Post by Jackalstep on Feb 22, 2017 20:53:28 GMT -5
“I have had enough of Bitterncloud! He says I always exaggerate everything!”
Now, if any other cat had said those words to me, I would have coddled them like a two-day-old kit and said that it couldn’t possibly be true. However, as it was my sister who had just stormed into the warriors’ den with that utterance, Bitterncloud was probably correct in his assessment of her talent for dramatizing everyday occurrences.
The situation was just a tiny bit complicated by the fact that Bitterncloud was very likely going to become my sister’s mate.
“Well, you do have a tendency to stretch the truth on a regular basis, Breamface,” I murmured in my most soothing tone. “I’ve never been particularly annoyed by it, but I can’t speak for anyone else—”
“But I don’t!” the sister persisted petulantly. “I only ever give my honest impression of things.”
“Then perhaps it’s your impressions and not your exaggerations that Bitterncloud is not amused by,” I suggested helpfully.
By the silence which rather resembled the odd quiet before a great flood, I gathered that my suggestion was not received as a helpful one. Breamface glared at me as if I were a piece of fox dung stuck to her paw. Wisely, I kept my mouth closed.
A moment passed, and another. I knew she still had more to say, judging by how rapidly she was breathing. At last, she revealed another facet of her distress.
“He just went hunting with Carpwhisker!”
That did not seem like an important piece of information. The Clan must be fed, so hunting together doesn’t always mean mutual attraction. I told Breamface as much, and she simply snorted at me, as though I had just spouted nonsense. I’m not the smartest cat, okay, but I thought I had simply stated facts. To reinforce my argument, I added in one other detail I had just remembered.
“Carpwhisker’s sweet on Dipperpelt, anyways. Therefore, there can be nothing between Bitterncloud and Carpwhisker,” I explained patiently. “And Carpwhisker is an amazing hunter, so it makes sense that she would happen to—”
“Haven’t you noticed? Carpwhisker and Dipperpelt have been very cold toward each other these past few days,” Breamface snapped.
I admitted I had not noticed, and was duly scolded.
“But Breamface,” I protested, “surely it’s just temporary? Even for you and Bitterncloud, or Carpwhisker and Dipperpelt—”
“I’m sick of your useless meowing!” came an irritated growl from my dear sister. “Just bug off!”
It seemed to me that I could be of no further use here, so off I bugged.
Upon my exit from the warriors’ den, I surveyed the camp. Everything seemed to be quite normal, except that Bitterncloud was picking over his meal and not really eating much. It occurred to me that perhaps I might go over and get his side of the story, when another voice hailed me.
“Hey, Wigeontail!”
It was Dipperpelt. He inquired if I had eaten yet, and when I responded in the negative, invited me to share the dace he had just caught on his last patrol. Of course I accepted. He was one of the players in the littermate’s drama, so naturally, it would be worth my while to talk to him.
As we settled down to eat, he sighed heavily. I may not be the most perceptive of cats, but following his languishing gaze to the other side of camp, where Carpwhisker sat grooming herself, I could plainly see one thing: Whatever Breamface said about an apparent coolness between those two, such a sigh combined with such a gaze indicated that Dipperpelt, at least, harbored no frosty feelings toward Carpwhisker.
I’ve never been very good at using tact, so I decided not even to attempt the pretense of it. “Dipperpelt,” said I, “how’re things going with Carpwhisker?”
“Why, I don’t know what you mean,” Dipperpelt mumbled through a mouthful of meat.
“You know exactly what I mean,” I purred teasingly. Keeping things light of heart, so as to make it appear that I was completely oblivious, up to a point.
“No, I don’t.”
“Come on, now!”
He stood up and stated, “Carpwhisker and I are friends. I don’t know what more you expect me to say.” With that, my dark-furred dining companion took his leave.
So, he refused to talk. Fine. Meanwhile, I still had more than half of a dace to eat. Funny, really, how a discussion about just another friend left him disturbed enough to abandon a meal from which he had only taken a couple of bites.
The next morning, I sought Dipperpelt out to share a meal with him. As much as it stung my pride, I apologized profusely for upsetting him the day before, and he forgave me. Nice chap, Dipperpelt.
While we were eating, Bitterncloud showed up, looking like a sad dead squirrel, with ungroomed pelt and dull eyes. “I need your help, Wigeontail,” he whispered, glancing from side to side, as though hoping nobody could see him.
As this was Breamface’s ostensibly erstwhile sweetheart, I felt obliged to render assistance, so I gave him the go-ahead to continue.
