Chapter 10 — Secret Care and Embers

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Chapter 10
Secret Care and Embers

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♣

The air inside the medicine cat’s den was thick, with that unmistakable aroma of dried herbs and accumulated moisture.

Mistyfoot had woken up early, before the light of dawn had completely brushed the entrance. The sun was already slipping through the gaps in the moss roof, painting the ground with golden stripes, but inside everything remained in quiet twilight.

Her paw was still sore, but less so than in previous days. She had begun to move it slowly upon getting up, pressing gently against the ground. Her head hurt if she stood upright for too long, but her body no longer felt like a wet stone. Cinderpelt’s treatment was working.

She allowed herself to walk a few steps, limping slightly, and then sat back down beside her bed.

Almost there…

But at that moment, a shadow passed in front of the entrance.

Mistyfoot tensed.

Without thinking, she dropped onto her bed as if she were deeply asleep, feigning heavy and regular breathing. Her fur was still disheveled, and her posture slumped enough to convince anyone who didn’t look closely.

“Cinderpelt?” a male voice asked, soft and somewhat unsure.

Mistyfoot opened an eye slightly.

She didn’t recognize that voice.

“She’s not here,” she replied, too quickly.

Damn it! She was supposed to be asleep…

She heard a brief silence, followed by the sound of careful steps entering the den. They weren’t heavy or suspicious. Rather, they were firm and confident. The cat approached the corner where Cinderpelt usually kept her herbs and dropped something wrapped in banana leaves.

“I brought this,” he said, as if it didn’t matter whether she heard him or not. “The herbs she asked for this morning.”

Mistyfoot, now more awake from the surprise, turned an ear slightly in his direction.

“Who are you?”

The cat seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“Brackenfur. Warrior of ThunderClan. I was with the morning patrol.”

He didn’t sound arrogant. Not even curious. His tone was simply… polite.

Mistyfoot sat up slowly, not pretending this time. Her paws cracked as she moved, but she managed to sit without wobbling.

Brackenfur didn’t look directly at her. Instead, he calmly arranged the leaves on the stone where Cinderpelt organized her supply. Although he didn’t seem to fully understand what each plant was, he took the time to separate them by color and texture, comparing some with those already there. He moved his paws carefully, without pushing anything out of place.

“You’re not a medicine cat,” Mistyfoot commented as she watched him.

Brackenfur turned his head slightly, looking at her sideways.

“No. But Cinderpelt taught me a couple of things. She says I’m less clumsy than other warriors when it comes to these tasks.”

Mistyfoot purred softly.

“It could be said that it’s a compliment coming from her.”

Brackenfur smiled slightly and returned to his task. Silence returned for a few moments, comfortable, without tension.

“Do you get very bored here?” he asked suddenly, without looking at her.

Mistyfoot blinked.

“Quite a bit. I can’t go out. I can’t train. I can’t hunt. I can barely sleep because the smell of a thousand herbs fills my whiskers.”

Brackenfur let out a small laugh.

“Yes, it’s quite unbearable.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Whenever I can. I like to help her. And I think it relieves her to have someone to talk to who isn’t delirious with fever.”

Mistyfoot tilted her head, observing him with new curiosity.

“You seem… different from the others.”

“Different from whom?”

“From those who look at me as if I shouldn’t be here.”

Brackenfur paused for a moment in his sorting.

“Not everyone thinks the same. I don’t care where you come from if you’re hurt. Or if you’re in pain. That’s all that matters while you’re here.”

Mistyfoot fell silent.

It wasn’t common to receive words like that, not even in her own Clan. Much less in one that wasn’t hers.

“Thank you.”

Brackenfur nodded, picking up a fallen mint leaf and placing it in its place.

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes… it only hurts a little when I get up. But I can walk.”

“With that, Cinderpelt will be happy. Although she’ll probably order you not to go out for another three days,” he added with a half-smile.

Mistyfoot huffed.

“I can already imagine that.”

They remained silent for a while longer, only the soft rustle of leaves stirring between Brackenfur’s paws. The den, usually full of medicinal aroma and worried whispers, seemed warmer with his calm presence.

“Can I see your paw for a moment?” Brackenfur asked, his voice soft but sure.

Mistyfoot blinked. She hadn’t expected that.

She hesitated.

For all those days, only Cinderpelt had touched her wound. And although she already felt stronger, it still wasn’t easy to allow another warrior to approach… much less one she had just met.

But there was something in Brackenfur’s gaze, in that calm that seemed to envelop him like his own fur, that made her body, despite the doubt, end up extending her paw toward him.

Brackenfur observed it carefully, lowering his head slightly. He brought his muzzle close gently, and without warning, licked the wound softly.

Mistyfoot shuddered instantly, tensing her body.

“What are you doing?” she whispered with a mix of alarm and surprise.

Brackenfur backed away slightly and opened his muzzle, briefly sticking out his tongue.

On his tongue, still visible between the fangs, was a greenish paste, wet and thick.

“Calm down,” he murmured. “I’ve been chewing a mixture of herbs for a while. They’re yarrow leaves with a touch of comfrey root. They help relieve wounds from bites, especially from foxes. They take time to prepare, so I thought it would be useful to come already prepared.”

Mistyfoot stared at him, not knowing what to say for a moment.

The way he had done it. The care. The foresight.

“That’s… very considerate,” she said finally, somewhat shyly.

“I’m just trying to help,” Brackenfur replied with a slight smile, without boasting. “I don’t like to see anyone hurt, no matter what Clan they’re from.”

He looked at the wound area again and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, placed one of his front paws on Mistyfoot’s forehead, very carefully.

