Swiftpaw's Chance: Chapter 3
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“Swiftpaw?” Brightpaw asks quietly.
A quick glance shows that Cloudtail is still asleep beside her, because of course he is. Dogscar flicks his ears back—what’s left of them, anyway. The dogs ripped them to shreds. Just another scar for his collection.
“You can’t call me that anymore.”
She frowns. “You...you really want to be Dogscar?”
Dogscar looks away. It’s not about what he wants , it’s about what he’s done . Dogscar, for his mistakes. It’s his punishment. He and Bluestar can agree on one thing, at least.
“It’s my name,” he says at last.
“You’ll...you’ll still call me Brightpaw, though, right?” She sounds unsure. Afraid. It’s exactly the tone of voice she had when they were creeping through the forest searching for monsters. “At least...when we’re alone?”
Dogscar has only denied Brightpaw one thing when she asked like that. He won’t do it again.
Swiftpaw, can we go back to camp? Something feels wrong. I’m scared.
Come on, Brightpaw, if we do this, we’re warriors. We have to keep going.
“Yeah. Sure, Brightpaw. Whatever.”
She shifts a little in her nest and asks, “Did you mean what you said to Fireheart?”
Dogscar huffs, not a laugh. “Which part?”
“Any of it. All of it. Swif—Dogscar, you can’t mean that. You can’t blame yourself, or him, or any cat.”
He looks at her, and her eyes— eye , because she only has the one, now—is big and imploring, but he can’t agree with her this time.
“Yes,” he says, “I can. And I will. What do you care what I think, anyway?” He turns around, settling his head on his forepaws. “Doesn’t change anything.”
“Dogscar, it wasn’t your fault-“
“It is my fault! ” Dogscar roars, spinning back around and half rising into a crouch. Every hair along his spine is raised, and somewhere along his back a torn-open wound drips fresh blood. His claws make furrows in the earth as his lips pull back from his teeth.
He is unhinged. Dangerous. Like he is facing down the pack again. Except this time, it’s just Brightpaw, staring at him with her one ear pinned flat and her one eye huge with fear. Every inch of her body is pressed into the dirt. For just a moment, they stand like that, Dogscar’s chest heaving, Brightpaw frozen.
Dogscar wonders if this is what she’d looked like to the dogs.
He sits back down.
“I...” No words come. He looks down at his paws. His claws are still digging into the earth. Quickly, he sheaths them, and steals a glance back up at Brightpaw.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t...I wouldn’t hurt you, Brightpaw.”
“Wouldn’t you?” she asks, and her eye is a black pit, her pupil blown wide. “You hurt Bluestar. You’ve fought with every cat who’s talked to you, Dogscar, what am I meant to think?”
He looks down at his paws. “I wouldn’t hurt you , Brightpaw. The rest of them—“
“You blame them,” she says. “Whatever you say about it being your fault, you blame every other cat in the Clan for it, don’t you?”
Dogscar can’t quite keep the snarl from his voice when he replies, “Yeah, and why shouldn’t I? If any cat had stepped up, if any of them had done anything , if they weren’t all so terrified to talk back to Bluestar, we would be warriors now! Proper ones, not Dogscar and Lostface, real warriors . So yeah, I blame them all. And I blame myself. I’m talented that way; can be angry at lots of cats at once.”
“Even me? Even when I could have stopped it, to?”
“You couldn’t. I practically dragged you to Snakerocks. You couldn’t have just...left me there. Alone.”
He risks a glance back up. Brightpaw isn’t looking at him anymore. “Maybe,” she admits. “We’ll never know. And...and what does it matter, anyway, huh Swiftp—Dogscar? We’re here now. We’re alive.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs, turning towards the den wall and laying his head on his paws again. “And at what cost?”
“An eye, a couple of ears, maybe.” Cinderpelt’s voice cuts in. “Some time while you heal.”
Dogscar turns to look at her. She’s standing in the entrance to the den, but it’s impossible to know how long she’s been there.
“It sounds simple when you put it like that,” Brightpaw says quietly, and for the first time the bitterness creeps into her voice.
Cinderpelt gives a one-shouldered shrug and moves further into the den. “I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with my cost.” She gives her leg a rueful glance. “You can do the same, with time. Both of you.”
Dogscar scoffs again. “Yeah. Okay. So, what, we both heal up and retire to the medicine den with you, now?”
“That’s not what I said. If that’s what you decide you want, then sure. If you want to be warriors, then you can be warriors.”
“Even me?” Brightpaw asks. “With my eye?”
“If Bluestar or Fireheart has a problem with it, I’ll train you myself.” Cinderpelt says.
She pads past Dogscar to Brightpaw’s nest. He turns to watch her, can just see where her smile curls fondly over her face when she looks down at Cloudtail, who’s somehow managed to stay asleep this whole time.
“Late night?” she asks. Cloudtail shifts in his sleep and makes a soft sound, and the dead part of Dogscar hopes he’s having a nightmare.
