromising as it felt to him.

“If they see me on top of you in your bed, they’ll surely think badly,” she purred. “But if you’re on top, and I’m just… hidden under your belly, who would think of anything?”

“Oh, sure!” Cloudtail huffed. “Because your head peeking out between my paws won’t look strange at all.”

“Your fur is long enough to cover me,” Mistyfoot joked. “I’m almost in the dark down here. It’s like a hairy tunnel.”

He let out a muffled snort, shaking his head. He was so red he thought even his ears must be glowing like hawthorn berries in the sun.

“This isn’t a good idea…” he whispered.

“And what do you propose? That I lie back on top of you as if nothing and wait for Bluestar to come in this time?”

Cloudtail shuddered at the mere idea.

He tried to move away, to shift to the side, but his paws trembled a bit, and he didn’t want to press on Mistyfoot’s wound. Finally, he decided to maintain the posture, at least for a few more minutes, resting his chest on her lightly, without all his weight.

But being like this, so close, was a test he didn’t feel prepared to pass.

Mistyfoot noticed his discomfort and murmured softly:

“Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Not yet. I want to talk about this now. I don’t want to be left with these trapped thoughts. It’s better… than thinking about my mother.”

Cloudtail hesitated.

“Mistyfoot…”

She said nothing more. She just closed her eyes, breathing slowly, her back rising and falling beneath him.

And he, with no other option but to accept this forced pause from the chaos that was his mind, nodded.

“Okay.”

For a few moments, the only thing that could be heard was the song of a thrush in the distance and the soft murmur of the apprentices training outside the den. Cloudtail tried to ignore each involuntary touch, each small tremor in his chest. Not because he didn’t like it. But because he liked it too much.

“Do you think… this could work?” Mistyfoot finally asked, without opening her eyes.

“What?”

“This. Us. If we weren’t from different clans. If everything were different.”

Cloudtail looked at her in silence.

“I think that… if none of that mattered,” he said finally. “I would have already asked you to be my mate.”

Mistyfoot opened an eye, with a teasing smile at the corners.

“Too direct,” she purred.

Cloudtail turned his ears back, his face burning.

“But you told me that… Oh, by StarClan…” he huffed, gritting his teeth. “This isn’t fair.”

Mistyfoot laughed, barely a sigh that vibrated between her ribs. Her laughter had no mockery, only sweetness.

“And you,” she continued, looking up, “why are you like this? Why don’t you move away already? How high are you lifting your hips? You’re going to fall on top of me.”

Cloudtail averted his gaze, his whiskers trembling like leaves in the breeze.

“No… you wouldn’t want to know.”

Mistyfoot looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Without warning, she gently bit his neck, right in the thick fur that covered the edge of his jaw.

“Hey!” Cloudtail growled, startled.

“Then tell me,” she purred, between amused and challenging.

“Seriously,” he murmured. “We’re not close enough for… for that kind of thing.”

Mistyfoot exhaled, still smiling, but her gaze softened.

“It just amuses me that you act as if you’re surrounded by brambles. You move as if you’re stepping on thorns.”

Cloudtail looked at her again, lowering some of his weight onto his front paws.

“Maybe…” he said slowly, “we’re just letting ourselves be carried away. By fast things. By moments that seem safe, but aren’t.”

Mistyfoot blinked slowly.

“And is that bad?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “But you don’t seem very sure either.”

“Maybe because I’m not,” she whispered. “But I also don’t want to avoid what I’m feeling now.”

There was a new silence. Not heavy. Rather dense. Like a mist that enveloped thoughts without the need for immediate answers.

It was then that Mistyfoot looked at him directly, her clear eyes focusing on his.

“Why are you here with me… and not with your friend?”

The question wasn’t a reproach. It was a truth disguised as doubt.

Cloudtail swallowed.

“I don’t know.”

There was no point in pretending he did.

Mistyfoot wasn’t offended. She didn’t move away. Instead, she lifted her paws and framed Cloudtail’s face with them, pressing his cheeks gently.

