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Fireheart was cold.
The last leafbare he’d lived through had been locked behind frosty windows and tightly sealed doors. He hadn’t been let out of his housefolk’s sight for too long back then, when he was small enough to drown in a snowdrift. His later irritation at being called back indoors had yet to arise in those days. He was content to stay in the cozy warmth of the house, and looking back, Fireheart could understand all too well why his curiosity for the outdoors was only piqued come newleaf.
When Mousefur nudged him awake for dawn patrol, Fireheart could not bring himself to move for several minutes. Just the idea of dragging himself from the huddle of body warmth inside the warriors den made a yowl of misery swell in the back of his throat. It was still dark outside, and it would be for some time yet. The days were unbearably short, the sun gracing the forest with its presence for only a few measly hours before beginning its hasty descent in the western sky, and even the brief periods of sunlight barely provided any heat. But he dragged himself to his paws and plodded out to meet the rest of his patrol before they set off into the forest.
“Come on, Fireheart,” Whitestorm rumbled from the head of the patrol after several minutes of walking. He, Mousefur, and Sandstorm had all paused and were looking back at Fireheart expectantly. “We’re all tired, but that’s no excuse to drag our paws. ThunderClan needs its dawn patrol alert!”
Fireheart clenched his jaws to keep his teeth from chattering as he dipped his head respectfully, forcing himself to bound forward and catch up with the patrol. Of course he wasn’t special. They were all cold. He had no excuse.
Except in the cold, it was easier to falter. It was easier to think about Cinderpaw curled up in Yellowfang’s dead, blue eyes dull and disappointed; about Graystripe’s cold gaze and curled lip as he spat insults at his former best friend; about the sheer disgust on each and every one of his Clanmates’ faces when he brought Cloudkit to ThunderClan camp; about how breathtakingly, achingly lonely he was here; and begin to suffocate.
Maybe a stronger cat wouldn’t worry about any of it. Or maybe a stronger cat would have avoided all these problems in the first place. Maybe he could have saved Cinderpaw, maybe he could have talked sense to Graystripe, maybe he could have turned Princess down and pushed her firstborn back to his kittypet life. Maybe Fireheart has made the wrong decision at every single turn.
Maybe he shouldn’t even be here.
“You can’t blame Fireheart,” Mousefur said, her eyes gleaming with amusement as Fireheart rejoined the patrol. “It’s his first leafbare in the wild, after all.”
Fireheart knew she meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but he couldn’t help a mutinous lash of his tail. He didn’t need the constant reminders that he was different from everyone else. Like he could forget when half the Clan still looked at him strange when he thought he couldn’t see, and half of those cats glared when they knew he could.
“Fireheart is a strong warrior,” Whitestorm said calmly. “He can keep up.” His ear twitched. “If he wanted to.”
Fireheart bit back a retort. “I’m sorry, Whitestorm. I’ll keep up.”
Whitestorm nodded, and then patrol set off once more. This time, Fireheart did all he could to push everything to the back of his mind, grit his teeth against the cold, and just focus on the task at hand. Whitestorm set a swift, leaping pace, which Fireheart was begrudgingly grateful for. At least this way he could warm up, or get as close to warm as possible. When they reached the RiverClan border, Whitestorm ordered Fireheart and Sandstorm to mark the border downstream, while he and Mousefur followed the border past Sunningrocks.
“Don’t mind Whitestorm,” Sandstorm said as they padded down the pebbly riverbank. “He’s still sore about a fight he and Tigerclaw got into yesterday. Don’t tell him I told you, but I think he’s hurt over how much time Tigerclaw has been spending with Goldenflower.”
Any other time, Fireheart would purr with amusement, or at the very least feign interest in Clan gossip. But today, he could barely manage half a twitch of his whiskers. “I don’t mind him. He was right. I should keep up better.”
Sandstorm rubbed against a sapling, leaving tufts of pale orange fur behind as she marked ThunderClan’s border. “I guess. But everyone’s sleepy for dawn patrol.” She yawned as if to prove her own point, jaws splitting open to reveal neat white teeth.
Fireheart nodded absentmindedly, trailing down the riverbank several fox-lengths and leaving his own scent. The river was still frozen, and it reminded him of the day Graystripe and Silverstream met. He wondered where Graystripe was now. If he strained his eyes enough, would he glimpse his familiar thick pelt weaving amongst the reeds on RiverClan territory? Or was he still in his nest where Fireheart had left him this morning? For a second, his heart skipped a beat when he saw a flash of gray across the river— but it was only a heron, slowly picking its way through the bulrushes in search of a morning meal.
“--heart? Fireheart!”
