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Fangkit sprinted through the forest at top speed. She had successfully escaped the nursery again, but the warriors would be after her soon, and she had to be long gone by the time they reached the edge of their territory. Her little legs pumped until she was gasping for air. Her lungs burned as she dashed across the pine needles. She made it all the way to ThunderClan territory before she stopped to think about where exactly she was running to. It was the middle of the night, and the sounds of animals rustling in the underbrush unnerved the she-kit, though she’d never say so. She paced nervously as her breathing returned to normal and she debated where she could go from here. She’d never really gotten this far before. Someone had always caught her before she’d made it out of the Clan’s territory. “Where are they, anyway?” she wondered irritably. Her tiny mews sounded far too loud without the big, warm meows of the Clan cats around her. “One of those rabbit-brains have usually caught up with me by now.” Then she froze in numb horror as it struck her. “They’re not coming,” she announced flatly to no one in particular. It had always been a possibility, and she had always expected it, been waiting for it. She’d been too stubborn, too cruel, too much of a fox-heart. After all, if her own queen hadn’t wanted her, why should anyone else? But even though she’d known it was coming, it was still a shock. She sat down heavily as the realization sunk in. “They’ve given up on me,” she whispered, and the sharp, unexpected pain of it was enough to make her gasp. Where would she go? What would she do? She couldn’t survive on her own, she was only a month old and hadn’t even stopped nursing yet! She’d die without someone to look after her. She hated being helpless even more than she hated those fluff-brained Clan cats. She knew what she had to do. “Mouse-dung,” she hissed into the darkness, and then she was off.
Once she’d gotten within five tail-lengths of the Clan’s camp, she slowed way down and walked as lightly as she could. Scarheart, the oldest warrior in the Clan and the one with the best hearing, was on guard that night. Only Quietspirit was silent enough to get past her, that is until tonight, when Fangkit had. She didn’t even know how she’d accomplished it, not that she was complaining. She crouched down and crawled forward, taking care to avoid sticks. She was so close, just another mouse-length, and then suddenly she was dangling from the grizzled she-cat’s jaws by the scruff of her neck. It was all over so fast, she hadn’t even seen Scarheart move! “Fangkit?!” Scarheart hissed around the fur in her mouth. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were in the nursery with the others!” Fangkit, who was previously trying to claw and snap at her captor, suddenly went limp in Scarheart’s gentle but powerful grip. “Y-you mean,“ she stammered breathlessly, hardly daring to hope. “You mean... you didn’t even know I was gone?” Scarheart carefully set the little bengal down, where she stood on wobbly legs. “Well, no,” she admitted in her low, rough growl of a meow. “My hearing’s not what it used to be, y’know,” she added, scowling, “I can’t be expected to hear every little thing at my age, now can I?” Fangkit could have collapsed with relief, but she wasn’t about to give Scarheart the satisfaction of seeing her weak with joy. They hadn’t abandoned her! her heart seemed to sing. “You don’t have to be so happy about my failing health,” Scarheart meowed crossly. Fangkit must have been beaming. Flea-brain! she cursed herself. “Who’s happy?” she demanded, baring her teeth. “I’m not! Not even a little bit!” Scarheart seemed to stare into Fangkit’s soul with her one good eye. She was blind in her left one, but the other one was bluer than blue could be. Fangkit had never seen an eye so blue, and she fidgeted under its scrutinizing glare. It was if that eye was reaching into the deepest, most secret part of her heart and whispering, “That’s a load of badger droppings and you know it.” After what seemed like sunrises to Fangkit but in reality was probably only a heartbeat, Scarheart finally blinked. “Whatever you say, you little pain in the tail,” she grumbled, but the fondness in her tone was undeniable, and so familiar and comforting it was enough to make Fangkit almost lose it all over again. “C’mon, cheeky fox,” the battle-worn she-cat purred lowly, gently taking the tired kit by the scruff, “Let’s get you back to your nest.” Scarheart slipped Fangkit back into the nursery, setting her down among a pile of her fellow kits. Licking Fangkit’s cheek roughly, she whispered, “Welcome home, Fangkit,” and stalked off back to her post. Fangkit realized she felt better than she had since... well, ever. She curled up in the warmth of the nursery and didn’t even bite the kit next to her when he reached out and kneaded her with his paws in his sleep. Surrounded by warm, sleeping kits and feeling wanted for the first time in forever, Fangkit purred for the very first time in her whole young life, and dozed off to the sounds of family.
As Scarheart strode away, she glanced over her shoulder at the now sleeping kit. She shook her head and faced forward again, heading back to the edge of the camp to guard against intruders. “What a waste of time. Didn’t know you were gone, my tail,” she muttered, but said tail waved high and happy, and stayed that way all night.