#clanmates saw it happened and did nothing about it?

[spiderfaang]

Yeah yeah we can all crack jokes about how boring and uninteresting lionblaze is and how we all skip his chapters but are we ever going to talk about how lionblaze was abused by ashfur. how ashfur's abuse was pretty much glanced over by brambleclaw. how ashfurs abuse might have contributed to how lionblaze treated his own apprentice(dovewing)? How ashfur took over lionblaze's adoptive father's body and caused the entirety of tbc? Are we ever going to acknowledge that one of lionblaze's daughters looks exactly like ashfur?

[mourningsbane]

Perhaps silly questions, but I'm growing more and more curious of your blog with each new entry/question answered. Love the story slowly unfolding here, cannot wait for the next part and following moons <3

Does Palekit have any further deformations? Or rather that question but in past tense. His tail looks almost fin-like, but I'm not sure if what we are seeing is a) a stylistic "drooping goo" effect, b) a very weird tuft of fur, or c) some malformation of the tail tip, resulting in its split structure.

What's the clan's relationship with Sweetkit, considering so many of its members', em... involvement in the perishing of Honeyspring and her kits. Mostly wondering if Flaildrizzle, Tanglefern and Rootstar feel anything (guilt, sadness, etc.) at all when they see this only kit in clan after a whole litter dies in such horrible circumstances before Sweetkit's arrival? I mean, surely such a tragedy leaves an impact. A followup question-

How much time has passed since Honeyspring's death and Sweetkit's arrival? Do any of LutumClan's cats consider Sweetkit to be like "a second chance" for the clan after losing their only queen and her litter?

A bit of an alternate outcome question! Let's assume Nothing Bad Ever Happened©️ to Honeyspring's kits. What would their warrior names be? What would their basic personalities be? Would any of them pursue high ranks within LutumClan?

Also sending fictional love to Honeyspring, stay goopy queen 💅

There's no such thing as a silly question! Besides, I like answering questions, even if it takes me a while to get to them! <3

My answers are a tad long, so I'll put them under the cut!

1.) Palekit did not have any further deformations! His face was slightly crooked, and his tongue sometimes hung out, but that was about it. He also had severe issues with vomiting; he just couldn't keep anything down and tended to bleed.

2.) Rootstar, Flaildrizzle, and Tanglefern all feel very guilty and upset by what happened to Honeyspring's kits! Still, they, and the rest of LutumClan, saw Sweetkit's arrival as a sign of hope. However, LutumClan as a whole tends to be a tad overprotective of the only kit in the clan.

3.) About 3-ish months have passed since Honeyspring's death! Sweetkit is definitely considered LutumClan's "second chance" of sorts, but a few cats (namely Rootstar and a few others) REALLY wish Sweetkit was in the care of someone who ISN'T Bearface. They're worried that Bearface, being a former outsider who barely respects the clan code as is, will be a bad influence on her.

4.) As for the alternate outcome, let me think! I'll give you my best guesses, but destiny is mutable, so these could've easily changed!

Smallkit would grow into Smallcloud, and would become an apprentice to Tanglefern! She would be on the smaller side, but she'd be a fierce creature for sure! She'd be smart and cautious, but never a push-over.

Flailkit would grow into Flailwhisker, and would likely go on the path of becoming a queen or mediator! She'd likely be about average height and a bit on the chunkier side. I imagine her to be quiet and shy, much like Flaildrizzle, and easy to talk over. Still, she cares greatly about her clanmates, even if she's easily overwhelmed. Smallcloud would've been very protective over her in their youth.

Palekit would grow into Paleclaw, and would most certainly follow the path of a warrior! He'd idolized his aunt, Rootstar, and wanted to become a leader just like her. He's prideful and a little boastful for sure, but not intentionally. He's just very proud of his aunt being the leader, and his mom (Flaildrizzle) being the deputy, and wants to make sure everyone knows it.

Had Honeyspring's kits lived, Sweetkit's role would have also changed, but I can't say it due to spoilers!

[breathe2-fr]

The Day The Shade Came (pt 1)

Everything was normal. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and no one would have guessed otherwise. Of course, that's how it always goes; everything is normal until it isn't. Baerka napped lightly on one of the large branches of the willow tree, hidden from the early afternoon sun by the magical, color-shifting leaves. Spelldancer had been busying herself with some newcomers to the clan, which was expanding. Baerka hadn't bothered to count how many were in their clan at this point... surely it was below forty? But over twenty? The number itself didn't matter, he supposed... but the thought of it kept him from falling into a deep sleep by putting a smile on his face. Gloam, his freshly-grown son, had taken an interest in recording things the clan did. Said it was something about building a history. Baerka didn't care for writing, he knew his paws were molded for combat, not for holding pens. But Gloam's eyes brightened when he spoke about the things he'd written, and Baerka couldn't deny that he enjoyed hearing some fun events recounted back to him by his son. One of his favorite stories was when a spiral joined the clan. Her name was Venomous, and she'd traveled Sornieth all the way from the plaguelands. She fit the stereotype of a spiral almost perfectly, but the problem was she was borderline feral. She could speak, but was more interested in fighting, and was so energetic that she could barely focus.

