Work Text:
Whitestorm woke before dawn, as usual, next to his mate. He breathed in the silence. The warrior's den was nice and warm, and the camp was safe, thanks to the newly appointed warriors keeping watch.
The thought of them, of one warrior in particular, had worry, again, tangling in his belly like a knot of worms.
Whitestorm was proud of the two new warriors, don't get him wrong. He admired their tenacity, their fighting ability, their capabilities as hunters for the clan.
It was just...
Graystripe himself was a bit young, but he was fully grown. His own apprentice, Sandpaw, was fully grown, and Dustpaw as well. Ravenpaw was on the small side, but he had been of age.
Fireheart was not.
Whitestorm, uneasy, disentangled from Willowpelt deftly, grooming her ear when she curled tighter into herself with a quiet noise.
"I'll be back, love," he murmured. Willowpelt seemed to relax a little in her sleep.
Whitestorm left the den with a last fond look. The air had turned brisk in the night; his whiskers pressed into his cheeks in slight annoyance. He spotted the new warriors easily; Graystripe's fluffy pelt leaning against Fireheart's, the latter's thinner coat bright in the gloom. Poor thing was shivering, he noted sadly.
Not quite time to release them, either. Whitestorm shook his head and padded over to the prey pile. As he debated over the remnants, thinking of maybe hunting something fresh for Willowpelt later as a love-gesture, parts of the camp slowly woke up; he could hear rustling in the elders' den, a loud unchecked yawn from Yellowfang's, soft cries from the nursery. Then, Frostfur, padding out of it with a tired look on her face.
She met his gaze; he tilted his head. She gave him something like a shrug, tilting her ears back and flicking her tail to the side. Nothing he could do, then. Whitestorm looked back down at the pile, but listened to her pawsteps as she came closer, probably also looking for something to eat.
"Couldn't sleep well," Frostfur murmured. She pawed at a blackbird.
"I don't blame you," Whitestorm replied softly. What parent would, after what happened yesterday? Her own kin, stolen under their noses. A violent battle to get them back, the loss of a precious clan-mate and a promotion to one too young for it- he was getting distracted. Belatedly, he adds, "Me either."
"Mm." Frostfur picked up the bird she had pawed at. "I'll see you around, yeah?"
"Patrol later, probably," Whitestorm agreed. He nodded farewell, which she returned, and then he was alone again.
He looked back over to the two warriors. Graystripe looked close to falling asleep sitting up, and Fireheart... Still had kit-soft fur. Was still smaller than he should be.
Whitestorm needed to speak to someone about this or he would. He would do something unwise. He tore his eyes away from the young ones, picked himself up and headed into the forest for a quick hunt, before he could tell the new warriors to go rest.
He needed to speak with Bluestar as soon as possible.
-
Whitestorm pawed at the ground in front of his leader's den anxiously. He'd been thinking about how to approach her all day; annoyingly distracted on patrols, missing catches and irritating his clan-mates for being so absent-minded.
"Bluestar?" He called, trying to not sound nervous.
"Yes?" Came her reply, muffled by lichen.
Whitestorm pushed his head just past it, lowering his voice. "May we speak?"
"Of course. Come in."
Whitestorm entered her den, tail flipping back and forth. Bluestar herself was in her nest, energetically grooming her flank. Feathers had been scattered all over the den floor with clumps of soft moss. He kept his eyes on the ground, even as he crouched near her. He didn't want to talk about this. He really didn't.
"Yes?" Bluestar asked again, voice dampened by her fur.
Whitestorm hesitated.
Bluestar waited.
Okay.
"I've noticed a few... Concerning things," He began, and stopped. Stars, this was hard.
"About?" She sounded casually interested. Whitestorm rarely had legitimate criticisms to bring to her attention, but she looked willing to hear him out.
"About Firepa- Fireheart," he hedged. Bluestar tilted her head at him when he chanced a look; she looked worried, now. She nodded for him to go on.
