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Once upon a time, two cats were called a good match, and it was convenient that they loved one another already.
She is like the setting sun. Breezepaw doesn't know how all of WindClan is not amazed at her beauty — how could they not see it? The way her fur looks golden in the right light, and how she moves as smoothly through the moor as the wind.
It irks him endlessly that the only other cat to appreciate her is that ThunderClan brute.
"You're doing good," Onestar says. "I'm proud of you."
Heatherpaw purrs.
"My daughter," he continues. "You're shaping up to be one of the best in the Clan."
Sometimes, Breezepaw points to those moments. "Crowfeather could drive a rabbit nine fox-lengths away from me," he complains, "and yell at me for leaving my position to catch it."
Heatherpaw tries to be comforting, but what can she say?
"Crowfeather doesn't appreciate you," she says. "We never fail."
"Well," he says, looking at his paws, "you always lead them right to me."
"Breezepaw is a good match," Whitetail says. "He's from a good family."
It's funny, because it's the kind of opinion Whitetail would have. Never mind that Nightcloud and Crowfeather barely share a nest. Nightcloud is a respected flusher, and everyone knows Onestar considers Crowfeather one of his most trusted warriors. Breezepaw says it's the start of a bad joke.
"Of course," Whitetail says, "it's your decision, dear."
It is, and it isn't.
Heatherpaw supposes she's lucky she likes him. She'd feel bad if they ended up like his parents.
"That's the thing," Breezepaw says. "We won't. We — well, I care about you, Heatherpaw." He looks at his paws, almost bashful.
Heatherpaw touches her nose to his. "I care about you too."
"Right," he agrees. "So it doesn't matter, because we'd do this anyway."
Brokenstar's lips curl. "It's that she-cat," he says, "isn't it?"
Breezepaw looks away.
"Let him love," Tigerstar says. "However it ends, it will only make him fight harder."
"Sit with me, Heatherpaw," Nightcloud says, and Heatherpaw obeys. "Crowfeather tells me you're nearing your assessment."
"Really?"
"Don't act modest," Nightcloud says. "You know you're ready."
Heatherpaw shifts. "Harepaw isn't—"
"You aren't your brother," Nightcloud says. "But that isn't what I wanted to talk about." She looks towards the lake. Only the very edge is visible from here. "I know you and Breezepaw have been...encouraged."
Heatherpaw tucks her tail around her paws. "I—"
"I'm not putting you through that embarrassment," Nightcloud says. "I'm not asking you to answer for the decisions of elders." She takes a deep breath. "But — Heatherpaw, you are a good cat, and I know how deeply Breezepaw cares about you, and I know they have all decided it will be a good match. Our families will strengthen each other." She sounds melancholic. "Sometimes, though, what you want is allowed to matter."
Heatherpaw is Onestar's pride. She is Breezepaw's love. She is Lionpaw's escape. She is a dutiful daughter and an obedient apprentice and a pretty choice for a future mate and she is so tired of belonging to others before she belongs to herself.
But that's just how her story goes.
Once upon a time, there was a she-cat who fought in an insurrection. She was beautiful. She was loyal. She was wrong.
Breezepaw realizes the truth before it comes out. It isn't hard. Crowfeather isn't as subtle as he thinks.
He doesn't say anything, and he's not sure why. His father has never done anything to win his loyalty.
Once upon a time, there was a tom who ran away with a medicine cat from another Clan. She was loyal. She was beautiful. He told himself he was wrong.
"Aren't you angry?" Breezepaw asks Harepaw.
"Why would I be? Heathertail earned this."
"But she's your littermate."
Harepaw yawns, circling. "And she'll be up all night in the bitter wind," he says. "Besides. All she had to do was learn how to run." He flicks his tail up before settling into his nest. "You and me, Breezepaw, we're the ones who do the real work."
Breezepaw thinks of every time Heathertail has drive a rabbit to him, her ears flat to her head as she sprinted so fast she often could have caught it herself. Her eyes always blaze with focus, every part of her committed.