“Maybe,” Brightpaw replies. “I...I have nightmares, and I think I wake him up sometimes.”
Cinderpelt hums. “I know about nightmares. Do you remember them, much? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“A little.” Brightpaw frowns towards the ground. “I remember the pack...the things they said...I remember Swiftpaw—er, um, Dogscar—fighting.”
She looks up, her eye meeting his, and Dogscar gets the feeling of being caught eavesdropping, even though this started as a group conversation. Not his fault Cinderpelt decided to ignore him.
Or, well, maybe it is. He thinks about everything he spat at her and thinks that he ought to be sorry, but he can’t tell if that’s the same as actual remorse.
Brightpaw is still staring at him, and slowly she says, “I remember Dogscar fighting like all of LionClan against the dogs.” She looks back at Cinderpelt and adds, “Sometimes I remember when one of them tore my face apart, but...but not always.”
Dogscar looks away again. He doesn’t remember his own nightmares, not really. Just flashes of black and brown and red, residual pain mixed with terror when he jerks awake. He doesn’t remember much of the battle, either, just a glimpse of the sky as he was dragged from a tree, gleaming fangs, Brightpaw, bloody, as she was tossed like a piece of crowfood across the clearing. He remembers darting in front of her, the clearest thing in his head; one glancing look at her face, their eyes meeting, and then whirling around to meet the open maw of one of the hounds. Staring down death.
“Do...will they ever go away?” Brightpaw asks, barely more than a whisper. Dogscar looks back up.
Cinderpelt sighs. “They’ll get better. I used to have dreams of the monster that hurt me. They went away for the most part, with some time.”
“Yeah,” Brightpaw murmurs, unconvinced.
Dogscar turns around completely this time, staring out the entrance of the den to the camp. Longtail is sitting with some of the other warriors near the fresh-kill pile. Before Dogscar has a chance to look away, he glances up, towards the den, and their eyes meet again. Longtail’s face flickered through a complicated series of emotions before he settled on something sad and aching. Dogscar jerked away and curled up in his nest.
Cinderpelt could be right—the nightmares could pass, with time. But the scars he’d gotten, and the ones he’d given, they wouldn’t heal the same way.
-0-0-0-
The day passes and the next one dawns. Dogscar is lying in his nest near sunhigh, staring at the bit of blue sky he can see outside and pointedly not listening to Brightpaw and Cloudtail talking quietly behind him. Cinderpelt is off tending to Bluestar. Another thing Dogscar is trying not to think about.
As if he summoned her with his not-thoughts, Cinderpelt hurries into the den. She tucks a few leftover herbs back into her stores and turns to the rest of them.
“Brightpaw, Dogscar, how do you feel about a little walk?” she asks. “Tawnykit and Bramblekit are going to be having their apprentice ceremony today.”
Dogscar eyes the space between Cinderpelt’s legs. He can just see the nursery, Bramblekit and Tawnykit and Goldenflower getting ready.
“Dogscar, you’re their brother, I thought you’d be excited,” Cinderpelt adds.
He should be excited. He remembers teaching Tawnykit to pounce, Bramblekit to stalk prey. He used to challenge them to races and let them win. Fireheart—lots of cats, really—looked at them and saw Tigerstar. Especially Bramblekit. Dogscar remembers swearing that no cat would pass judgement on his siblings because of who their father was. He wanted them to have the chance to be good warriors. Great warriors.
But he doesn’t feel it so much anymore. When he’s not itching all over with the urge to claw every cat around him to pieces, he doesn’t feel much of anything.
“I’ll go!” Brightpaw says finally, just to break the quiet.
Dogscar nods along with her and starts to struggle to his paws. Aside from attacking Bluestar and the day before, when he’d half-stood to fight with Brightpaw, he hasn’t been on his paws in a while. His wounds pull and his legs shake, and while Cloudtail is gently helping Brightpaw up Cinderpelt just hovers near him. He’s not sure if he wants her help or wants her to leave. Maybe both.
Bluestar is calling the Clan meeting just as he staggers into the sun. Most of the attention that would normally go to the almost-apprentices flies to Dogscar and Brightpaw, and he realizes that this is the first time they’ve been outside the medicine den, their wounds on full display.
Brightpaw turns her face toward Cloudtail, hiding the worst of the damage. Dogscar just lowers his head and bares his teeth. They know his name. They know what it means.
Cinderpelt blocks them from going more than ten steps away from the den, so they’re left sitting a few tail-lengths from the crowd as Bramblekit and Tawnykit go up to the Highledge.
Dogscar doesn’t pay much attention as the ceremony goes on. He watches Bluestar, who doesn’t look like her injuries are giving her much trouble. He watches Fireheart, who takes Bramblekit—Bramblepaw—as his apprentice. Dogscar growls when they touch noses. Of course Fireheart gets another apprentice when his last was made a warrior days ago.