“Thanks, Wigeontail, I—”
“Hullo, Bitterncloud,” came an interruption which was to me unwelcome, “shall we go hunting now?” It was the Whisker of the Carp, of course.
Dipperpelt failed to acknowledge her presence, but as the deplorable lack of courtesy was mutual, I wondered if there was indeed some truth to Breamface’s story about a cooling-down between the two.
Regrettably, I was unable to hear a continuation of Bitterncloud’s request for aid, as he assented to Carpwhisker’s question and departed.
I had decided to no longer probe Dipperpelt’s relationship with Carpwhisker over a meal, lest he feel inclined to suddenly forget to finish eating again, but this left me wondering how best to proceed. Luckily, he solved that little issue for me.
We’d just finished our delicious blackbird when the fellow asked if I would like to go hunting with him. It seemed logical to me that this might be an opportunity to determine the feelings between the Dipper and the Carp; ergo, I accepted the invitation.
Never mind that Breamface looked as if she would’ve liked to kill me as I left with Dipperpelt. I couldn’t be bothered to worry about her mood at the moment, since I was sure I would hear all about it later, anyways.
Oh, hunting was going pretty all right. Dipperpelt was an able hunting partner, and we successfully located and dispatched a partridge and two fine water voles.
We had just buried our voles and were about to go fishing when I realized that I was missing a chance to nose around for information. As Dipperpelt trotted toward the bank, I stopped him with a meow.
“I say, Dipperpelt, hold on!”
He looked rather puzzled and asked what was wrong.
I told him nothing was wrong with me, but rather with him.
If his face grew any more puzzled, it might have crumpled and fallen off. It was plain he would need help to understand what I was after.
“You, as in you and Carpwhisker. Something’s wrong there, or I miss my guess.” There was no need to tell him that the original guess was actually Breamface’s, and I was only borrowing it.
“Oh, that,” said he with a great sigh. “It isn’t my fault, but she won’t listen. And there’s no way I can just apologize, before you say anything. I’ve nothing to apologize for.”
The old curiosity was piqued. I was really on to something, now! “When you mention apologizing, what in StarClan’s name do you mean?”
Dipperpelt seemed rather hesitant to reply. I supposed that perhaps he was afraid to sound like he was saying something bad about Carpwhisker. After an absolute eternity, he explained: “You’ve heard about that scrap over prey we had with WindClan, I assume. Well, Carpwhisker says she called loudly for help at some point, and that I looked right at her and ignored her. Wigeontail, there were so many cats making so much noise, how was I supposed to distinguish her voice amongst the rest? And I was busy wrestling with a WindClan tabby the entire time. If I ever looked at Carpwhisker, it was purely a coincidence while I was rolling around in my own battle.”
His story sounded quite plausible to me, so I enquired whether he had passed all this on the golden-furred object of his affections.
He said he hadn’t.
“Well, then,” I meowed encouragingly, “tell the old Carp’s Whisker everything. I’m sure she’ll come round.”
Poor old Dipperpelt looked so miserable. “I doubt it. She won’t even let me try to explain; she says I’m making excuses. So there’s no point, I have nothing to apologize for, as I’ve said, and she won’t hear the truth.”
I assured him that Carpwhisker would come ‘round eventually, and that was the end of the conversation. Hunting went fine, of course, but you don’t need to hear all about that. It doesn’t have any bearing on the rest of the tale.
When we got back to camp, my sister, the fish-face, still had a murderous gleam in her eyes. Although I was scared stiff, or at least bored silly, of her attitude, she kept jerking her head. Naturally, I assumed she wanted a word, which turned out to be true. So, the dear littermate and I withdrew behind the warriors’ den, and the storm broke loose.
“Just what d’you think you’re playing at, you fox-hearted traitor!”
That was a bit much. All I’d done was try to help, so I protested against the accusation. Feebly, of course, because Breamface carried right on without hearing me through.
“You know full well what I mean, bubble-brain. Going hunting with Dipperpelt, just to keep him apart from Carpwhisker, and leaving Carpwhisker to cling to my Bitterncloud! How in StarClan’s name was that supposed to help? You’ve always been jealous of me and Bitterncloud, you wretched lump of fur, and when the chance came to ruin everything, you took it! I never—”
“Oh, I say!”
At my impassioned cry, Breamface fell silent, although I think it was because she needed to stop and breathe, rather than to listen to me.