“Your heart is beating fast,” she said softly.

Cloudtail closed his eyes for a moment. He was sure he could hear it from the outside.

The way she touched him. Without hurry, without intention beyond the contact. It thrilled him. But not out of shame. It was… something else. Something deeper.

“Your nervous, scared attitude,” Mistyfoot murmured. “Is strangely attractive.”

Cloudtail opened his eyes, with a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

“That doesn’t help…”

Mistyfoot let out a brief laugh.

“Cloudtail.”

“What?” he responded, barely a whisper.

And then, without more words, she hugged him.

Her paws wrapped around his neck, without force, without urgency. She just pulled him down, with a gentleness that disarmed any barrier he still had left. Cloudtail yielded, without resistance.

His body settled completely on top of hers.

His chest on Mistyfoot’s.

His muzzle resting just between her neck and shoulder.

Their breaths synchronized unintentionally.

Both closed their eyes.

However, Cloudtail couldn’t stop listening to the pounding in his chest.

His heart, which normally beat as calmly as a river, now seemed like a storm beneath his skin. Each breath from Mistyfoot, each slight brush of her side against his, seemed to ignite something within him. It wasn’t just nerves. It wasn’t just curiosity.

It was something more.

She remained beneath him, calm, with her eyes closed. Her face was so close… and her scent, a mix of dry herbs and fresh river, clouded his thoughts. He had never felt like this before. Not even with Lostface.

And without knowing when his will faltered, his muzzle moved slightly, instinctively seeking that place where words ended and shared silences began.

And he kissed her.

It was a brief gesture. Delicate. Just a brush of his muzzle against hers. A caress frozen in time. As if he didn’t know if he should do it, but couldn’t avoid it either.

The world froze for an instant.

Mistyfoot’s eyes opened, surprised, fixed on his.

Cloudtail moved away the next second, his fur bristling, his paws stiff.

“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” he stammered.

But Mistyfoot said nothing.

She just watched him.

The surprise on her face slowly faded. There was no anger in her eyes. No disgust. Just a bewildering calm, as if she were trying to understand what had just happened as much as he was.

“It was… unexpected,” she said at last, her voice so soft it was barely heard over the murmur of the wind outside.

Cloudtail wanted to respond, but he found no words.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Mistyfoot added slowly. “But I don’t know what it means. Do you?”

Cloudtail lowered his head, his muzzle barely brushing her neck unintentionally.

“I don’t know. I just… felt it. I thought if I didn’t, I’d be left with it inside forever.”

She blinked slowly.

“And now?”

“Now I feel like an apprentice caught eating prey before the ceremony,” he joked nervously, with a clumsy attempt to break the tension.

And to his surprise, Mistyfoot let out a soft laugh. Not mocking. Just tired.

“So we’re two.”

Both stayed like that, still too close, with the weight of the closeness becoming comfortable rather than uncomfortable.

“Do you think it’s wrong?” he asked. “That this is… whatever it is.”

“Maybe,” she replied. “But not everything that’s good for us follows the code. Not to the letter.”

A pause.

“Do you think the Warrior Code was written thinking of this?” Cloudtail whispered.

“No. It was written thinking of borders. Not hearts.”

“Cheesy.”

“You’re cheesy.”

And with that, everything fell silent again. Only the sounds of their breaths, mingled among the moss and the contained air of the den.

No one entered. No one interrupted.

And in that moment that was neither a promise nor a farewell, Mistyfoot lifted a paw and placed it on Cloudtail’s chest.

“Don’t kiss me again,” she said, serious.

He looked at her, a knot forming in his stomach.

“Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t know whether to return it or run away,” she confessed.

Cloudtail couldn’t help but laugh.

It wasn’t a guffaw, nor a mocking laugh. Just a soft purr, escaped between his whiskers, laden with relief. As if Mistyfoot’s phrase, soft and honest, had untied a knot that had been tightening in his chest for days.

“You’re complicated,” he murmured.

