Chapter 7 – Jealous

CHAPTER 7
Jealous

♣

MICE WERE LIKELY TO COME OUT THAT MORNING. The air smelled fresh and damp, and the forest seemed to breathe slowly.

From the entrance of the medicine den, Cinderpaw watched the ThunderClan clearing and sensed a strange calm. Too quiet.

The prey pile had diminished more than usual.

It seems no one has hunted seriously today… she thought.

It was a simple conclusion, but a revealing one: the warriors were exhausted.

All day long, many had complained of the same ailment, heavy paws, a weakness that came and went like a bad dream.

Cinderpaw had spent the day beside Yellowfang, preparing pastes and ointments, applying herbs to sore pads without fully understanding the cause.

The scent of arnica, mint, and crushed bark filled the air inside the den. Each time someone entered, it mixed with the camp’s dust and the metallic scent of damp fur.

Now, as the sun began to sink, Cinderpaw felt the weight of fatigue cling to her back.

She had worked without rest, and yet her mind found no peace.

No one had spoken to her since early morning.

No glance, no kind word.

Only the growls of the sick and the distant buzzing of flies.

And amid that silence, the words from the previous night still echoed in her mind like a restless hum.

Who could it be about?

While spreading a mixture of herbs on Dustpelt’s pads, she watched him yawn.

“When I went out hunting this morning,” he murmured, “my paws felt weaker. Like… I had no strength.”

Cinderpaw nodded silently, focused on her work. The warrior’s tone sounded more worried than pained.

For the moment, Bluestar had ordered them to hunt in other areas; she feared that some Twoleg might have sprayed pesticides near the forest border. Cinderpaw wasn’t risking going to find out.

Once she finished the bandage, she helped him lie down. Dustpelt sighed in relief and fell asleep almost instantly.

Cinderpaw looked up.

At least three more warriors were resting in their nests. The air inside the den felt thick, heavy with slow breaths.

Yellowfang, from her corner, purred wearily.

“They’ll be better by tomorrow,” she murmured. “A rest will do the Clan good.”

Cinderpaw didn’t reply. Her stomach growled softly, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since dawn. She licked her paws clean and quietly stepped outside.

The camp was silent, bathed in the orange hue of sunset. Sunrays filtered through tall leaves, painting uneven shadows on the ground.

Some warriors lay on the rocks, others spoke in low voices, and the rest slept.

Cinderpaw pricked her ears, letting the wind brush her face.

The weather was pleasant.

The scent of moss and damp earth calmed her chest, though only for a moment.

She lifted her gaze to the sky and exhaled slowly.

The clouds were thin and soft, like smoke from a distant fire.

For a moment, her mind went blank.

An empty space, no thoughts, no noise.

Until she looked down.

Something had been bothering her since returning to the Clan.

A faint, constant feeling.

It wasn’t a sound or a smell, it was a presence. A pair of eyes that wouldn’t stop watching her selfishly.

Someone was avoiding her.

And Cinderpaw already knew who.

Her paws trembled slightly.

She narrowed her eyes and twitched her ears. She could feel it, that gaze, that fleeting attention.

Every time she turned her head, the other disappeared from the edge of her vision.

Like a shadow hiding when you speak its name.

Why?

Why is Fireheart avoiding me?

The thought pricked her chest.

Cinderpaw tried to ignore it, but the camp’s silence amplified everything.

She drew in a breath through her mouth, held it, and let it out in a frustrated sigh.

She began to walk aimlessly, dragging her paws through the clearing.

The sound of the wind among the trees was her only companion.

Each step reminded her how empty the den felt without his voice, without his presence.

She wanted to see him.

She wanted him to talk to her, to look at her like before.

She wanted to feel again the brush of his fur, the soft words, the sense that the world could still be warm.

But Fireheart was drifting away.

And worse, he seemed afraid of her.

She remembered their last encounters, those evasive glances, the way he turned his eyes away when she came near.

There was something different in his eyes.

It wasn’t just discomfort anymore. It was fear.

Was he afraid of her?

No. That couldn’t be.

Cinderpaw snorted through her nose, incredulous. She struck the ground with a paw, raising a puff of dry dust.

The camp’s shadows stretched long, and the last rays of the sun painted the sky deep red.

In the distance, a sparrow took flight, breaking the silence.

Cinderpaw lifted her gaze just as a figure crossed the clearing.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Fireheart?

For an instant, she thought their eyes would meet.

But he walked past. He didn’t even seem to see her.

The she-cat felt something tighten inside her.

Her chest ached as if she’d been running.

She lowered her head.

The wind blew, rustling the leaves, carrying Fireheart’s scent toward her, the familiar aroma of forest and moss, of sunlight trapped in fur.

But that scent now felt foreign.

What did I do to you? she thought silently. Why do you look at me that way?

She closed her eyes for a moment.

Cinderpaw clenched her teeth.

Her tail trembled, agitated, as if every muscle in her body refused to calm.