When she first arrived, she'd ravaged their food stock, then lashed out at Spelldancer when the little queen had asked her to stop taking food. Before Venom could lay a claw on her, Baerka send a pummeling blow straight to her skull, knocking her clear across the pond. After that, the spiral seemed to respect him and began sparring with him; Baerka was able to help her burn off energy and learn new combat reflexes.

One day, an alchemist happened to be passing through, and was able to brew a concoction to transform her into a guardian. This finally tempered her focus and turned her into a powerful fighter. And she was the only one who gave Baerka a challenge when sparring. Baerka opened one eye and looked across the pond, where Venomous lay. Recently, a pale blue skydancer with oppressively dark wings joined the clan and had taken a liking to Venom, who now lay curled around her protectively in the sand at the shore. Fast friends. Good. Maybe after the skydancer has warmed up to them some more, she'll tell them who she is. Or he could ask Venom what she's found out. The skydancer had only managed to give a name, Winter, when she arrived. It seemed she'd been through a lot, as her fur was frazzled and some feathers had fallen out from her wings. Baerka lazily closed his eyes once more to try dozing back to sleep, but after he did, the light behind his eyelids darkened far more than he expected. He opened them once more and looked around. Had a cloud rolled over ahead? No. Nothing seemed different. He lay his head back down and closed his eyes again, and the darkness dipped deeper.

He opened his eyes and saw... nothing. It was pitch black. He snorted and tried to stand on the branch, whipping his head back. When he did, he saw some drifting, floating form move away from his face. What is that? Baerka stepped back from the misty vapors. He was no expert, far from it, but he'd never seen elemental magic like this. He was certain it wasn't some sort of fiber from the tree or nearby plants either. He looked around the lair grounds and realized this vapor was laying itself over the faces of the other dragons who didn't seem to notice it yet. "Spelldancer!" Baerka called out. His queen, who was busy talking to a new spiral clanmate, craned her neck over to look at Baerka. When she did, she began clawing at the air around her face, as if swiping away gnats. She glided over to her pair. "Yes?" "Do you see this mist?" He swirled his claw, motioning to the other dragons in the lair grounds who were becoming coated in the strange occurance, but didn't seem to notice. "I didn't until you called me. It was--" Spelldancer stopped and jerked her head back, swiping again in front of her face. "I don't know what this is. It's like someone's draping thin silk over my eyes!" Baerka looked around over their territory. During warm days such as this, most dragons were lounging at the shore of the pond, swimming in it, or flying somewhere nearby. Right now, everyone seemed to be dozing on the shoreline. Baerka grunted, then called out. "Everyone! Come inside! The weather is turning strange!" He shouted a few more times to rouse the deepest of sleepers, then watched as the dragons filed into the hollow of the willow tree. Over time, the clan had managed to dig out a comfortable amount of room underneath that was large enough to shelter everyone, even if it was only for sleeping. Spelldancer looked at him with concern. "You think this is the weather?" "Do you think it's something else?" he asked with genuinely. "I do not recognize this if it's magic. Is it?" Spelldancer didn't answer, but watched her dragons walk lazily toward the tree. A few stragglers continued to sleep, including Venom and Winter. Spelldancer floated down to a nearby sleeping skydancer and attempted to wake him, but seemed to be struggling. Baerka similarly glided down to Venom, landing with a thud - an intentional choice. As a Wind dragon, he can fly with ease and land softer than a feather. But right now, he was here to wake sleepers. "Venom." He waved the mist away from her eyes and put a paw to the large guardian's shoulder to shake her. "Wake, we need to go inside. The weather is strange." Venom snorted awake and raised her head, scanning the area. Baerka looked down to Winter to wake her, but realized she was already. The skydancer lay covering her eyes, shaking nervously. She must have been awake the whole time. But she's so rattled, she didn't move. Baerka reached out to help Winter to her feet. "Let's go." But the skydancer ignored him. "Come, Winter," Venom hissed gently, and nudged her shoulder. "We obey the king." Winter finally seemed to hear the words spoken and nodded, standing uneasily. Baerka watched as Venom, the vicious, hyperactive dragon, gently lead the battered Winter into the safety of the willow tree. It warmed his heart. He hoped they could find some way to help the skydancer as well.