“And you’re impatient,” she replied, half amused.

He lowered his head and this time, with a different tenderness, kissed her again. Not on the lips. Not impulsively. His muzzle gently brushed Mistyfoot’s cheek, as if he wanted to memorize the contour with the tip of his soul.

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing it.

The moss beneath their bodies crunched slightly when Cloudtail moved one of his paws, and for an instant, everything seemed suspended in that calm that occurs just before something important is said.

“Mistyfoot,” he whispered. “You…?”

She opened an eye.

“What?”

Cloudtail hesitated. His claws retracted and extended slightly, unsure.

“Have you thought… about staying? Here. In ThunderClan.”

The question hung in the air.

But there was no time for an answer.

Because just then, the unmistakable crunch of paws approaching from the den entrance was heard.

Mistyfoot’s fur bristled slightly, reflexively. Her eyes opened fully, shining with a sudden startle. Cloudtail turned his head towards the entrance, and his body tensed immediately.

“Get up!” she whispered urgently, pushing him with her good paw.

“What? But I just…”

“Now! We’ll talk about it later,” she said, lowering her voice even more.

He obeyed without a word, getting up with a short jump and shaking his fur a bit as he settled. Mistyfoot rearranged herself on her bed, as if she were just resting, turning her body to one side with forced naturalness.

Her paws crossed with practiced calm, and only a slight blink betrayed her racing heart.

Just at that moment, a silhouette appeared at the entrance.

It was Brackenfur.

“Cloudtail?” he said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Cloudtail swallowed, raising his head as if nothing was happening.

“I came to see how Mistyfoot was doing,” he said, with a voice trying to sound confident. “Cinderpelt hasn’t returned yet.”

Brackenfur tilted his head. His gaze shifted from Cloudtail to Mistyfoot, then to the ground, and back to Cloudtail. There was something in his eyes, a spark of suspicion perhaps, but he said nothing more.

“Cinderpelt asked me to leave more fresh moss,” he explained. “I’ll leave it here.”

He pushed a small damp bundle with his nose, which smelled of dew and crushed leaves. Mistyfoot nodded slightly, grateful, though without uttering a word.

For a moment, the silence among the three stretched like a storm shadow in the clear sky.

Then Brackenfur purred.

It wasn’t a mocking purr. It was soft, low, as if it came from the chest without him noticing. Mistyfoot lowered her gaze, uncomfortable.

Cloudtail heard it immediately.

“You should leave now,” he told him, not hiding the cutting tone in his voice.

Brackenfur looked at him with surprise, as if he didn’t understand why the other warrior was treating him like that. He ignored his words and took a step forward, moving his tail calmly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Mistyfoot directly, with that serenity that seemed natural to him. “I’m glad to see you sitting more firmly. Is Cinderpelt not taking care of your wounds again?”

Mistyfoot blinked, caught between two different gazes. The tension rose up her neck as if she had just stepped on a nettle.

“She… went out to gather some herbs,” she finally replied, with measured voice.

“I see,” said Brackenfur, glancing sideways at the fresh bandages on her paw.

Cloudtail remained at the entrance, unmoving. His body rigid, his tail slightly agitated. He said nothing, but his presence felt like a breeze threatening to turn into wind.

Brackenfur wasn’t foolish. He noticed the change in the atmosphere. Something floated between the two, something that wasn’t there the last time he had seen them. And when he looked at Mistyfoot again, he saw her fur slightly bristled on her back… and a soft blush on her muzzle.

Cloudtail saw it too.

And he understood what that meant.

Mistyfoot turned to him, with a quick, intense look. She didn’t say anything with her voice, but her eyes said it all.

Go.

Cloudtail opened his muzzle as if to reply, but held back. His whiskers trembled, and for another moment, he stood there… as if the ground held him trapped. Finally, he turned his head, turned halfway, and left in silence, with his ears low.

Brackenfur watched him go, his expression confused. He tilted his head once more, and when he looked at Mistyfoot, she wasn’t looking at him. She seemed more interested in a knot in the moss than in him.

“Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” he asked softly.

“No. It’s not that,” she replied, a bit drier than she intended to sound.

But Brackenfur didn’t insist. He sat beside her calmly, with the same patience with which he listened to his sister talk about treatments or taught the apprentices to attack from a low angle.

“The Clan can be confusing sometimes,” he said, not looking directly at Mistyfoot. “Sometimes one doesn’t know where they fit in.”

She looked at him then.

“Do you feel that way?”

Brackenfur smiled with a veiled sadness.

“Sometimes. Especially when the cats you care about seem not to know what they want. Or when one themselves… doesn’t know what they’re waiting for.”

Mistyfoot lowered her gaze. She felt a strong heartbeat in her chest, different from the one Cloudtail provoked in her. It wasn’t an agitated impulse or an unstoppable leap of emotions, but something deeper, quieter. Brackenfur was calm. A warm breeze after the rain. A safe place. And now… now he was there. So close.

What am I doing? she thought, with a pang of guilt gnawing at her insides.

She stirred in her bed, kicking the moss clumsily. The abrupt movement made the branches beneath the bed creak, and Brackenfur raised an ear, curious.

Mistyfoot squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could hide her from herself.

Am I… am I being like her? Like Bluestar. Two cats. Two clans. A story that shouldn’t be repeated.

She cursed herself silently. Bit the inside of her cheek. And kicked the moss again, frustrated.

“Are you okay?” Brackenfur’s voice came softly, like a feather sliding between dry leaves.

She opened an eye. The young warrior approached with silent steps, carrying a small ball of chewed herbs between his fangs. He stopped right in front of her muzzle.

“I brought you something for your paw. Cinderpelt taught me how to do it several moons ago.”

Mistyfoot was about to reply, but just as she opened her muzzle, she let out an unintentional warm sigh. The hot air hit Brackenfur’s muzzle directly, and both froze.

The silence was as thick as the mist over the river.

Brackenfur blinked. Then he purred.

But it wasn’t just any purr. It was low, soft… tender. Sweet like wild honey.

The kind of purr that didn’t seek to impress. The kind that came out unintentionally, simply from being close to someone who mattered.

Mistyfoot went blank. Her fur bristled on her back, and her ears moved reflexively, not knowing where to point.

“You should rest,” he murmured. “The body heals better when it doesn’t fight against fatigue.”

She nodded, because she didn’t know what else to do. Or what to say.

Brackenfur turned to arrange some herbs in a corner of the bed and added:

“I’ve already finished my morning tasks. I suppose I’ll stay around here… in case Cloudtail comes back.”

The words hit her harder than she expected.

Mistyfoot raised her ears, visibly blushing.

“W-why do you say that?”

Brackenfur held him silence. Instead, he turned around and placed his muzzle on his own tail, curling up as if he were about to sleep… but without taking his eyes off her.

“Just in case,” he said, with a voice bordering amusement.

And then, he gave her a look. Just one. But it wasn’t just any look. There was something in his golden eyes. Something mischievous, self-assured. And at the same time, impossible to evade. He smiled at her with half his muzzle.

Mistyfoot felt her entire face burn.

By StarClan, she thought, her heart beating so hard she feared Brackenfur would hear it.

What’s happening to me? What kind of day is this?

She tried to settle in her bed. She put her head on her front paws, closed her eyes tightly, and took a deep breath. As if she could trick her body into pretending to be asleep.

But inside, her mind was in chaos.

First Cloudtail. Then Brackenfur. And if someone else comes in? Fireheart? My mother? May StarClan save me…

And yet… yet, the flutter in her chest wouldn’t go away.

She, Mistyfoot, RiverClan warrior… was she really sighing over two ThunderClan cats? In the same day?

An involuntary purr vibrated in her chest. And she contained it halfway, burying her face further between her paws.

Because, to her misfortune, there was an even more terrifying truth.

She didn’t know which of the two she liked more.