“Are you all right, Cinderpaw?”

The voice made her turn.

For an instant, she thought she saw Fireheart’s face before her, his orange fur outlined against the sky, his green eyes reflecting the light of sunset. Her heart leapt. But when she blinked, the figure warped, and the warm glow turned into a shadow.

In front of her stood Tigerclaw.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The warrior stepped forward, just enough for his shadow to fall over her.

Cinderpaw blinked, disoriented.

“Tigerclaw?” she murmured. “What’s wrong? Do you need something? Are your paws hurting too? I can bring some herbs to—”

“I’m not here for that, Cinderpaw.”

The tone was low, controlled. It sounded almost kind. Almost.

The silence of the camp amplified his voice. Only the wind stirred the leaves of the trees above them.

“You see, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s an interesting rumor,” he continued, “and I wanted to confirm it with you.”

Cinderpaw perked her ears, trying to appear calm. But she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

“Confirm what?” she asked, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.

Tigerclaw tilted his head, and a faint, almost invisible smile formed on his muzzle.

“Last night I told you I wanted to speak with you alone, remember?”

Cinderpaw froze.

So… it had been him.

She swallowed, forcing her body to remain still.

“What did you want to talk about?” she said, feigning confidence.

The warrior smiled a bit more, lowering his head toward her. The reddish glow of sunset reflected in his eyes, giving them an amber tone that seemed to burn.

He came close enough for his muzzle to brush the apprentice’s forehead.

She trembled.

“I’ve heard,” he whispered, “that Fireheart has… a mate.”

The world seemed to shatter.

For an instant, all sound vanished.

No wind. No crickets.

Nothing.

Only silence.

Then, from above, a gust of wind descended violently.

At first, it was like a distant whisper, an invisible current sweeping down from the treetops, then it struck, rushing through the camp and hitting Cinderpaw’s fur with a dry hiss.

Her back arched slightly.

The air left her chest in a silent gasp.

Inside, something in her mind screamed don’t listen, don’t listen, but it was already too late.

The wind tousled her fur, cold and sharp like a warning.

The camp, the sky, the trees… everything seemed to move in slow motion.

She could feel the dust rising around her paws, her fur rippling, the leaves swirling around her as if the entire forest had inhaled with her.

And yet, outwardly, she remained still.

Not a word.

Not a movement.

Silence filled her ears with the thudding of her own heart.

Her gaze locked on Tigerclaw.

The scene had impossible clarity: the outline of his whiskers gleaming in the sun, the golden reflection in his eyes, the slow, heavy rhythm of his breathing.

Cinderpaw pressed her toes against the ground, claws digging into the damp earth.

The tingling climbed up her forelegs, brushing her bones.

She was short of breath, but she kept her neck high.

Her body trembled, but her mind didn’t.

She knew she had to stay composed.

She lifted her eyes.

Their gazes met, and she spoke with a calm she didn’t feel.

“Does he?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Her voice was calm. Empty.

But inside, the echo repeated again and again, tearing her apart: Does he? Does he? Does he…?

Tigerclaw raised an eyebrow.

There was a curious gleam in his gaze, almost amused.

As if he were watching a tiny crack begin to form in a stone.

“You seem interested, ha ha. Medicine cats must have a lot of free time to gossip, I’m sure. But relax, it’s only a rumor,” he said with a tone that tried to sound casual. “Still, I’m interested in knowing more. Fireheart does seem to be paying a bit more attention to certain she-cats lately.”

Cinderpaw clenched her jaw. Her body reacted before her mind; her claws unsheathed without her noticing.

Tigerclaw saw it, but didn’t move. On the contrary, he smiled with a calmness that unsettled her more than any threat could.

“And I’m sure,” he added with a half-smile, “that he’s not the only one hiding a forbidden love in this Clan.”

For a moment, Cinderpaw couldn’t breathe.

The silence between them deepened, heavy and thick.

The phrase echoed in her mind as if the whole forest had heard it.

Not the only one…

Tigerclaw’s gaze remained fixed on her, so direct it felt impossible to escape.

And then, unwillingly, something surfaced in her mind.

An image.

She and Fireheart… walking beyond the forest, across open fields, with Smudge trotting behind them.

The air was warm. Fireheart smiled.

Smudge, cheerful, led them toward a quiet burrow under the sun, to what he called a Twoleg home.

A life far from the Clan.

Without fear.

Without lies.

The thought struck her so quickly she barely noticed she was trembling, or that her mouth had opened without her realizing.

“I-I…” she murmured, her voice barely a thread. “Well… it’s just that Fireheart… Tigerclaw, you see, I…”

The warrior narrowed his eyes, confused.

His expression shifted for just a second, a faint frown, as if he didn’t understand what she was talking about.

Cinderpaw froze.

Reality crashed over her, shattering the fragile daydream.

Fireheart’s smile, Smudge, the burrow… all of it vanished like smoke.

“So you also suspect that affair, don’t you?” Tigerclaw asked, tilting his head with an inquisitive gleam in his eyes.