He looked over to Spelldancer, who'd finally roused the other skydancer. She was working on a nearby spiral next, but her methods were so gentle, no wonder she struggled to wake anyone. He walked over to assist her. After a minute of waking dragons and continuing to wipe away the mist forming around their eyes, they headed with the rest of the stragglers into the willow tree. It was crowded when everyone was inside, as Baerka hadn't had time to make bedspace for the new clan additions yet, but everyone fit. Once everyone was inside, the murmuring turned to questions. "What's going on, Baerka?" "King Baerka to you!" The voice of Gloam rang out. "Always respect the king!" Baerka pawed his son, pushing his head down like a lion petting a kitten. "The weather is turning, we'll have to wait it out inside." "What weather?" Someone else replied. "The clouds are bright today!" Baerka shook his head. "Some sort of dark... fog?" Baerka tried not to show too much uncertainty, lest it scare his clan. But he wasn't the type to be afraid to admit he didn't know something, either. "It's hard to see honestly, but I think we caught it early." "This black strandy stuff?!" Another called out in alarm. "It's in here too! It's-- it's stuck to my face!" Suddenly the whole clan began to chatter indistinctly. Many were realizing the mist had not just followed them into the hollow, but was actively forming on them still inside. A few dragons began to panic and shove their way to the door, which rippled alarm throughout the crowd. Soon, nearly all the dragons were yelling, crying, and shoving their way out. As the dragons moved out of the hollow back into the open air, the most panicked that had made it out first began to cry out. "Monsters! Monsters!!"

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 1

“You haven’t answered me,” hissed Tinystar. He drew forward on his branch, his thin claws flashing in the moonlight. “What happened to Onewhisker?!”

Mudstar glowered at Tinystar. The entire clearing held its breath, waiting for him to speak. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance.

“Onewhisker is dead.”

For a long moment, Shadepool wasn’t certain whether what she was hearing was stunned silence, or if the crowd had burst into so much of a sudden, raging cacophony that she was struck deaf. Her ears felt stuffed to their limits, her mind racing so fast that she had to dig her claws deep into the hard, cold earth to keep herself steady.

Onewhisker is dead.

She felt the other medicine cats beside her bristling with alarm. Sound was slowly creeping back into Shadepool’s ears. Poor Ryewhisper was rounded upon immediately, shrinking into his pelt as Mothwing, Brackenfur, and Littlecloud all demanded to know what was happening all at once, all of them desperate to know where Barkface was, and what had happened.

Shadepool could only stare at the young medicine cat helplessly. He looked so scared. She wanted to tell them to stop, to leave him alone – but she couldn’t summon the strength. Everyone was so loud, so angry, so incredulous, and it felt like Shadepool was drowning beneath a roaring tide of ice-cold water and being smashed to bits by its unrelenting power.

“Enough!”

Russetstar’s thin, railing screech brought silence.

Shadepool, ears flat, looked up at the ShadowClan leader gratefully; but she soon took her relief back. Russetstar was coiled on her branch of the Great Oak like a cat about to spring, glaring at Mudstar with fury in her pale eyes, the moonlight striking her shoulders such that they looked like talons.

“What do you mean, Onewhisker is dead?” she hissed. Shadepool saw the glint of her claws, the shine of her teeth. “What in StarClan's name is happening in WindClan?!”

“Did you not all agree that Onewhisker was to be leader?” Leopardstar, spurred by Russetstar, meowed on. Her dappled head was lowered in the moonlight to meet Mudstar’s stony expression from her higher branch. Her eyes were like a hawk’s, sharp and direct, yet Shadepool could see that she was shaken, too. “Did he choose you to be his deputy before he died?”

It was a very simple question, really, and one that could quell so much of the outrage. Shadepool gauged the crowd – every cat wore an expression of shock or anger or suspicion, some all three at once - and she noted that the strongest emotions were coming from her own Clanmates. Onewhisker had been a friend to ThunderClan for a long time, and they had fought the hardest and bled the most for his bid to be the leader of WindClan.

To find out that it had all been for nothing...

Onewhisker is dead.

Shadepool feared looking at her father, but she had to. Tinystar was a small black void, curled up tight on his branch. His tail was hanging ominously still, his eyes wide to their whites and fixated intensely on Mudstar, two stars burning with cold flames.

Shadepool felt fear trickle down her spine at the sight of him – her father was famous for his barely contained temper, and his viciousness in battle. She couldn’t possibly imagine him breaking the full-moon truce between the four Clans, but if Mudstar’s next words pushed him too far...

Mudstar met the challenges of the RiverClan and ShadowClan leaders with his chin held high, however, as if their aggression meant nothing to him: “Onewhisker did not choose a deputy before his death,” he stated plainly.

The whole of the Gathering listened in rapturous silence. The unease in the air was like a thick fog. Shadepool wanted to bite her paw, to wake up from this horrible, uncomfortable dream; to be in a world where this had not happened, and never would.

Mudstar’s gaze was level as he meowed on, “The night after the battle was decided, he set off immediately to the Moonpool to receive his lives and name. Barkface went with him.”

“He hoped StarClan might send him a sign about a new deputy, but... They did not return the next evening,” rasped Ryewhisper, who lifted his head from where he cowered. Shadepool glanced back at him. He was trembling as he went on: “The journey there is long - we t-thought that perhaps they were just taking their time.”