“You’re my own flesh and blood, you know.” I softened my tone as I tried to placate her. “Everything I do, I do to bring peace to your troubled heart. Things are not what they seem. You are mistaken. I want nothing more than your happiness, and Bitterncloud’s.”
She seemed flabbergasted, so I seized the opportunity to make a speedy exit. I had barely made it into the middle of camp when the cloudy bird himself flagged me down.
“Wigeontail…” His eyes met mine, a fervent, unspoken plea in their depths. I instantly sized up the situation and took charge.
“Let’s go out of camp, shall we, Bitterncloud? I sense you have something crucial you must confide, since you have returned after your foiled attempt this morning.” My heart bled for the tom, so estranged from the creature he held dear.
He nodded wordlessly in acquiescence, and out of camp we went.
In a quiet little spot by the river’s edge, we stopped, and I indicated that he should speak. He went from silent despair to heartbroken babble in less time than it takes a heron to stab a frog.
“Wigeontail, you know I can usually handle anything… But this thing with Breamface, I just can’t! I don’t know why StarClan let this happen. I love her, your sister, you know, she’s my world. If we aren’t reconciled, I don’t know how I can go on!” He shuddered.
Anxious to calm the dear chap, I nudged him gently. “Don’t worry about a thing, Bitterncloud. Everything will be all right, you’ll see. I’m working on it, okay?”
A gleam of hope flitted through his eyes. “You really mean that? Oh, I’m so glad you have a plan. Of course you would; Breamface is your littermate, after all. Thank you, Wigeontail, thank you!”
I murmured modestly that it was nothing. Anything for a Clanmate, especially one so important to my kin.
There wasn’t really anything else of note about that conversation, except that Bitterncloud continued in prolix gratitude all the way back to camp.
Immediately after Bitterncloud and I parted ways upon our return, who should approach me but Carpwhisker. I wouldn’t say we were great pals or anything, so this surprised me a little.
Hopefully by now you’ve noticed that I’m not the sharpest claw on the paw. At that moment, my mind was completely blank as to why she would desire a brief word with me, but you, of course, probably have decided that she wanted to talk about Dipperpelt.
And you are quite correct, my friend.
“Er, Wigeontail…” this golden-furred creature said hesitantly. “You’ve been talking to Dipperpelt recently, haven’t you? I was just wondering… How’s he doing?” Her eyes met mine, soft with concern.
“Why can’t you… Oh, right.” That’s when I recalled the Carp-Dipper posish. “He’s doing just fine, you know. Great hunter, and all.” Dropping my voice, I leaned forward and breathed into her ear, “He misses you.”
With that, I realized maybe I’d gone a bit too far. Carpwhisker wore a stunned expression across her little striped face. Not wanting to make the situation any more awkward, I turned and bolted for the warriors’ den.
It had been a busy day so far, and I expected to drift off fairly quickly as I curled into my feather-lined nest. Slowly, I felt myself relaxing, a wave of sleepy, happy amusement washing gently over my tired brain as I reviewed my recent conversations.
Then it hit me like a monster on the Thunderpath. I had promised Bitterncloud that I would fix everything, that I had a plan to put everything to rights. Only problem was, I didn’t actually have a plan, meaning I would need to invent one posthaste. Just my luck that I would get myself stuck in something like this.
So much for a nice, relaxing nap.
It was a stroke of sheer brilliance. I knew that it would solve all of these problems at once, and relieve me from the burden of dealing with them. I was saved, oh, what a lovely feeling! As soon as the squabbling lovers were made to see what they really cared about, all would be forgiven, and that would be the end of it.
Putting it into action required just a tad of subtlety and ingenuity on my part, but that was all right. I may not look it, or act it, or told you differently, but there’s more in my head than fluff. And if you want subtle, Wigeon’s the one to call (again, I might have told you otherwise, but ignore that, as well).
Anyway, I convinced the deputy to put Carpwhisker, Dipperpelt, Bitterncloud, and the old skin-and-blister on the same border patrol. Not very hard, as the poor fellow is so overworked that he was happy to have suggestions for patrol members. No, the difficulty was in doing it out of earshot of my feuding Clanmates.
Then I was on to the second stage!
Just before sunhigh, when this patrol was scheduled to leave, I pottered out of camp, ostensibly to do some solo hunting, but really to spy on the patrol and learn where they planned to go. I perched in a convenient willow tree to conduct the necessary observations.
It was all going so smoothly. Carpwhisker was the only one who spoke; they all looked quite uncomfortable. They decided (or rather, Carpwhisker did) to go around by the Twoleg greenleafplace first. That fit in just perfectly with my plans!
