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Burningstar basks in the sun, half of his body shaded by the driftwood roots that make up his den. His tail stirs up sand that was previously set in a conch shell design, thumping rhythmically in irritation and boredom. The sun gets covered by a slow moving cloud and he groans. He closes his eyes and smells the ocean breeze, nose twitching at the salty air and the gentle wind and the loud squabbling of the gulls. The rest of the clan is out, either fishing or foraging for the meager stockpile hidden in the various crags in the rocky outcroppings of Reefclan.
The wind is colder and the breeze less calming than the previous months. He knows in his heart and his bones that it will be moons before the warmth returns in full force. The gulls visit less and less, without the warm fronts to push them inland. He doesn't mind, even if it's a little more lonely. The cold was always harsh to him and he never dealt with the Park leafbares well. A trickle of worry and dread creeps up the back of his head, but selfishly, not for himself or for his clan.
The greenleaf before last, he first met Sol, and decided in his heart he would keep him for as long as he could. In hindsight, it was the easiest decision he would ever make. To declare to himself, to the world, to his brother that he would take care of the sniffling spitfire that couldn’t even force his legs to put him under cover from the drizzle.
Char tried his best to dissuade him, visiting more often in those early greenleaf moons to complain than he did the rest of the year. “Burning, he’s ill. He won’t last the leafbare. Let him wither away before you get too attached. I won’t be helping you feed him. He’s not worth the effort. You’ll starve alongside him. Don’t make me have to bury you.”
The sundown that the first leaves began to fall off the trees, Burning stopped Char in the middle of his newest tirade. With no mirth or laughter hiding in his words, he planted his paws firmly and squarely into the dirt, surrounding Sol with him. Char. No. Nothing you say or do will change my mind, Sol will be staying with me, for as long as he wants to, or as long as he needs. I am not abandoning him.
It was difficult, just like he knew it would be. Less twolegs visited the park grounds in leafbare, and the mice were harder to catch, even when he struggled under the red stone foundations to dig out the burrows for a few bites of freshkill. Sometimes Sol wouldn’t even have the strength or appetite to eat. He spent his days and nights shivering and Burning would wish and plead for the sun to rise earlier and beam harder each time he had to warm Sol under his belly. Charred visited in the mornings after the coldest nights to make sure he didn’t pass, shaking his head in disappointment everytime Sol poked his head up and had enough energy to hiss his displeasure.
Burning opens his eyes, the sunlight returning from its cloud cover to sparkle off the tidepools and into his eyes. He yawns and stretches, shaking the sand from his pelt. Breathing in easy and exhaling harshly, he sets off to continue his favorite duties.
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Sol’s den is as bare as ever. Burning drops the seashell offering in front of him and works at inlaying it with the other shells beginning to tessellate the floor. He paws the floor and fills the divots with more sand, laying down only when it’s smooth to the touch and to his standards for all the sand art he makes for Sol.
"It's turning seasons." Burning waits for Sol to reply to him. It's always hit or miss whether Sol deigns to give him a response, but he's always liked to give him the opportunity, even if it meant opening himself up to jabs and taunts about seemingly obvious observances like the change in weather.
After a few moments Sol’s ears flick and pale eyes shift to gaze at him sidelong. “I suppose it is.” Is the only response he gives, flat and blunt like well-worn stones. It’s enough for Burning, enough to know Sol cares enough to say anything at all at the very least. He sounds more tired than usual, a certain dullness to once piercing eyes. Is the chill already affecting his bones? Does the wind nip too harshly at too-large ears?
He curls his tail around Sol and turns to look at him, creaking his neck and putting his paws under him. He knows he won't get another chance to warm him, and Sol isn't so cruel to rouse him from such a comfortable pose so soon. Sol has changed, but the pieces of him that allow Burning to groom him and bat at his tail haven’t. It warms his heart and shatters it all at once, over and over.
“Do your medicine cats know you suffer terribly in Leafbare?”
“Your lungs rattled and creaked. It was awfully sad to listen to. I’m merely thinking about the peace and quiet Scorchedclan will lose when you refuse help for it.” He would tell the medicine cats himself, even if Sol promised to let them know. For all his insistence to hold a strong facade, it wouldn’t last if he was wheezing and trembling in front of his clan for moons. Sol’s silence speaks volumes. The way he averts his gaze and stares down towards the life bustling in the seemingly barren camp. Even after several heartbeats, Sol gives no answer.
Burning inhales deeply, covering Sol’s paw with his own. It’s so small compared to his, and as boney as ever. It makes his heart ache and stutter. He makes sure he has Sol’s eyes on him when he speaks next. “My promise still stands from back then, whatever you need, for as long as you want or need it. You have my aid. Herbs or prey, time or might.” ‘I will not abandon you, I would do it again. Let me support you, please.’ He thinks it in his head loudly and with conviction. He hopes Sol hears it, brightly and so clearly.
Sol shifts, something in his eyes darkening for a moment before he settles and tilts his head slightly. He’s grown so much, yet he still looks like the tiny, sickly creature he met in the rain. “Perhaps we should make that more official.” Sol stands, then, and Burning watches as he shakes himself off and sits up straight. Their paws no longer touch, and the ache within Burning’s chest only grows stronger. “Your aid, I mean. It should not be for myself alone. Our clans could help each other, provide resources and such.” The thin tom’s head tilts once more, and he seems to be considering something as his tail sweeps to lay discreetly over Burning’s. Burning wishes, desperately, he knew what went through Sol’s mind in times like this. Times where the only thing Burning could think of was the way Sol’s small, thin paw wasn’t tucked beneath the safety of his own. The way he couldn’t curl around Sol and keep him safe from the cold, from his own illness. From everything. From anything.
“It would be beneficial, expand the reach of our clans and allow us to travel between both camps more freely..” Sol trails off, looking away and staring down at two apprentices wrestling in the center of the camp. “We could train each other as well. Learn without worry of losing.” Did Sol worry about loss often? Did it plague him the way Sol himself plagued Burning?
“Sol, I already do that.” His tail thumps a little, sullenly. “It’d be just like old times.” He smiles brightly and with earnest glee. Roughhousing with his clanmembers wasn’t the same and Char rarely put his all into his scuffles.
“Sol, Reefclan will back you and Scorched to the very end, I’ll make sure of it.” Burning presses close to Sol, grinning up at him and curling their tails together just a bit more. “If we need to be allies for you to be secure in that knowledge, then I would be glad to form an alliance with you. With Scorched.” He speaks with conviction, with devotion, and he watches the way Sol’s breath seems to falter slightly before evening out as he nods and settles back down, laying beside Burning and allowing him to groom his sandy, boney shoulder. The ache in Burning’s chest remains, but it feels a little softer around the edges once more.
Burning leaves Sol’s den and flicks a passing greeting to the cats in the medicine den and the guards. Burningstar returns to Reefclan, warm and shining, the chill not yet reaching his bones and yet he aches so fiercely.
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