“They were not.” Mudstar’s voice was sharp. He curled his lip. “When it became clear that something was amiss, patrols were sent to search for them.” His eyes were hard on the crowd, but there was a tremor in his mew: “Onewhisker was swiftly found, left as food for the carrion birds in a hollow on our side of the Divide, just outside our territory. By our estimates, he never made it to the Moonpool to claim his lives.”

“Great StarClan!” gasped a cat from RiverClan, the old she-cat Brackenflight. “A leader killed on their way to the Moonpool?!” She looked faint.

“That’s against the warrior code!” seethed Dustpelt. His eyes were narrowed to slits, the fur of his neck bristling. “No cat from any Clan is to stop another from seeing StarClan! Especially not would-be leaders!”

“It had to have been rogues!” agreed Cedarheart of ShadowClan. He stood up beside his mate, Finchsong. “No Clan cat would be so fox-hearted!”

“Don’t be too sure,” Mudstar growled. His expression was dark and dangerous, and it made Shadepool want to wail. Fear-scent rose in the crowd, strong and thick, and cats mumbled worriedly. Only the WindClan cats in the crowd stood still and solid, eyes downcast to their paws, not a one saying a word out of turn.

Shadepool's pelt prickled. Even Crowflight was keeping his jaws firmly closed. Whatever Mudstar's story was building to, not only did he know it, he wasn't going to speak against it. Somehow, that made things even worse.

Brackenfur stood, bristling. “What of Barkface?! Where is he?”

Shadepool’s heart fluttered. She didn’t know Barkface very well, but he was the eldest medicine cat in the four Clans, and he had always been kind to her during her training. He’d felt almost like a distant grandfather. If any cat could calm a storm, it was him.

“Is he alright?” Littlecloud demanded, worry gleaming in his eyes.

Shadepool's legs trembled. Attacking a warrior on their way to the Moonpool was one thing, they were trained to defend themselves, to expect death in combat; but if some cat had hurt Barkface, a medicine cat...

“We found Barkface huddled deep inside an old badger's den.” Crowflight’s voice astonished Shadepool – she leaned in close, wanting to draw all the information she could from him, this cat that she loved. He was the only bright spot in this dark, furious storm swirling around the Clans.

The black tom’s gaze wavered. When Mudstar nodded for him to continue, Crowflight meowed, “He had been there, injured, the whole time. We think he must have escaped during the fighting – perhaps... perhaps Onewhisker had used himself as a distraction to save him.” Crowflight took a shuddering breath. “We took him back to camp to treat his injuries, but...”

“He’s not doing well,” Ryewhisper reported. He was staring at his paws. “He’s barely surviving. His wounds are deep, and a terrible infection has set in.”

Shadepool’s heart dropped. Would this ever end? No, oh no! How could it all have gone so wrong?

“After they were found, the Clan came together and decided that I would be their leader,” Mudstar rasped. His voice was resolute, firm. “Some days later, after one of the blizzards, Ryewhisper and I took the journey to the Moonpool, with a few warriors for our protection. I spoke with StarClan, and they gave me my name and my lives and advised me on how to proceed, suggesting Crowflight be my deputy.”

“Mudstar! Mudstar! Crowflight!” cheered the WindClan cats, their voices ringing loud and true in the cold leafbare air. Several scattered cats from the other Clans joined in, while the quiet ones still looked uncertain and confused. No cat in ThunderClan joined in the welcoming chorus, and Shadepool saw Dustpelt’s eyes turning to slits toward Mudstar.

Shadepool couldn’t bring herself to cheer, either, even though she should have. The grief was too much, balled up in her throat like a tough bit of fresh-kill. Her eyes stung not from the bitter cold, and her stomach curdled uncomfortably. This waking nightmare was making her head hurt. 

“Who did this?!” hissed Tinystar. His voice was so quiet, so very dangerous. Shadepool saw his claws sink deep into the bark of his branch.

“Yes, we must know who!” Leopardstar insisted. The fur along her spine was bristling to its ends, her ears pinned flat to her skull. “An animal? A pack of rogues?”

Russetstar’s tail lashed, her eyes flashing. “They will be made to pay!”

The whole Gathering clamored, now:

“Injuring a medicine cat is a crime against all the Clans!” snarled Falcontail of RiverClan. “Against StarClan!”

“Will they strike again?” fretted Ferncloud, her voice trembling. Beside her, Snowstep rested his muzzle against her shoulder, his ears twitching a calm assurance that he would protect her.

Finchsong, Cedarheart’s mate, was nodding beside the other queens. “We must defend ourselves! If they attacked a would-be leader, where will they stop?”

The theories sprang up, each one wilder than the last: a horde of badgers, BloodClan’s return, the ghosts of Bluestar and her LionClan, even. A ShadowClan warrior suggested kittypets, only to be hissed down by his Clanmates as a frog-brain. Another cat from RiverClan suggested Twolegs or dogs, but that, too, was dismissed as a foolish notion.