I darted off, swift as a swallow, reaching that mouthful of a location long before they ever would. Very handily, there was an untethered dog bouncing around with its upright companions. I nerved myself for it, until I felt like a solid chunk of steel, then boldly strutted into the dog’s sight. I meowed very loudly, since the beast failed to notice me at first.
You might be wondering why I just walked into a dangerous situation like that. Well, maybe I ought to have explained my plan first. The general idea is that when the two unhappy pairs see each other in danger, each cat will protect his or her beloved, and they’ll all realize how much they care, and the troubled waters will be immediately stilled.
Right. Back to the narrative. The canine spotted me, all too quickly, and I legged it. As best as I could, I led it in the general direction of the patrol, or where it ought to have been. After a few wrong turns, I finally located them.
And that was when my brilliant plan shattered.
All four of them scattered every which way, rather than teaming up to fight, as I had expected. The dog was momentarily confused, and then its attention became fixated on me once more.
I admit it, I completely lost my wits. Everything was going wrong, the dog was still chasing me—what was I to do? I panicked and bolted straight home.
Or almost home. I was so exhausted, I was beginning to sympathize with prey, when I saw the nice convenient willow tree again, so up I clambered till I was out of the hairy monster’s reach. I was safe, but alas, now the Clan was endangered. Heartbeats later, however, worries of RiverClan’s safety were put to rest.
Half the Clan’s warriors, it seemed, turned out to drive the dog away. Very neatly done.
I, however, was not as lucky as the dog. I was hauled into camp and humiliated.
Volestar asked me what I knew about this incident. Could I really have lied to him? I’ll never know, because Breamface blurted out that she saw me, and of course then I had to admit my role in bringing the dog here. Not betraying any confidences, of course. Just the necessary facts.
“I meant no harm, truly, I was only doing this to bring peace…I promise,” I said at the conclusion of my tale. “You have my word.”
“Peace, huh! I don’t care why you did it, it was fish-brained and reckless.” Volestar’s glare caused my courage to wither away. “You are back on apprentice duties, until further notice! Why don’t you go move your bedding, now?”
Sleep in the apprentices’ den, too? But arguing with my Clan leader would have been pointless, and probably would only have given me a worse punishment, if such a thing existed. I bowed my head as meekly as possible and went to carry out his orders.
As I hauled my sad scraps of moss and feathers (well, not scraps exactly, but I wasn’t in a mood to look on my bedding as nice and welcoming) backwards out of the warriors’ den, I was stopped by a set of growls. Four growls, to be precise.
“Wigeontail, you interfering puddle-head!”
I dropped my load and turned to face the irritated cats. Breamface and Bitterncloud, Dipperpelt and Carpwhisker, all looking furious. Well, it’s impossible for Bitterncloud to look furious, but he was more serious than usual. It was Breamface who had spoken that endearing phrase.
Carpwhisker piped up, “What made you think we needed your help?”
“Yes, we were working it out,” Dipperpelt added.
Working it out, my foot! But they weren’t through.
“Seriously, who gave you the right to mess with our lives, to try to fix what wasn’t broken?” Carpwhisker said.
“Just because I might have been a little upset, doesn’t mean—”
But Dipperpelt was interrupted by my wonderful sister. “You are an arrogant piece of fox dung, thinking you could waltz in and play StarClan! Bitterncloud is such a sweet, honest furball, and you—! What a deceitful wretch!”
Bitterncloud, at least, remained calm. All he did was lean against Breamface supportively and murmur, “Putting the Clan in danger might not have been the best idea…”
And as one, the now-happy-with-each-other-once-again couples spun sharply and stalked away, leaving me to my disgrace.
When all is said and done, I’m glad my meddling worked, sort of. They’re all quite happy together, even several moons later; Carpwhisker and Dipperpelt go hunting all the time, and have become unbearably sappy, while Breamface and Bitterncloud are busy looking after some fuzzy little lumps in the nursery. It just didn’t happen how I’d thought it would. Instead of reuniting through shared danger, they found common ground over shared anger with me! Imagine that!
Now, if any other cat had said those words to me, I would have coddled them like a two-day-old kit and said that it couldn’t possibly be true. However, as it was my sister who had just stormed into the warriors’ den with that utterance, Bitterncloud was probably correct in his assessment of her talent for dramatizing everyday occurrences.
The situation was just a tiny bit complicated by the fact that Bitterncloud was very likely going to become my sister’s mate.
