Warriors: Silverjaw's Sorrow

Chapter Fifteen

 Nearly a quarter-moon had passed since the scuffle on ShadowClan's border. Silverpaw's wounds had healed well, as Wishfern foretold, and the cobwebs that had tightly patched together her flanks were gone. Though her fur hadn't grown back in its entirety, it was making progress, and wouldn't scar. More concerningly, however, was the rising activity on the southern border. Every day patrols found piles of crowfood and the stench of foreign cats impeding their scentlines, which only drove away nearby prey, as well as driving more fear into Silverpaw. Were they planning an attack, or something worse?

"...and that's how I defeated a fox all on my own," Sandytail purred, his foggy amber eyes glistening with a smile.

Silverpaw jolted away from her thoughts, realizing that her paws had been working on their own. She peeled away the bile-ridden moss and watched as the final tick shriveled up in death, tumbling lifelessly to the floor. "That's impressive," she mewed distractedly. She nosed through the elder's fur one final time before confirming that she'd rid him of the parasites. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Sandytail rumbled happily. "Perhaps give me a scratch behind the ol' ear?"

"Uh, sure." She moved her claws forward, but he bumped them away with his muzzle.

"I was just kidding," he grunted. "Young cats these days, can't tell what a joke is!"

Flustered, she backed away. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Sandytail shook his head. "Oh, it's whatever, Silverpaw. Thank you for getting them nasty ticks off my back. I swear, it's my family trying to take me to StarClan early!"

Silverpaw smiled and scooped up the putrid bundle of moss. "I'd hope not, I'll miss your stories when you're gone," she mewed.

"At least there's somebody who would." The old tom's eyes crinkled. "Good luck out there." He added shakily, leaning forward to rasp his tongue warmly across her cheek.

Silverpaw beamed at the rare show of affection from the grouchy old tom, and with a flourish of her tail, she left, emerging from the fallen log into the clearing. The sky was dark with clouds, and the air was as cold as ice. Spiderfrost lounged in the clearing under a fleeting stream of warm sunlight, her eye slitted shut. Her wounds were at last free from cobwebs, and past the infection she had fought through, she finally appeared to be healing well, while her gouged eye remained pinned shut under herbs. Her brother was still stuck in the confines of the medicine den.

Pigeonpaw and Finchpaw were huddled around the fresh-kill pile, arguing over which delicacy they should pick. Silverpaw's heart twisted at the sight. Owlpaw and I would argue over something stupid like that, she envied, but she dismissed the thought swiftly and made her way to the dirtplace where she deposited the vile moss.

"Cleaning the ticks again?" Mistpaw mewed from behind her, her nose wrinkled with distaste.

"Yes, but this time, it was of my own accord," Silverpaw replied cheerfully.

"Willingly?" Mistpaw gasped. "Do you have bees in your brain?"

Silverpaw shrugged, padding past her friend and towards the camp entrance. "No, I just promised Sandytail I'd visit, and dealing with his ticks is the only way Honeywhisker would allow me to."

"All that torture to visit Sandytail? Really?" Mistpaw trotted after her as they exited camp.

Silverpaw dipped her paws into the river, watching her fur sway in its current as she washed them free of bile. "Yes, he's a very sweet cat," she insisted.

"If you say so," Mistpaw mewed, thoroughly unconvinced. "Ravenfire says he's intolerable and doesn't know how to stop grumbling."

"Like you?" Silverpaw teased.