He shouts their new names with the rest of the Clan when the time comes, and turns to limp back into the medicine den before anyone tries to approach him.
It doesn’t work. Bramblepaw breaks free of the crowd remarkably fast, and Tawnypaw is hot on his heels. “Swiftpaw! Swiftpaw! We’re apprentices now!” Bramblepaw cries.
“I’m a warrior now, Bramblepaw,” Dogscar tells him. He doesn’t look at either of the young cats. “My name is Dogscar now.”
“O-Oh,” Bramblepaw says. “Mama said you got hurt real bad fightin’ some dogs.”
Tawnypaw pipes up, “Yeah! And that we couldn’t visit you yet ‘cause you were still healing, but you’re out in camp now, so you’re better, right?”
Dogscar walks back toward the medicine den. “No, Tawnypaw. I’m not better. I just came for your ceremony. You two should go back to your mentors.”
He ducks back into the den before they can say another word. Brightpaw cuts him off, getting between him and his nest.
“What was that?” she demands. “I thought you loved Tawnypaw and Bramblepaw. You can’t just brush them off like that.”
“Leave me alone.” He tries to walk around her.
Brightpaw moves with him so they’re practically nose-to-nose. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks, and her eyes are wet. “You aren’t the same cat you used to be.”
“I said drop it ,” Dogscar growls, but the words are already ringing in his head, what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you. He shoves past her this time, but Cloudtail gets in front of him. It’s starting to look like Dogscar is never getting to his nest.
“Hey,” Cloudtail barks. “You can’t talk to her like that.”
“I can talk to her any way I want, there’s no law against it.”
“Cloudtail, just leave it,” Brightpaw says, touching her nose to the white tom’s shoulder. He glares at Dogscar for another moment and turns away, following Brightpaw back to their nest. Of course.
“If you’re all done,” Cinderpelt says from the front. Cloudtail and Brightpaw turn with matching guilty expressions. Dogscar takes his time sitting in his nest before he looks at the medicine cat.
“Brightpaw, Dogscar, I think you two handled walking pretty well. You can start leaving the medicine den for short stretches of time now, and if it goes well, light training in a few days to get your strength back up.”
Dogscar grunts his acknowledgment. He should be excited; he can leave the den now and start training again soon, his little siblings are apprentices, everything is good . But as the leftover anger drains from his body, all that’s left is emptiness and the vague desire to sleep.
He doesn’t get to, though, because just as he settles his head on his paws a shadow falls across the den. Dogscar looks up, gets as far as achingly familiar golden forelegs. Stops.
“Goldenflower,” someone says. It might be him. He’s a little busy trying to figure out how to react, because, well.
He hasn’t seen Goldenflower in days. Hasn’t really talked to her in moons. Too busy trying to be a warrior. It hits him then, while he stares at his mother’s paws, that if he had died, his last words to her would have been left as something idiotic, some excuse thrown over his shoulder as he raced to his next training session or another patrol.
Goldenflower crouches a little, forcing him to look at her face. Her eyes are pools of saltwater. “Swiftpaw,” she whispers. “Son.”
Dogscar closes his eyes as his own vision goes watery. “That’s not my name anymore,” he hisses, fierce and wet.
“I gave you that name,” Goldenflower replies, and her voice is shaking, but it’s still her listen-to-your-mother voice, and Dogscar opens his eyes. “You were so fast , the first to do everything, and I wanted you to carry that with you. The swiftest cat in the Clans.”
“Stop,” Dogscar growls. He clenches his teeth and digs his claws into the earth and turns his face away from Goldenflower. It’s too much . It’s too much and he can’t have any of it anymore.
“No,” Goldenflower says, but gently. “ Please , son, please don’t do this to yourself. This doesn’t have to define you. You can be Swiftpaw again.”
“I can’t,” he whispers. Every muscle in his body is pulled taught and trembling with the effort of holding himself still. He is white-hot and dangerous and it’s exactly the same sick feeling he got when Bluestar gave him his new name. He sinks his claws deeper into the earth.
He will not attack Goldenflower. He will not hurt his mother .
“You can , I promise you. This doesn’t have to change anything. You’re still my son, you’re still so brave , you’re still Swiftpaw-“
“ Stop calling me that !”
When Dogscar can see again—he’s not sure if he closed his eyes or if his vision just whited out—he’s on his feet, breathing hard, and Cloudtail is in front of him, snarling. Cinderpelt is behind the white tom, and what Dogscar can see of her face looks deeply worried. Goldenflower, next to the medicine cat, is looking right at him. Her eyes are wide, wide, wide.
There’s a slash leaking blood on her cheek.
Dogscar is the lowest thing in the world. The part of him that’s still a kit wants to run to his mother’s thick, soft fur and bury himself in it and let her make it all okay. But he’s not a kit anymore. He doesn’t get to have things like that.
He stabs the kit inside of him with one last swift, sure blow, voice as cold and cruel as ice.
“I told you to stop.”