“Well, you do have a tendency to stretch the truth on a regular basis, Breamface,” I murmured in my most soothing tone. “I’ve never been particularly annoyed by it, but I can’t speak for anyone else—”
“But I don’t!” the sister persisted petulantly. “I only ever give my honest impression of things.”
“Then perhaps it’s your impressions and not your exaggerations that Bitterncloud is not amused by,” I suggested helpfully.
By the silence which rather resembled the odd quiet before a great flood, I gathered that my suggestion was not received as a helpful one. Breamface glared at me as if I were a piece of fox dung stuck to her paw. Wisely, I kept my mouth closed.
A moment passed, and another. I knew she still had more to say, judging by how rapidly she was breathing. At last, she revealed another facet of her distress.
“He just went hunting with Carpwhisker!”
That did not seem like an important piece of information. The Clan must be fed, so hunting together doesn’t always mean mutual attraction. I told Breamface as much, and she simply snorted at me, as though I had just spouted nonsense. I’m not the smartest cat, okay, but I thought I had simply stated facts. To reinforce my argument, I added in one other detail I had just remembered.
“Carpwhisker’s sweet on Dipperpelt, anyways. Therefore, there can be nothing between Bitterncloud and Carpwhisker,” I explained patiently. “And Carpwhisker is an amazing hunter, so it makes sense that she would happen to—”
“Haven’t you noticed? Carpwhisker and Dipperpelt have been very cold toward each other these past few days,” Breamface snapped.
I admitted I had not noticed, and was duly scolded.
“But Breamface,” I protested, “surely it’s just temporary? Even for you and Bitterncloud, or Carpwhisker and Dipperpelt—”
“I’m sick of your useless meowing!” came an irritated growl from my dear sister. “Just bug off!”
It seemed to me that I could be of no further use here, so off I bugged.
~
Upon my exit from the warriors’ den, I surveyed the camp. Everything seemed to be quite normal, except that Bitterncloud was picking over his meal and not really eating much. It occurred to me that perhaps I might go over and get his side of the story, when another voice hailed me.
“Hey, Wigeontail!”
It was Dipperpelt. He inquired if I had eaten yet, and when I responded in the negative, invited me to share the dace he had just caught on his last patrol. Of course I accepted. He was one of the players in the littermate’s drama, so naturally, it would be worth my while to talk to him.
As we settled down to eat, he sighed heavily. I may not be the most perceptive of cats, but following his languishing gaze to the other side of camp, where Carpwhisker sat grooming herself, I could plainly see one thing: Whatever Breamface said about an apparent coolness between those two, such a sigh combined with such a gaze indicated that Dipperpelt, at least, harbored no frosty feelings toward Carpwhisker.
I’ve never been very good at using tact, so I decided not even to attempt the pretense of it. “Dipperpelt,” said I, “how’re things going with Carpwhisker?”
“Why, I don’t know what you mean,” Dipperpelt mumbled through a mouthful of meat.
“You know exactly what I mean,” I purred teasingly. Keeping things light of heart, so as to make it appear that I was completely oblivious, up to a point.
“No, I don’t.”
“Come on, now!”
He stood up and stated, “Carpwhisker and I are friends. I don’t know what more you expect me to say.” With that, my dark-furred dining companion took his leave.
So, he refused to talk. Fine. Meanwhile, I still had more than half of a dace to eat. Funny, really, how a discussion about just another friend left him disturbed enough to abandon a meal from which he had only taken a couple of bites.
~
The next morning, I sought Dipperpelt out to share a meal with him. As much as it stung my pride, I apologized profusely for upsetting him the day before, and he forgave me. Nice chap, Dipperpelt.
While we were eating, Bitterncloud showed up, looking like a sad dead squirrel, with ungroomed pelt and dull eyes. “I need your help, Wigeontail,” he whispered, glancing from side to side, as though hoping nobody could see him.
As this was Breamface’s ostensibly erstwhile sweetheart, I felt obliged to render assistance, so I gave him the go-ahead to continue.
“Thanks, Wigeontail, I—”
“Hullo, Bitterncloud,” came an interruption which was to me unwelcome, “shall we go hunting now?” It was the Whisker of the Carp, of course.
Dipperpelt failed to acknowledge her presence, but as the deplorable lack of courtesy was mutual, I wondered if there was indeed some truth to Breamface’s story about a cooling-down between the two.
Regrettably, I was unable to hear a continuation of Bitterncloud’s request for aid, as he assented to Carpwhisker’s question and departed.