"He's too young, Bluestar," finally burst out of him, and he cringed.
She blinked with surprise. Then narrowed her eyes, but she held her tongue; Whitestorm wondered, briefly, if she wouldn't immediately regret it.
"He still looks like an apprentice!" Whitestorm stood, started to pace. "He can't be older than nine moons! Tell me, was he actually six moons when we brought him here? He's only been training for four!"
"Fireheart has more than proven himself, Whitestorm," Bluestar defended him, tone cold. He could hear the underlying watch yourself, kit, and it did nothing to calm him.
"I'm not denying that! And I don't care that he used to be a kittypet! He was a kit! He still is! You should have seen it when you trained him!" Whitestorm growled back. He could feel his fur bristling. "Is he so gifted, then, for you to grant rank as you see fit, like Brokenstar? He is too young!"
Bluestar reared back, true rage flashing in her bright eyes. Whitestorm felt the quick bite of guilt, but stood his ground.
"You dare to compare me with that filth?!" Bluestar snapped, the fur on her back raising.
"I dare when you promote kits before they're grown!" Whitestorm shot back. A snarl built in his chest. "Why, Bluestar?"
His leader growled wordlessly, claws ripping into her nest. Her bushy tail lashed violently, whipping up moss and leaves and telling him without words how angry he had made her and he was sorry, but also not at all.
She didn't respond.
Whitestorm inhaled deeply after a long, tense moment, letting the defensive rage fade out. It wasn't going to get him anywhere.
He sighed.
"Auntie. Why?"
She blew out a growling breath. Gave her fur a few quick licks to calm herself. Whitestorm waited.
"He's like me, Whitestorm," she eventually spoke, eyes closed.
Anyone could tell you that, he thought, perhaps uncharitably. Instead of saying that, he chose to settle beside her, pressing close in wordless comfort. In wordless encouragement to keep explaining, please, for the love of the stars.
"Spottedleaf told me something before we brought him to the clan, you know? About how he would be important to us," Bluestar murmured sadly. "He looked it then, when he fought Longtail and won his place here, and every other time he's pulled some hare-brained stunt. Every single thing that kit does, it's like its own stars-sent message, telling me 'this is you! this is what you would have done, what you were like, what you dreamt of doing!' You know?"
Whitestorm... Didn't, but he wasn't going to interrupt her.
"The stars seem to be watching his every move, like they did mine. Stars, White, I know he's young. I know. I saw it then, and I see it now. But answer me this," Bluestar turned her head to look him in the eye, her face deadly serious. "Do you really think being an apprentice longer would protect him, the way things are headed? Could we keep him safe?"
Unfortunately, Whitestorm didn't know. It bit at him like flies. He shook his head mutely.
"I don't know either. So I made a choice." Bluestar sounded so resigned, it broke his heart. He tried to purr for her, firmly pressing his head into her shoulder. I'm here, it said.
(He purred for himself, too, trying to soothe the ache in his chest.)
They laid together quietly, lost in thought.
"...sorry for shouting at you, Auntie," Whitestorm murmured, contrite.
Bluestar snorted none-too-quietly. Her tail hugged him close.
"I get it," she allowed. Then, dry as bone, "Don't make it a habit, kit."
"Do my best," he smiled into her fur at the endearment. He made no promises, of course.
Bluestar huffed knowingly, the soft breath almost a laugh. She pressed her nose against his forehead lightly, rubbing her jaw over his ears, then grooming them with a purr thrumming her throat.
(Whitestorm, privately, had always thought that being clan leader was a thankless job; having to be the one to make hard decisions, shouldering the weight of their clan-mates' lives every day and trying to do right by them always took a toll. He didn't envy it at all.)
"All we can ever do is our best, White," Bluestar whispered in his ear, melancholy coloring her tone despite the purr. Whitestorm sighed again.
"Yeah."