Waiting. Oakheart was always waiting. Patiently, with the unmoving calmness of a crystallized pool, he would wait. He could watch time slip by in the watery tongues of the river, never sympathizing with him for a moment. Yet somehow, disguised cunningly in the leafy mask that waited with all the mannerisms of a medicine cat for the same thing as him, the mesmerizing figure he so desperately willed to tiptoe into the open, with the grace of the moon in her paws, almost never seemed to stray towards his isolated sanctuary. Almost never.

Oakheart watched his breath pounce across the water's defenseless surface, sending it tumbling away in victimized wings of sparkle. As it shimmered to a halt, taking one last shudder of air before stilling to a balance, Oakheart felt his heart twist with agony. The deep blue water, a rope of liquid sapphire reflecting the sun's rays like a powerful shield, was so much like her. Like her fur, a blue façade of bristling defiance whenever their eyes met. Like her temper, coated in a hostility as mutinous as a storm yet as honey coated as a china blue sky at the crack of dawn. And of course, like her eyes, sparkling azure discs that floated in an unhidable truth, like lilypads poised atop a midnight blue puddle. Oh, how he yearned to see his beloved Bluefur. And he knew she did too.

She needed him, more then ever now. The tiny balls of fur growing inside her were their creation, their naïve masterpiece of nature. The most beautiful thing in the world yet also the most disastrous. He should be there right now, serving Bluefur the most succulent, mouth-watering piece of fresh-kill he could find. He should be there right now, ensuring with all the anxiety of an expectant father that his mate was as snug in her nest as a dormouse. He should be there now, shredding Bluefur's nerves with gentle words, alleviating her pain with affectionate nuzzles, protecting her and their unborn kits with all the ferocity of LionClan. But here he was, idling along the shore of the river, waiting. As to what only StarClan knew, but still, he was waiting.

Absently Oakheart wondered what the cats in her Clan thought. Was there a certain tom they all assumed was the father? Did he take Bluefur the nourishment she needed every day, extra moss every day, protect her every day, from the elements of the forest? An icy jolt of jealousy shot down his spine, making his fox colored fur straighten in furious shock. An image of Bluefur's adamant face wavered in his mind, reassuring him till he sat motionless again. Oakheart rested his head on his paws, their fur like tiny pillows of down against his chin. His love burned with such passionate rage he could feel his limbs start to tremble in defiance and his mind whirl in a cyclone of precious memories. His muscles seemed to be urging him to stand up, pressuring him to leap across the river and bolt into the ThunderClan camp with all the courage of a battle patrol, but he knew that would be pointless. The hole of sadness, teetering perilously on the brink of depression, blanketed him now in a suffocating calmness. He would do anything for Bluefur. He'd parade right into WindClan territory and topple off the edge of the gorge for her. And for their dear kits, the invisible jewels he held so sacred, too.

Nothing would ever be the same. Needle sharp teeth bit this poisonous fact into him until he wanted to howl for mercy. He'd beg StarClan on all fours if he could. He'd give the moon to Bluefur, to light her path always and protect her whenever she felt loneliness as bitter as he did. But love did not seem to be something that allied with Oakheart, or his beloved Bluefur. It did not offer any comfort or bargain. But that would never stop Oakheart from loving Bluefur with all the gravity of the seasons combined. Or their kits.

"Be strong, my love," he whispered to nothing in particular, crinkly shoots of dying grass physically echoing his words with a shake. "And know that I'll always be here for you, waiting."