Shadepool’s ears buzzed. The island felt like it was full of bees, all trying to reach their hive. She could feel something prickling at her pelt – the press of the crowd, the noise in the air... It wasn’t just pressing down onto her, but her brother as well, who was deeper in the throng of cats, and utterly surrounded by the clamor. Shadepool struggled against the feeling, trying to push it up and away from them both; but even Nightfrost seemed too overwhelmed to help her.

“Settle down!” a voice yowled over the rest. Shadepool’s ears pricked – it was Mistyfoot! The pressure in Shadepool's mind eased, just a little. Her Clanmate’s head glowed silver in the moonlight as she raised her muzzle. “Speculating is going to get us nowhere. We need to listen to our leaders, and stay calm!”

That seemed to settle the crowd for the most part, but Shadepool did not miss more than one WindClan cat glaring at Mistyfoot, as if they were offended by her daring to silence them. Shadepool tipped her head in confusion. Mistyfoot was a chosen cat, respected in all the Clans after leading them to the lake - wasn’t she?

“Well?” pressed Russetstar. “Have you any leads on who might have done this?”

Mudstar’s eyes flashed at the ShadowClan leader. “We do.”

“Tell us!” Leopardstar hissed.

“Yes,” Tinystar meowed harshly, leaning forward. “Tell us. Onewhisker’s death and Barkface’s injury must not go unpunished.”

Mudstar’s eyes narrowed. “No, they should not.”

The entire Gathering fell quiet once more. Every cat had their ears pricked, now, anticipation tingling in the air like cold rainfall. Shadepool swallowed around the huge, solid lump in her throat. Whatever Mudstar named as the threat, the four Clans could face it together – they could do anything together. The Great Journey had proven that without a doubt.

“At the scene, it was unmistakable,” Mudstar announced. “A scent that any cat here would recognize - and though we could not identify an individual, we know where they came from.”

The air grew thick again as cats began to speculate in hushed tones. Shadepool’s pelt prickled – why was Mudstar making this such a dramatic announcement? His gaze was panning over the crowd, his expression unreadable.

Just say it, and let it be done!

“It was ThunderClan!” Mudstar yowled, finally. Bristling from ears to tail, he ground his claws into his branch as he glared at Tinystar. “ThunderClan killed Onewhisker!”

[patrolclaw]

blackstar and leopardstar thoughts

bc im in a ramblin mood again lol

man. i really wish they would've done better with these two. there's so much potential.

like, for blackstar, imagine if they'd, y'know, bothered to remember the horrible things he did? and maybe explore why he let himself be a henchman 3 separate times? why he would allow himself to be ordered around like that?

it could've been so interesting. but of course, canon just does the typical thing, forgetting about most of it and then trying to give him a sad backstory to make him sympathetic instead of letting him be guilty, having him carry the weight of his crimes througout his life, always getting dirty looks from those who remembered. maybe then, it would make more sense for him to relinquish control once again to sol, desperate for some kind of respite. to be ordered around again, not responsible for his actions. because he can't take the shame of what he's done. he needs to blame someone else or he'll be crushed by the guilt. have him always looking to his deputy to back his decisions, lacking the confidence to make choices alone. he's always relied on being told what to do, after all.

let russetfur's death shake him deeply, losing the one cat he might've been able to call a friend, who he's known his entire life. let him crumble in his final years, still proclaiming his clan's strength despite how obviously unwell he is. let that weakness leave rowanclaw unprepared for leadership, leaving shadowclan unstable and vulnerable when darktail arrives. and let blackstar's spirit watch, unable to do a thing to help his clan. the clan he let down so many times in his life.

and leopardstar. for fuck's sake, let her be bad. let her be a villain, a cruel and unjust ruler. can she feel guilt? sure. i'm sure she would, in some ways. she might feel awful inside for what she allowed to happen, but she would never, ever admit it. her ego matters too much to her. no, tigerstar didn't make her do anything. she agreed, because she wanted power. did she like him? no. but she allowed him to take over, because it gave her the power she'd always craved. had bloodclan never arrived, she would've found some way to depose him. she doesn't want to share control with anyone, much less an arrogant, self-important fool like herself him. she might feel bad for letting her clanmates suffer, sure, but she still sees them as lesser now, knowing they're, in her eyes, impure. impurity is weakness, after all. riverclan is better off without them.

still, she tries to be civil with them, at least for the sake of appearance. she might feel genuine guilt for what she's done to hurt mistyfoot, but not once does it occur to her that offering her the deputy position might be in poor taste. let her learn the hard way, when her clanmates lose trust in her. some may still respect her as they always have, but others? they know better. they were there when she proved she saw them as disposable. when she threw away the life of a lifelong comrade like a bit of rotten prey. why should they ever trust her again? but she wouldn't understand that. surely, she thinks, they must know she what she did was for the greater good. for the sake of her clan. or so she tells herself.

let mistyfoot remain distant but cordial. when leopardstar falls ill, she sits by her side in silence. she doesn't face her, but leopardstar wouldn't be able to meet her gaze if she did. as the leader grows weaker, her deputy sits by her side, cold and quiet. she is mourned, yes, but not missed. when mistystar comes for her lives, she meets her predescesor with a blank stare. she turns her away. she may have held some respect while she lived, but she was no longer her leader. she owes her nothing now. she rejects the life that leopardstar offers without a second thought. after all, the clan is better off without her.