I had decided to no longer probe Dipperpelt’s relationship with Carpwhisker over a meal, lest he feel inclined to suddenly forget to finish eating again, but this left me wondering how best to proceed. Luckily, he solved that little issue for me.
We’d just finished our delicious blackbird when the fellow asked if I would like to go hunting with him. It seemed logical to me that this might be an opportunity to determine the feelings between the Dipper and the Carp; ergo, I accepted the invitation.
Never mind that Breamface looked as if she would’ve liked to kill me as I left with Dipperpelt. I couldn’t be bothered to worry about her mood at the moment, since I was sure I would hear all about it later, anyways.
~
Oh, hunting was going pretty all right. Dipperpelt was an able hunting partner, and we successfully located and dispatched a partridge and two fine water voles.
We had just buried our voles and were about to go fishing when I realized that I was missing a chance to nose around for information. As Dipperpelt trotted toward the bank, I stopped him with a meow.
“I say, Dipperpelt, hold on!”
He looked rather puzzled and asked what was wrong.
I told him nothing was wrong with me, but rather with him.
If his face grew any more puzzled, it might have crumpled and fallen off. It was plain he would need help to understand what I was after.
“You, as in you and Carpwhisker. Something’s wrong there, or I miss my guess.” There was no need to tell him that the original guess was actually Breamface’s, and I was only borrowing it.
“Oh, that,” said he with a great sigh. “It isn’t my fault, but she won’t listen. And there’s no way I can just apologize, before you say anything. I’ve nothing to apologize for.”
The old curiosity was piqued. I was really on to something, now! “When you mention apologizing, what in StarClan’s name do you mean?”
Dipperpelt seemed rather hesitant to reply. I supposed that perhaps he was afraid to sound like he was saying something bad about Carpwhisker. After an absolute eternity, he explained: “You’ve heard about that scrap over prey we had with WindClan, I assume. Well, Carpwhisker says she called loudly for help at some point, and that I looked right at her and ignored her. Wigeontail, there were so many cats making so much noise, how was I supposed to distinguish her voice amongst the rest? And I was busy wrestling with a WindClan tabby the entire time. If I ever looked at Carpwhisker, it was purely a coincidence while I was rolling around in my own battle.”
His story sounded quite plausible to me, so I enquired whether he had passed all this on the golden-furred object of his affections.
He said he hadn’t.
“Well, then,” I meowed encouragingly, “tell the old Carp’s Whisker everything. I’m sure she’ll come round.”
Poor old Dipperpelt looked so miserable. “I doubt it. She won’t even let me try to explain; she says I’m making excuses. So there’s no point, I have nothing to apologize for, as I’ve said, and she won’t hear the truth.”
I assured him that Carpwhisker would come ‘round eventually, and that was the end of the conversation. Hunting went fine, of course, but you don’t need to hear all about that. It doesn’t have any bearing on the rest of the tale.
~
When we got back to camp, my sister, the fish-face, still had a murderous gleam in her eyes. Although I was scared stiff, or at least bored silly, of her attitude, she kept jerking her head. Naturally, I assumed she wanted a word, which turned out to be true. So, the dear littermate and I withdrew behind the warriors’ den, and the storm broke loose.
“Just what d’you think you’re playing at, you fox-hearted traitor!”
That was a bit much. All I’d done was try to help, so I protested against the accusation. Feebly, of course, because Breamface carried right on without hearing me through.
“You know full well what I mean, bubble-brain. Going hunting with Dipperpelt, just to keep him apart from Carpwhisker, and leaving Carpwhisker to cling to my Bitterncloud! How in StarClan’s name was that supposed to help? You’ve always been jealous of me and Bitterncloud, you wretched lump of fur, and when the chance came to ruin everything, you took it! I never—”
“Oh, I say!”
At my impassioned cry, Breamface fell silent, although I think it was because she needed to stop and breathe, rather than to listen to me.
“You’re my own flesh and blood, you know.” I softened my tone as I tried to placate her. “Everything I do, I do to bring peace to your troubled heart. Things are not what they seem. You are mistaken. I want nothing more than your happiness, and Bitterncloud’s.”
She seemed flabbergasted, so I seized the opportunity to make a speedy exit. I had barely made it into the middle of camp when the cloudy bird himself flagged me down.
“Wigeontail…” His eyes met mine, a fervent, unspoken plea in their depths. I instantly sized up the situation and took charge.
