The Damned Cousin (part 1)
Doebur’s heart ached, and she slowed to a stop to steady herself against the swaying undergrowth around her, inhaling deeply, trying to get air past the growing lump in her throat.
She had dreamed of her son again. He was only a week weaned when she had left him, and guilt weighed heavily in her mind every day. Her paws itched to go back to him–and Eaglefluff, her…she didn’t know what to call it.
But she couldn’t go back, no matter how much it pained her to stay away. Stars, it was agony. But Moosekit wasn’t safe with her. She longed to go back to StarClan, back to her mother and father, her brother, her cousins, back to sunny days and comfortable bedding and easy meals and the safety. What if it got too much for her? What if she ended up leaving like…like Smokeflight did? And Moosekit would feel abandoned and scared and betrayed and ashamed, just like she did. It was better this way. It was better that they parted now, before he could know her too much only for her to leave him.
And she was from StarClan. The cats here…most of them were killers, or at the very least raised by them the moment they were born. She wouldn’t be able to protect Moosekit the way someone else could. She wasn’t worth being in her child’s life if she couldn’t even keep him safe. He deserved better. Better than a mother that can’t protect him, better than a mother that already left him.
How big was he now? Did he know that she was gone for good? Was he old enough to hate her for it?
Doebur shook her head. There was no point wondering. It didn’t matter if he understood right now, he would at some point anyway. And he would hate her. But better than to hate a mother that’s already gone than to love one that abandons you.
Though her paws were like stone, Doebur forced herself to keep moving, pulling all her senses into the environment around her, scrutinizing every bit of sound that brushed her ears and feeling mud that sucked at her feet, focusing on that instead of her spiraling thoughts.
Then she stopped, pricking her ears. Was that yowling?
She sniffed the air. She was sure she smelled blood, but in this place–Stars, it was everywhere.
Crouching low, she slunk carefully forward, eyes and ears alert. The closer she got to the noise that had gotten her attention, the surer she was that it was in fact painful howls, and she paused for a moment, wondering if she should continue. Cats were hurt here all the time. No one would hold it against her for ignoring the commotion for her own safety. But she would hold it against herself. Doebur knew she was a horrible cat. A wretched parent, a deserter, but ignoring someone in possible danger was not something she would do.
So she crept forward, slinking inch by inch. The closer she got, the more voices she heard. But it didn’t sound like a battle. It sounded like….cheering?
At last the sound was deafening. Doebur crept through a last clump of ferns, and let out a gasp as her paw fell forward over the sudden cliff beyond. She stared, wide-eyed, until her breathing relaxed and she took in the sight.
She wasn’t sure what to call it. A ditch, a hole, whatever the case, it was a deep crevice in the ground, its edges lined with rows of cats. Some sat calmly, but most were bristling in excitement, shouting cheerful exclamations at the bottom of the….ditch, Doebur decided.
Curiosity got the best of her. Flattening her ears so they didn’t stick out, she stretched out her muzzle and peered as far over the edge as she could without being seen, grateful her dark fur would help her blend in.
Two cats were fighting viciously. One was tall, with thick mottled orange tabby fur and shredded ears, while the other was shorter, and had brown and black fur. Doebur blinked, remembering her cousin’s similar pelt, and blinked again when she realized that it wasn’t just similar–this cat had Mouseshell’s exact markings.
The brown and black cat was backing up against the cliff–just below Doebur–while the other cat neared with a rumbling purr, eyes already sparking with triumph.
Doebur quickly looked for the closest route to her, and found a ledge several tail-lengths away, sticking out of the side of the ditch and leading down into the thick of the fight.
Without thinking any more–it wasn’t the time for it anyways–Doebur sprang forward and raced down the path, almost slipping over the side a few times and catching her paws on the ragged, sharp trail, but didn’t slow her pace until it ended abruptly a tail-length from the bottom. Crouching, she sprang to the ground and raced for the orange cat.
--Orange cat is random, don't know who he is.
--The crowd has certainly noticed Doebur, but she's too distracted to hear if they did.
--Also Doebur's deadbeat old mate officially has a name! It's Smokeflight!
