Saving Sable

Chapter Twenty One

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"I've Lost, I've Lost My Innocence, I've Gained My Self Belief."
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Dawnclaw was a butterfly.

Or perhaps a hummingbird.

She flitted and floated, fluttered and flew, everything was light and airy, and wonderful.

Who cares about the monster that lurks underneath, who cares about the ominous eyes that glittered?

Sablepaw had said it.

He had said he loved her.

It was still a difficult concept to latch on to. A three moon recovery? According to Aquiver, it usually took season - cycles. Whatever that was.

"I don't think he meant it, not really. He'll think he loves you, but in reality, he simply is beginning to form a healthy and normal attachment. Real, true love, will come in time."
Swiftear said softly.

Dawnclaw sighed.
"I know. But don't you see it? I'm alive. Like a bird in newleaf. I know what you're trying to say. But I'll only listen after I crash."

She glanced at Swiftear, he seemed to visibly wilt. His ears dipped, as did his bicolour head. His yellow eyes were downcast, sadness fit him like a second pelt.

"Swiftear? Is something - is something wrong?" She asked, tentatively.

"I.. you need to accept that his words are only a start! He isn't healed yet, your wishes are clouding your judgment. And.. well... you'll see. Soon." He made a quick departure, fur rumpled and frumpy, his scurrying reminded Dawnclaw of a rodent. Or a roach.

"What do you mean?" She snapped.

"Uh.. Dawnclaw, you're needed on a patrol." Swallowpelt mumbled, coming up behind her.

The tom hadn't looked her in the eye since his kit was killed.

"A hunting patrol? Great!" She tried to add bounce into her mew, but the sad truth was, Dawnclaw had grown soft. She had mellowed out. Gone was the feisty warrior who jumped at the thought of action. Gone was the enthusiastic, slightly belligerent mollyshe used to be. The nursery and all the latest events had simply melted her down and reformed her. She was a chrysalis, half-formed and nothing more.

And nothing less.

She missed the cat she used to be.
But she liked her new self too. Every day she shed her skin and started over. Today was just another skin.

"Yes, a hunting patrol. Me, you, and Finchface."

The tom looked like olives, bright and dark, light and heavy. Sunny like a berry, and bitter like a root.

He was bicolour, with more black than Swiftear. He seemed concealed.
Thicker. Disconsolate.

"Let's go." She murmured.

Finchface ran up to join them.

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Dawnclaw walked into camp on
worn - out bones. Her pelt was weighed down with waterlogged tiredness, she was out of shape.