“Let’s go out of camp, shall we, Bitterncloud? I sense you have something crucial you must confide, since you have returned after your foiled attempt this morning.” My heart bled for the tom, so estranged from the creature he held dear.
He nodded wordlessly in acquiescence, and out of camp we went.
In a quiet little spot by the river’s edge, we stopped, and I indicated that he should speak. He went from silent despair to heartbroken babble in less time than it takes a heron to stab a frog.
“Wigeontail, you know I can usually handle anything… But this thing with Breamface, I just can’t! I don’t know why StarClan let this happen. I love her, your sister, you know, she’s my world. If we aren’t reconciled, I don’t know how I can go on!” He shuddered.
Anxious to calm the dear chap, I nudged him gently. “Don’t worry about a thing, Bitterncloud. Everything will be all right, you’ll see. I’m working on it, okay?”
A gleam of hope flitted through his eyes. “You really mean that? Oh, I’m so glad you have a plan. Of course you would; Breamface is your littermate, after all. Thank you, Wigeontail, thank you!”
I murmured modestly that it was nothing. Anything for a Clanmate, especially one so important to my kin.
There wasn’t really anything else of note about that conversation, except that Bitterncloud continued in prolix gratitude all the way back to camp.
~
Immediately after Bitterncloud and I parted ways upon our return, who should approach me but Carpwhisker. I wouldn’t say we were great pals or anything, so this surprised me a little.
Hopefully by now you’ve noticed that I’m not the sharpest claw on the paw. At that moment, my mind was completely blank as to why she would desire a brief word with me, but you, of course, probably have decided that she wanted to talk about Dipperpelt.
And you are quite correct, my friend.
“Er, Wigeontail…” this golden-furred creature said hesitantly. “You’ve been talking to Dipperpelt recently, haven’t you? I was just wondering… How’s he doing?” Her eyes met mine, soft with concern.
“Why can’t you… Oh, right.” That’s when I recalled the Carp-Dipper posish. “He’s doing just fine, you know. Great hunter, and all.” Dropping my voice, I leaned forward and breathed into her ear, “He misses you.”
With that, I realized maybe I’d gone a bit too far. Carpwhisker wore a stunned expression across her little striped face. Not wanting to make the situation any more awkward, I turned and bolted for the warriors’ den.
It had been a busy day so far, and I expected to drift off fairly quickly as I curled into my feather-lined nest. Slowly, I felt myself relaxing, a wave of sleepy, happy amusement washing gently over my tired brain as I reviewed my recent conversations.
Then it hit me like a monster on the Thunderpath. I had promised Bitterncloud that I would fix everything, that I had a plan to put everything to rights. Only problem was, I didn’t actually have a plan, meaning I would need to invent one posthaste. Just my luck that I would get myself stuck in something like this.
So much for a nice, relaxing nap.
~
It was a stroke of sheer brilliance. I knew that it would solve all of these problems at once, and relieve me from the burden of dealing with them. I was saved, oh, what a lovely feeling! As soon as the squabbling lovers were made to see what they really cared about, all would be forgiven, and that would be the end of it.
Putting it into action required just a tad of subtlety and ingenuity on my part, but that was all right. I may not look it, or act it, or told you differently, but there’s more in my head than fluff. And if you want subtle, Wigeon’s the one to call (again, I might have told you otherwise, but ignore that, as well).
Anyway, I convinced the deputy to put Carpwhisker, Dipperpelt, Bitterncloud, and the old skin-and-blister on the same border patrol. Not very hard, as the poor fellow is so overworked that he was happy to have suggestions for patrol members. No, the difficulty was in doing it out of earshot of my feuding Clanmates.
Then I was on to the second stage!
Just before sunhigh, when this patrol was scheduled to leave, I pottered out of camp, ostensibly to do some solo hunting, but really to spy on the patrol and learn where they planned to go. I perched in a convenient willow tree to conduct the necessary observations.
It was all going so smoothly. Carpwhisker was the only one who spoke; they all looked quite uncomfortable. They decided (or rather, Carpwhisker did) to go around by the Twoleg greenleafplace first. That fit in just perfectly with my plans!
I darted off, swift as a swallow, reaching that mouthful of a location long before they ever would. Very handily, there was an untethered dog bouncing around with its upright companions. I nerved myself for it, until I felt like a solid chunk of steel, then boldly strutted into the dog’s sight. I meowed very loudly, since the beast failed to notice me at first.
You might be wondering why I just walked into a dangerous situation like that. Well, maybe I ought to have explained my plan first. The general idea is that when the two unhappy pairs see each other in danger, each cat will protect his or her beloved, and they’ll all realize how much they care, and the troubled waters will be immediately stilled.