[pumpkinclan]

PumpkinClan Moon 0: A Bitter New Leader (Story)

In the days since Galespeck had finally come up with a cure for the deadly disease that ravaged through PumpkinClan, the entire Clan had felt a weight be lifted from their shoulders. Although their losses were tremendous, their recovery would be even greater.

Appleflame nosed her way into camp, carrying a large thrush in her mouth, Larkcinder and Asterjoy following her. She nodded to Heronrose as she sat down her prey. The brown tom was speaking sternly to his apprentice, Onepaw, whose eyes lit up with glee after he finished speaking. The young black-and-white she-cat nodded, then turned to share her news with Slipsoar and Sproutdapple, who were sharing tongues.

"When do you think Bitterspeck and Galespeck will be back?" Asterjoy asked, padding over to Appleflame. Appleflame sighed. "Soon, I hope." she said in response, taking a mouse for herself and sitting down. Asterjoy followed her.

"I remember when Bloomstar went to get her lives - it didn't take nearly as long. Maybe something went wrong. Do you think something went wrong?"

Appleflame grunted. "Only StarClan knows. But I'm sure nothing bad happened - this is Bitterspeck we're talking about. She can hold her own."

"I suppose your right." Asterjoy said with a sigh, nibbling at her vole. "It's just - I try not to worry, but we've been dealing with so much lately. It almost feels as though StarClan's punishing us. I don't want us to be punished again."

"StarClan isn't punishing us. Sometimes mouse dunged things happen, and StarClan can't stop it. They can only guide us, or whatever." Appleflame did her best to console the older she-cat, but in truth she was just saying nonsense. What did an ordinary warrior like her know about StarClan?

Suddenly, Larkcinder yowled in excitement. Appleflame smelled the air, and realized what was going on, and before she knew it all (eight members) of PumpkinClan were flocking to the camp entrance, as Bitterspeck and Galespeck padded through. Both looked tired, but there was a new spark in Bitterspeck's step as she dipped her head to her Clanmates, padding over to where the leader called the Clan to order.

"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather around the Vineheap for a Clan meeting!" The Vineheap was a tangled mess of leaves and vines, both living and dead. On top of it all was a large tree stump, situated on a hill positioned slightly above the rest of camp. It was odd, watching her former deputy stand there, but Appleflame couldn't help but admit that it seemed to suit her.

Galespeck went to stand at the base of the stump, at Bitterspeck's right. He looked up at her, nodding, and Bitterspeck took a deep breath, turning to look at her Clan. "Cats of PumpkinClan!" Bitterspeck yowled. "Galespeck and I have visited the Moonstream. StarClan has accepted me as your leader."

With those words, the Clan immediately begun to chant: "Bitterstar! Bitterstar!" Appleflame joined them, yowling as loud as she could, and she thought she saw Bitterstar's eyes meet hers for a moment. Bitterstar raised her tail for silence, and she continued. "I, of course, mourn and respect those before me: Bloomstar was an incredible leader, and I will miss her every day, as I'm sure you all will. I will do my best to live up to her example, and become a leader that both she, the rest of our fallen Clanmates, and all of you can be proud of." Bitterstar and Galespeck exchanged a glance. "However; I must perform another duty, as the leader of PumpkinClan: picking our new deputy, the cat that will serve alongside me as my trusted second-in-command and one day take my place."

The camp grew silent then, and although none of them would admit it, Appleflame knew that every cat was anxiously awaiting to hear if their name would be called (except Onepaw, of course).

"On the journey home, I thought long and hard about which cat I wanted as my deputy, and I believe that the perfect cat to stand beside me does indeed reside here, in this Clan." Bitterstar gazed at Appleflame. "Appleflame, I would like you to be my deputy."

Appleflame padded forward, both surprised and pleased at her leader's choice. She didn't think that she'd be chosen over some of the other cats in the Clan, but she was proud of being Bitterstar's first choice. "I would be honored, Bitterstar."

"Then Appleflame will be the new deputy of PumpkinClan."