Fireheart jumped sheepishly, swinging his head around to meet Sandstorm’s annoyed gaze. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I said if we’re done, we should head up towards Fourtrees to regroup with Whitestorm and Mousefur.” Sandstorm’s tail twitched to and fro, and Fireheart felt a stab of guilt. He felt as though he wasn’t giving Sandstorm anything for being kinder to him now. Every time he messed up in front of her, every time he got distracted, he was just giving her more reasons to revert back to her bullying behavior as an apprentice. He needed to try harder.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, dipping his head. “You’re right, let’s go.”
But Sandstorm didn’t move. “What was that?”
“What?” Fireheart glanced over his shoulder, then at the river. “Did you see something? RiverClan?”
“No.” Sandstorm was eyeing him, half confused, half thoughtful. Maybe slightly concerned. “You. What did you just do?”
“What?” It was Fireheart’s turn for confusion. “I agreed with you. Let’s go.”
Sandstorm shook her head. “No, like… the way you lowered your head, I don’t know. It was like, submissive.”
Fireheart stared blankly at her. “Okay?”
“Well,” Sandstorm huffed, “you’ve been a warrior longer than me. Don’t do that. It’s weird. You did that and spoke to me like I was Whitestorm.” She made a face.
“I mean.” Fireheart’s pelt prickled with a strange, unpleasant heat. What was she making such a big deal about? A simple gesture? “Techincally, you are older than me.”
“Barely.”
“What does it matter?” Fireheart tried not to snap. Great StarClan, he was cold.
“Just— don’t!” Sandstorm clearly didn’t care about snapping. She lashed her tail. “You don’t have to treat yourself the way everyone else treats you!”
“What are you talking about?” Fireheart said, exasperated.
“I don’t know!” Sandstorm burst out. “Just don’t talk to me like I’m going to claw your ears off for any wrong move! And for StarClan’s sake, don’t look at me like you think you’d deserve it!”
“Don’t I?” Fireheart spat. “Wouldn’t you?”
The fire faded from Sandstorm’s eyes. The fur on her shoulders didn’t lie flat, but her muzzle smoothed and her ears lifted. “Of course I wouldn’t.”
Fireheart looked away, all of her earlier exhaustion returning with an even greater heaviness. “Come on. Let’s find Whitestorm.”
But when he tried to move forward, Sandstorm blocked his path. “Do you think I would?”
“Do I think you would what?” Fireheart said wearily.
“Hurt you,” Sandstorm said. She held Fireheart’s gaze.
“No,” Fireheart answered at length. “Not for nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” Sandstorm said suddenly. “For the way I acted. Before, I mean.”
Fireheart blinked. “I know.”
“Do you? I never said it.”
“...I assumed, I guess.”
“Well. That’s good, I suppose.” Sandstorm continued staring at him. “I am, though. You deserve to hear it from me. Out loud. I’m sorry for how rude I was, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel unsafe. I was angry that an outsider could just waltz right into our camp and take all the attention and the glory and catch Bluestar’s eye and all that. I believed all the stories they’d told me, about kittypets being lazy and ungrateful and— well, you know. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance.”
Fireheart was stunned into silence. No cat had ever told him this before, not a single one of his Clanmates. True, most of the cats who were loudly antagonistic to him initially had yet to quit their ways. Yet Fireheart doubted that even the warriors who had judged him quietly from a distance, who accepted without question that he must work twice as hard as any Clanborn cat to be good enough, realized any error in their ways, even if they trusted Fireheart now. He was an exception to their beliefs, not a challenger. Not enough to make them rethink anything. And if he messed up, then every ounce of hard work would be forgotten in a heartbeat. At the end of the day, that is how every single cat in ThunderClan saw him, save for perhaps Yellowfang and Cinderpaw. Even Whitestorm, who was usually so kind, or Bluestar, who had personally vouched for him many times, still held onto their doubts after so many moons. It hurt, like how a healed bone did seasons after it had been broken. Most of the time, it was alright, but then on some random day, it would ache, and you’d realize you could never forget. Fireheart was never meant to forget. No Clan cat would ever let him. And worse yet, maybe, was how unapologetic they were about. They saw no fault in their ways.
But here Sandstorm was, eyes blazing as though daring Fireheart to refuse her, standing defiantly amongst everything she had done wrong.
Fireheart choked out, “I— Thank you. Thank you, Sandstorm. That means a lot.”
At the emotion in his voice, Sandstorm’s fur ruffled self-consciously. “Yeah, well. You know,” she said, rather lamely. She scuffed the earth with one paw, finally looking away and breaking the intense eye contact.
“I’m sorry too,” Fireheart said. “For any time I might have been presumptuous or controlling.” He gave his chest fur a couple of embarrassed licks. “Graystripe told me that I can be, um— pompous. I don’t mean to come off that way. I— I don’t realize, sometimes, how others perceive me, or the things I say and do. I always just want to help.”
Sandstorm sighed, and was it Fireheart’s imagination, or was there a hint of fondness there? “I know. That’s half the reason it’s so irritating. You’re so stars-damned self righteous. You look at me with those big starry eyes, and it’s like you think you have to save the world. Like there’s some grand narrative happening in your head that only you can hear, and there’s no cat else in all the Clans that can help you.”