Right. Back to the narrative. The canine spotted me, all too quickly, and I legged it. As best as I could, I led it in the general direction of the patrol, or where it ought to have been. After a few wrong turns, I finally located them.
And that was when my brilliant plan shattered.
All four of them scattered every which way, rather than teaming up to fight, as I had expected. The dog was momentarily confused, and then its attention became fixated on me once more.
I admit it, I completely lost my wits. Everything was going wrong, the dog was still chasing me—what was I to do? I panicked and bolted straight home.
Or almost home. I was so exhausted, I was beginning to sympathize with prey, when I saw the nice convenient willow tree again, so up I clambered till I was out of the hairy monster’s reach. I was safe, but alas, now the Clan was endangered. Heartbeats later, however, worries of RiverClan’s safety were put to rest.
Half the Clan’s warriors, it seemed, turned out to drive the dog away. Very neatly done.
I, however, was not as lucky as the dog. I was hauled into camp and humiliated.
Volestar asked me what I knew about this incident. Could I really have lied to him? I’ll never know, because Breamface blurted out that she saw me, and of course then I had to admit my role in bringing the dog here. Not betraying any confidences, of course. Just the necessary facts.
“I meant no harm, truly, I was only doing this to bring peace…I promise,” I said at the conclusion of my tale. “You have my word.”
“Peace, huh! I don’t care why you did it, it was fish-brained and reckless.” Volestar’s glare caused my courage to wither away. “You are back on apprentice duties, until further notice! Why don’t you go move your bedding, now?”
Sleep in the apprentices’ den, too? But arguing with my Clan leader would have been pointless, and probably would only have given me a worse punishment, if such a thing existed. I bowed my head as meekly as possible and went to carry out his orders.
As I hauled my sad scraps of moss and feathers (well, not scraps exactly, but I wasn’t in a mood to look on my bedding as nice and welcoming) backwards out of the warriors’ den, I was stopped by a set of growls. Four growls, to be precise.
“Wigeontail, you interfering puddle-head!”
I dropped my load and turned to face the irritated cats. Breamface and Bitterncloud, Dipperpelt and Carpwhisker, all looking furious. Well, it’s impossible for Bitterncloud to look furious, but he was more serious than usual. It was Breamface who had spoken that endearing phrase.
Carpwhisker piped up, “What made you think we needed your help?”
“Yes, we were working it out,” Dipperpelt added.
Working it out, my foot! But they weren’t through.
“Seriously, who gave you the right to mess with our lives, to try to fix what wasn’t broken?” Carpwhisker said.
“Just because I might have been a little upset, doesn’t mean—”
But Dipperpelt was interrupted by my wonderful sister. “You are an arrogant piece of fox dung, thinking you could waltz in and play StarClan! Bitterncloud is such a sweet, honest furball, and you—! What a deceitful wretch!”
Bitterncloud, at least, remained calm. All he did was lean against Breamface supportively and murmur, “Putting the Clan in danger might not have been the best idea…”
And as one, the now-happy-with-each-other-once-again couples spun sharply and stalked away, leaving me to my disgrace.
~
When all is said and done, I’m glad my meddling worked, sort of. They’re all quite happy together, even several moons later; Carpwhisker and Dipperpelt go hunting all the time, and have become unbearably sappy, while Breamface and Bitterncloud are busy looking after some fuzzy little lumps in the nursery. It just didn’t happen how I’d thought it would. Instead of reuniting through shared danger, they found common ground over shared anger with me! Imagine that!
~
Author's notes: This is the second time I have attempted to emulate a great author's writing style; in this case, it was P.G. Wodehouse. This is probably the goofiest piece of writing I have ever produced; not once during the writing process did I take this story seriously.
PSA for those who have never read P.G. Wodehouse, do yourself a favor the next time you go to the library and find something by him. The Jeeves and Wooster stories are absolutely hilarious. I also highly recommend Leave it to Psmith, which in my opinion is one of Wodehouse's finest. At any rate, just read something by Wodehouse; guaranteed to brighten your day, or your money back!
PSA for those who have never read P.G. Wodehouse, do yourself a favor the next time you go to the library and find something by him. The Jeeves and Wooster stories are absolutely hilarious. I also highly recommend Leave it to Psmith, which in my opinion is one of Wodehouse's finest. At any rate, just read something by Wodehouse; guaranteed to brighten your day, or your money back!