She blinked, dazed.

“W-What…?”

The warrior slowly turned his muzzle toward the warriors’ den.

“Graystripe.”

Cinderpaw stared at him, uncomprehending.

The air began to move again, and with it, the pressure in her chest.

“W-What…?” she stammered.

Tigerclaw nodded slowly, his tone turning colder, more calculating.

“I’m talking about the affair Graystripe has with a RiverClan she-cat,” he said with a calm, almost instructive voice. “Or so I suspect.”

The weight of the misunderstanding hit Cinderpaw like a blow.

Her ears flicked back, and her face tightened as she tried to hide her confusion.

For a moment, silence returned.

Only the wind whispered through the bushes, carrying away the words she didn’t dare speak.

The apprentice struggled to breathe.

Her mind still wavered between what she had imagined and what was actually happening.

He wasn’t talking about me… she thought.

And yet, her chest hurt as if he had been.

“I need you to tell me who they are if you know. We can still settle this peacefully with the two of them… or they could end up betraying the Clan.”

Cinderpaw watched Tigerclaw take another step toward her. His massive, imposing shadow completely covered hers.

The warrior stared at her, eyes half-closed, his voice dropping into a graver tone.

“In the past, there have been cats who betrayed their Clan… and caused real massacres. You’re young, Cinderpaw, but many here still remember those stories.”

The apprentice blinked. She didn’t know why, but suddenly her body felt lighter, as if the air itself had changed density.

“The tragedy of the ragged tortoiseshell she-cat must not be repeated.”

As he said this, Tigerclaw extended a paw toward her, a gesture meant to appear calm but filled with authority.

“Can I count on you, then?”

Cinderpaw kept her gaze fixed on his chest, then slowly raised it until it met his eyes. Her mouth felt dry, the words stuck in her throat.

“W… Why… do you suspect a WindClan she-cat?” she managed to say with effort.

Tigerclaw tilted his head and looked up at the sky. After a brief sigh, he lowered his muzzle again.

“At the last few Gatherings, Fireheart always seems to watch a WindClan she-cat who comes with a kit. The little one is very attached to him… and she seems to return the feeling. I’ve seen them talk, together, more than once.”

Cinderpaw’s eyes widened, her face tensed, and a strange tingling ran through her fur behind her ears. She pressed her toes into the ground and drew in a sharp breath.

“Y-You’re making that up…” she said with a trembling, nervous laugh. “Please, Tigerclaw…”

That couldn’t be true. Fireheart would never do something like that. Not him.

But then the words she had once heard echoed in her mind like a painful whisper:

I… love you too.

The echo cut through her.

Cinderpaw fell silent. She dug her claws into the soft earth, a low growl slipping from her throat before she could stop it.

Tigerclaw leaned toward her and, with an unexpectedly gentle motion, gave her a lick on the head. Cinderpaw stiffened immediately; the contact startled her.

Without another word, the warrior turned around and began to walk away.

“If Fireheart ever talks to you about her,” he said firmly without looking back, “come tell me. Let’s prevent the worst from happening. That warrior trusts you quite a bit… or at least, that’s what I’ve noticed.”

Cinderpaw watched him in silence as he left. His steps were heavy, steady. Before disappearing into the camp’s shadows, Tigerclaw turned his head and gave her a wink.

The air grew colder.

And for the first time in a long while, Cinderpaw didn’t know if she was trembling from fear… or from doubt.

The wind rose, making the apprentice’s fur stand on end. Her body felt heavy, her mind, even more so.

She lowered her head and retracted her claws.

She didn’t want to think it could be true.

She didn’t want to believe it.

But the fact that Fireheart had been avoiding her lately… left no room for doubt.

What else could Fireheart be hiding from her?

“Cinderpaw! Can you go get more chamomile?” she heard her mentor call from the medicine den, where Yellowfang seemed to be sorting through missing herbs.

Cinderpaw turned around, then headed toward the thick forest.

Graystripe still hadn’t returned to the Clan, and she remembered which way he had gone.

“Cinderpaw?” she heard her mentor meow again in the distance, but the apprentice had already left the clearing.

She began walking quickly, letting out a faint hiss.

I’ll settle these doubts quickly… and confirm that it’s not true! Fireheart isn’t in love with another she-cat…

She stomped a paw down hard, noticing the gray warrior’s paw prints ahead. Narrowing her eyes, she took a deep breath through her mouth.

Cinderpaw was determined.

Meanwhile, back at camp, a ginger she-cat stretched over a rock, yawning slightly as she watched Tigerclaw approach.

Sandstorm looked at the tabby warrior and smiled.

“Are you sure that information’s reliable, Sandstorm?”

Tigerclaw meowed as she licked her pads clean, noticing the scent of Cinderpaw fading from the camp.

“Yup… you can count on it. Just… let’s wait and confirm that theory.”

Sandstorm turned to look at the tabby.

“And maybe… I’ll help you, as I promised.”