Fireheart blinked, not entirely understanding. “I’m… sorry.” He tipped his head. “I have… big eyes?”
“Enormous,” Sandstorm said grimly. “Just disproportionately huge. Falling out of their sockets. It’s concerning, really, you should get it checked out.”
For the first time in days (moons?) Fireheart giggled. He instantly hated the way it came out, bashful and out of practice. “Yeah, well… you have… white teeth!”
Sandstorm snorted. “White teeth?”
“Yeah, and, er— shiny fur?” Fireheart thought about it. “Yeah. Shiny fur. It’s a problem, because— you’ll scare off all the prey with your light!”
Sandstorm groaned in despair, and yeah, that was definitely affection this time. “Great StarClan, Fireheart, you’re terrible at insults.”
“I am not!” Fireheat said indignantly, bounding after Sandstorm as she turned and headed back upriver. “You should hear some of the stuff I’ve said to Tigerclaw! Besides, what kind of insult is big eyes anyway?”
“You’re an idiot for the stuff you say to Tigerclaw,” Sandstorm purred. “Or just insane. And big eyes are gross. You look like a newborn deer.”
“And now you’re bullying me again,” Fireheart sniffed. “Here I was, thinking you had changed…”
“You’re right, it was all an act!” Sandstorm crowed. “My dastardly plan, now in motion. As soon as you let your guard down, I’d—” She crouched, hindquarters waggling, eyes glinting with mirth. It didn’t escape Fireheart’s notice that she gave him plenty of time to prepare or tell her to stop, but he kept walking, pretending as though he didn’t notice her terrible sneak attack. With a pitchy battle cry, she leapt into the air, aiming for his back with sheathed claws. Fireheart feigned shock as she landed atop him, knocking him off his paws and sending them both tumbling down the gentle slope and onto the frozen river. It had been moons since the first freeze when Graystripe fell in, the ice now solid and unbreakable.
“The most heinous betrayal!” Fireheart moaned.
“All too easy!” Sandstorm hissed. “Now you’re stranded on the ice!”
“We’re both stranded on the ice.” Fireheart scrambled to get his paws to move in the right direction. “If I go down, you’re coming with me!” He unsheathed his claws for traction, but even then, he had a hard time moving forward. He yelped as his hind paw suddenly gave out on the ice, sending him lurching towards Sandstorm and throwing both of them off their paws once more. A frantic apology was on the tip of his tongue before he realized Sandstorm was shaking with the force of her purrs.
“Watch it, you oaf!” she snickered, wiggling out from beneath him.
“Who are you calling an oaf?” Fireheart launched himself at her, this time purposefully knocking her down, and they both let out mrowls of laughter.
They took turns pushing the other around the ice, more often than not resulting in total collapse by both parties, until their paws were numb with cold and the ice was scored with clawmarks. For the first time in moons, Fireheart forgot about Cinderpaw and Tigerclaw and Graystripe and all of it. With Sandstorm, he let his heart lighten.
“Fireheart! Sandstorm!”
Both cats froze, looking at each other and then to shore. Whitestorm nearly blended in with the snowbanks.
“Oops,” Sandstorm whispered.
Moving almost as one, the two scrambled to get off the ice, still breathless and giddy. Even the impending doom of Whitestorm’s disapproval couldn’t rob Fireheart of his good mood.
“Careful!” Sandstorm lurched forward as one of Fireheart’s forepaws slipped out from under him. She caught him with one shoulder before he could crash into the ice. As Fireheart leaned against her lean muscle, he had to hold back a shiver, one entirely unrelated to the cold. Their breath billowed in steaming clouds around their muzzles, and for a minute, everything was silent as they supported one another, sliding and skidding their way back to land.
Though Fireheart was expecting a sharp scolding, when he and Sandstorm finally reached Whitestorm, the senior warrior’s expression had shifted somewhat, in a way Fireheart couldn’t fully explain.
“Next time, save it for after the dawn patrol,” was all he said, a strange glimmer in his eye. Fireheart and Sandstorm exchanged a mystified glance, but neither were willing to question their luck. They dutifully followed Whitestorm, meowing chipper apologies and promises to focus on the patrol.
As he walked away from the river, Fireheart kept pace with Sandstorm. She walked so close to him that their pelts brushed. Again, the strange shiver ran down Fireheart’s spine. He supposed he must just be grateful for the added warmth.
“Thank you,” he whispered to Sandstorm, quiet enough for Whitestorm to miss.
“What for?” she breathed back.
Fireheart didn’t know how to explain it. “For being my friend,” he settled on.
Sandstorm gave his ear a quick lick. “Silly furball,” was all she said.
Maybe he was. But for the rest of the day, Fireheart felt warm all the way from his nose to the tip of his tail.