He knows Harepaw is saying it doesn't count because he has to. It is the only way to avoid the hurt of his father's apathy. Breezepaw understands that intimately. But it's not enough to keep him from muttering, "She works hard."
Once upon a time, two cats had a kit to prove they were loyal. He was angry. He was fierce. He thought he was right.
"It's never going to matter," Heathertail says. "Breeze, we're not apprentices anymore. Why does it matter what I feel?"
"Becuase I love you," he says, plain and soft and vulnerable. "But I don't want you if you don't want me."
"I want to be allowed to want you," she says. "I want it to matter."
Once upon a time, two cats had three kits because they loved each other, and that is what cats who love each other do. One was clever. One was strong. One was beautiful. (She was also angry.)
After everything, but before they have cleaned off their Clanmates' blood, Breezepelt finds Heathertail.
"I'm sorry," he says, because there's nothing else to be said.
"Why'd you do it?"
"I thought that didn't matter."
Heathertail snorts. "Nice try. This time, it does."
Breezepelt studies her, the way she has blood on all four of her paws, and there's a rust-colored mark on her side, like her fur is crusted with blood from a scratch. "Were you hurt?"
"Stop avoiding the question." She looks at him. "My mother is dead, Breezepelt, so you are going to tell me why."
He swallows. "Because I love you."
"You have a convenient way of expressing it."
"I wanted to make a decision. I wanted you to get to make one." The words flow off his tongue faster and faster. He's not sure how true they are. "Because I was angry. Because I wanted to be free. Because I was tired of being a disappointment."
"It's funny," she says, "how loving me keeps being about you."
"I was a terrible father," Crowfeather admits to Heathertail. "I did everything wrong."
"It'll be a good show of forgiveness," the elder says. "Of course, Heathertail, the decision is yours."
It isn't, and it is.
"Why did you agree?" Heathertail asks. "You knew he didn't love you."
"Breezepelt loves you," Nightcloud says. "So I hardly see how that's applicable."
"He loves — loving me," she says. "He loves that he loves me. So why did you agree?"
"Because the elders were right," Nightcloud says. "They were right that the Clan didn't trust me." She blinks softly at Heathertail. "And because I was wrong. I believed he could learn to love me."
"Do you think..." Heathertail can't finish the question. She misses Whitetail, suddenly and sharply.
"I was wrong about something else," Nightcloud says. "I thought it didn't matter what I felt." She laughs softly. "But I already told you that part."
She is the dawn. She finds him in the morning, and tells him to follow her, and he does. Of course he does.
"I love you," she says. "I love you." Heathertail lifts her chin, just so. "I love that you have always caught whatever I chased to you. I love that when you are angry, you stomp around camp like a storm cloud. I love how, when the sun sets, for a perfect moment, you are the color of honey. I love that you were angry when Harespring's assessment was delayed. I love that you let kits play with your tail when you think no one is watching."
She falls silent for a moment. Breezepelt feels flush. He was always the one praising her, and after moons of silence, he feels like he has been drowning, and only just now has he been pulled onto dry land.
"I love you," she repeats. "And I want to love you, and I want you to love me."
"I do," he agrees, as fast as he can. "Heathertail, I love you so much it hurts."
She nods. "I still need time. But I want you to wait for me."
"I will," he agrees, his mouth dry. "As long as it takes."
Heathertail's whiskers twitch, just too subtly to be read. "I'll see you later," she says, heading deeper into the moor. The sun has cleared the horizon, and she is just herself, and she is beautiful.
Breezepelt doesn't wait to see where she goes. He understands that is not what she wants.
"You missed patrols," Crowfeather says.
"I know," Breezepelt says. "You never miss them."
Crowfeather looks confused, but Breezepelt doesn't wait to explain it to him.
"Kestrelflight?"
The medicine cat pops out of his den. "Did you need something?"
"I wanted to collect some wool for Heathertail," he says, "so I was hoping you had a good excuse."
Once upon a time, two cats loved each other, and that was what mattered.