Once again, the cats yowled, but this time Appleflame's name was being called. Bitterstar gestured over to her left, and Appleflame took her position, finding herself pleased at being included at the front of the Clan. Looking up at Bitterstar, watching her conclude the Clan meeting, Appleflame couldn't help but notice how a new maturity had fallen over her. There was a new darkness in her eyes, and Appleflame couldn't help but wonder what exactly the new leader had seen when she had gotten her lives.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

New Life in Death (short story) (part 1)

Heat pulsed from her neck, a warm liquid soaking into her fur. Hootpetal couldn’t keep her strength up, her legs began to tremble and quickly buckled beneath her. But her assailant–could she call him that? He was right to be doing what he was, after all–still held on tight, teeth digging in ever deeper until she could feel the gums pressing against her skin.

Hootpetal’s eyes were screwed tightly shut against the dirt that had been swiped into them. She wasn’t sure if she would feel better if she could see. She knew that she was dying even if she had only been down for a couple of heartbeats. Did she want to have this forest be the last thing she ever saw? 

She had spent moons living as a loner now, she was used to living away from Shadowclan. Now though, with her life slipping away, all she wanted was to be surrounded by her Clanmates, to smell their familiar and reassuring scent. Stars, she missed Alderstar so much. He wouldn’t be there, but maybe, if she kept her eyes shut and imagined, he was right there with her.

Hootpetal could almost purr at the sight of it. She could weep at the fact that it was all false as well. Scents were beginning to fade. The feeling of her attacker was dimming into nothing, she couldn’t smell. All she had left in her final moments were these thoughts, and how her whole life turned out completely different than she had expected it to be. Her mate was a killer. Her best friend was a killer. Now, she, too, had several fallen at her paws. 

Preparing for the inevitable eternity of punishment that would soon greet her, Hootpetal exhaled a final breath.

–

Her senses were returning. The ground beneath her was dry and prickly, thin grass poking deep into her pelt. She still felt the sharp ache in her neck, and the pulsing as though it were being pulled, but she knew that she was dead and she knew exactly where it was.

But she wasn’t quite ready to confront her new reality yet, so she sat up with her eyes still closed. She sat for a long time, tilting her head, angling her ears and breathing in, hacking at the rancid scent she couldn’t distinguish as plants or bodies, and attempted to breathe in again.

“You’ll get used to it in time,” a familiar, yet so long unheard voice broke into the howling wind. 

Hootpetal’s eyes shot open, then widened in delight. “Myrtlewing!” She stood and leaped toward him, quick as a grasshopper, pressing into his side and purring so hard that he had to balance himself. 

“I missed you too,” he smiled. 

Suddenly everything hit, and the thoughts that had plagued her for seasons returned all at once. She pulled back. “So you’re…”

Myrtlewing understood. “By the look of your eyes, you are too.”

Hootpetal looked for a puddle. “My eyes?”

“It’s a whole thing,” he told her. “It can wait for later. I sure wasn’t expecting you to be here, ever!”

“I would have never expected to hear the Clan announce you as a killer.”

“Fair enough.”

Hootpetal shifted her paws awkwardly. “Uhm…I imagined what it would be like if we met again, and now I…I can’t think of anything to say.”

“How about ‘how are you?’” Myrtlewing smiled warmly.

“Right,” Hootpetal replied. “How are you? Is–uh–being dead treating you well?”

Myrtlewing snickered. “Better than I expected, really. I wish I knew you’d be coming though, I’d have warned you to drink as much as you can while you still had the chance.”

Hootpetal’s heart sank. “Is there no water source around?” Her tongue dried at the thought.

“It’s more the taste that’s bothersome,” Myrtlewing grumbled. 

“Better than nothing, I guess.” She looked around. “Do you and Alderstar still hang out?” She wondered what might have happened to make them separate, if anything. Was everyone in the Dark Forest destined for solitude? 

Myrtlewing’s demeanor didn’t help her worries. He stiffened, opened his mouth a little, then shut it.

“Well?”

“All the time,” Myrtlewing answered. He looked like he wanted to say more, but what? “How about I take you to him now?

============================

Next: https://www.tumblr.com/residents-of-the-darkforest/719906036508655616/second-best-short-story-part-2?source=share

[hotfrost]

i hated brambleclaw’s nine lives ceremony so i fixed it at 4am please don’t kill me if this is badly written

also major spoilers for the first four arcs, and there’s some violence in here. (this is also what would have happened if brambleclaw wasn’t an asshole)

Brambleclaw shivered. 

The night was clear and bright- Silverpelt shone high above the two of them. A single star twinkled brighter than the rest, its glow more warm than any other in the sky. Firestar, is that you?, Brambleclaw wondered, feeling the familiar pang of grief for his mentor. It had been only one moonrise since the former leader’s death, yet Brambleclaw missed him like he hadn’t seen him in seasons.

“Drink the water.” Jayfeather prodded him and Brambleclaw snapped back to reality. He glanced at his son for a moment. It was hard to think that once the ThunderClan medicine cat had been just a tiny kit in the nursery, mewling for his mother. Brambleclaw felt a rush of affection for the blind tom. I was wrong to abandon you, he thought, regret surging through him.