The she-cat remained completely still.

The touch was warm, unexpected.

“You have a bit of a fever,” he murmured. “Where has your sister gotten to? She has a sick patient and she’s not here.”

“I’m already getting better,” Mistyfoot replied, her voice a little weaker than she would have liked.

Brackenfur frowned.

“Symptoms of relief can be deceiving. You need to stay hydrated. Give me a second.”

He walked a few steps to the back of the den, among the shadows where Cinderpelt usually stored damp moss. He rummaged carefully, and soon returned with a small clump of soaked moss, holding it in his teeth.

He placed it in front of Mistyfoot, pushing it slightly toward her with his nose.

“Drink.”

She looked at him, surprised again.

Not because of the gesture… but because of everything.

The way he moved. The serenity with which he spoke. The almost instinctive way he cared for someone, asking for nothing in return.

The way his golden fur glowed in the dim light of the den.

The confidence with which his paws touched the ground. The words he used. The way he didn’t look at her with distrust, nor as an intruder.

Just as someone who deserved to be cared for.

Mistyfoot swallowed.

And then she felt something new.

A slight tremor on her lower lip. Her cheeks burned.

Am I…? No. It can’t be…

Brackenfur watched her, tilting his head slightly.

“Your fever seems to be rising,” he murmured with a concerned tone.

“No!” Mistyfoot said quickly, touching her face with both paws.

She felt the heat on her skin.

Am I… blushing? By the stars!

Without thinking, she pushed her face against the damp moss he had brought her, hiding her expression, seeking the coolness as if it could erase the heat that was invading her.

Brackenfur said nothing.

He just watched her in silence, with a small smile in his eyes, before starting to carefully clean some herbs that had stuck to her side.

Mistyfoot, still with her face buried in the moss, closed her eyes for a moment.

What’s wrong with me…?

Why does ThunderClan have so many attractive cats…?

The question crossed her mind like a treacherous, absurd, but very real thought. First, there had been Cloudtail with his bold and provocative attitude. Now, Brackenfur, with his serene voice, his attentive movements, and that way of treating her as if she had always been part of his Clan.

She was trapped between confusion and a constant blush. She still didn’t understand if it was the fever… or something much worse.

It was then that she felt Brackenfur’s soft lick on her cheek.

The contact was light but firm. Not like a medical gesture, but like something more… something that made her close her eyes and tense her tail without wanting to, which twitched behind her with a slight flick.

“Take the water from the moss carefully,” he murmured, his voice so close that Mistyfoot could feel his warm breath. “Do you need anything else?”

The question caught her off guard. Her mind, still warm from everything that had just happened, didn’t know how to react.

She looked at him.

Just for a second.

And in that instant, she felt the heat rise to the tips of her ears again.

“N-no… I’m fine,” she stammered, lowering her gaze.

Brackenfur smiled and leaned down to carefully take her injured paw in his. Mistyfoot barely dared to look at him, much less move. He was so close now… and yet, everything he did was with the precision and delicacy of a trained medicine cat.

“I’m going to put a little clean cobweb,” he explained. “We don’t want this to get infected.”

She nodded silently, obediently, as if her body had forgotten how to do anything else.

Brackenfur patiently placed the cobweb, pressing gently. Then, without taking his eyes off her paw, he spoke softly, as if confessing a secret.

“Cinderpelt shouldn’t know that I sneak in here.”

Mistyfoot perked up her ears, surprised.

“Huh?”

“From time to time, I watch her when she tends to others. I pay attention to how she does it. I’ve learned a few things that way. Enough, at least, to help you today,” he purred softly. “But she doesn’t know I’ve been practicing. If she finds out, she might use me as an apprentice without meaning to.”

Mistyfoot laughed, barely a trembling murmur.

“So this is…?”

“A secret,” said Brackenfur, finally looking her in the eyes. “Can we keep it together?”

She nodded quickly, feeling the blush return with force.

“Yes. Of course. Sure.”

Brackenfur seemed satisfied with her answer.

The silence that followed was warm, unexpectedly comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled with words because everything has already been said in gestures.

Then, without warning, Brackenfur leaned in a little more.

Mistyfoot remained still, her whiskers trembling slightly.

And she felt it.

The soft brush of his nose against hers.

A caress so subtle it could well have been a dream. A gesture that had no name in the warrior code, but spoke more than any meow.

Forehead against forehead.

Nose against nose.

She closed her eyes without realizing it.

And then he spoke.

“I think your fever will go down soon,” he whispered, his voice a warm murmur. “So make sure you rest, okay?”

Mistyfoot could barely respond.

She just nodded, still not opening her eyes, feeling the last trace of the contact fade away like the wind through the leaves.

When she opened them again, Brackenfur was already carefully arranging the last herbs. Then, without another word, he stood up and headed towards the exit of the den, casting one last glance over his shoulder.

And he smiled at her.

A quiet smile, the kind that asks for nothing.

Just leaves something behind.

And Mistyfoot, still blushing, with her cheek against the moss, remained silent… wishing her heart would stop beating so hard.

I wish I could stay a little longer…

Mistyfoot rested her head on her bed with a soft sigh. The breeze coming through the crack in the den was cooler now, gently caressing her fur. In her chest, she still felt the warm trace of Brackenfur’s touch, as if his nose was still pressing against hers in a gesture that had no explanation… but carried weight.

She didn’t understand what was happening. She only knew that, for the first time since she had set a paw in Thunder territory, she didn’t feel like she wanted to run away.

For the first time, she felt like she was part of something.

Even if it was just for a while.

A little longer…