Then he obeyed and bent down to the Moonpool. The water was crystal clear and the closer Brambleclaw’s nose got to the water, the colder he felt, a harsh freezing sensation that carried from his face to his tail-tip. Still, he drank from the pool and the water rushed through him, filling his body with memories. He felt his eyes began to droop.

“You’re sleepy. Let it take over.” Jayfeather sounded different, unlike himself. Drowsily, Brambleclaw realized he hadn’t ever taken the time to speak to either of his children after Hollyleaf had died. His heart ached for the black she-cat; he missed her the most. The briefest thought of her made Brambleclaw want to wail like a newborn kit calling out for his mother. 

Then he closed his eyes, and sleep crashed over him like a wave on the lake. 

When Brambleclaw opened them, the first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t standing on the ground anymore. He looked down to see he was floating in midair, his feet dangling helplessly below him. Everywhere he looked, he saw stars.

“You can put your feet down, Brambleclaw.”

Brambleclaw turned, eyes widening in shock. Bluestar stood in front of him; he had not seen the ThunderClan leader in many moons before the Great Battle. She looked young and strong and happy, the opposite of how she had been when Brambleclaw had been just a kit in the nursery. She walked towards him, tail swishing happily. Starlight dotted her blue-gray pelt and her eyes shone. 

“Welcome to StarClan, Brambleclaw,” she said softly, but her voice carried through the void that they stood in. As Bluestar spoke, eight other cats appeared on her sides. Brambleclaw was sure his heart must have stopped. 

He recognized most of them, but before he had a chance to call out to them, Bluestar dipped her head to him. “It is an honor to be giving you your first life,” Bluestar mewed solemnly. “With this life, I give you clear sight in hopes that you may use it to lead your Clan fairly.” 

She placed her nose on Brambleclaw’s head and he was thrown off balance by the force of his first life. It roared through him like a blazing fire, and he could have sworn he felt like he was drowning. This must have been what Bluestar had felt as she died, he thought.

Bluestar pulled away. Then she added, “I am sorry I was not able to do this during time with you.” 

“That’s not true,” Brambleclaw said quickly. It was true, but he had too much respect for the old leader to say so. 

Bluestar said nothing. She stepped back and another she-cat took her place. Her pelt was as black as night and she purred as she approached Brambleclaw. “Hollyleaf!” he breathed, his mew just barely audible. 

“Brambleclaw,” she said serenely. She seemed calmer, more collected, in StarClan. More like the kit Brambleclaw remembered, before the tunnels. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I miss you,” Brambleclaw said. He wanted to speak to her, but he knew Hollyleaf only had one job tonight. 

“With this life I give you justice.” Hollyleaf raised her head, and Brambleclaw thought she looked more like a leader than he would ever look. “Use it to punish those who deserve it, and look after those who look after others. Be fair in all your judgements and never be cruel,” she finished, and touched her nose to his head. 

Another burning life flowed through him, although this one felt good. Brambleclaw felt himself punishing the wrongdoers and looking out for his Clan. It burned like white-hot rocks did, or as if he were looking straight into the sun. He staggered backwards, caught off guard by the force of the life.

When Hollyleaf looked at him again, he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. Is she thinking of Ashfur?

His daughter left. “Hollyleaf, wait!” he cried, trying to go after her. But something was keeping him in that spot, rooting him in place. 

“She’ll be waiting for you.” The next voice was one Brambleclaw knew well; it was the same voice that had soothed him in the nursery and defended him against the Clan. Goldenflower padded up to him, her long body shimmering with the stars. 

“With this life I give you compassion,” Goldenflower whispered. “Use it not only for your own children, but for your Clan. They are all your kin now. Love them as a parent, as a brother, as a mentor. They are your family.”

Her head came to rest on Brambleclaw’s. This life was much less painful than the last two. It felt like a fire as well, but instead of a blazing hot one, this one smoldered and burned quietly inside him. Brambleclaw knew he was feeling Goldenflower’s love- for him, for Tawnypelt, for his father, and for her Clanmates. As the fire inside him died, he stumbled and stared at Goldenflower, a cat that had risked so much for him, a cat that had held so much love inside of her. 

His mother walked back to her place among the starry warriors. Brambleclaw wanted to call out to her too, but he held his tongue, and gasped as the next cat walked up. 

“Sorreltail?” 

The tortoiseshell molly gave him a wistful stare. “I know what you’re going to say-”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Brambleclaw blurted out, fur bristling in shock. “What- why are you here?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Brambleclaw.” Sorreltail purred, and her gaze turned sad. “It was my time. I’m okay with that.” 

“I’m not!” Brambleclaw said indignantly. “What in the name of StarClan happened?” 

“It’s not important.” Sorreltail seemed very focused on giving Brambleclaw his life. “With this life, Brambleclaw, I give you patience. As a leader, it is your job to understand your Clanmates, and to never become frustrated with them. They are your family and your responsibility.”

With that, Sorreltail put her head on top of Brambleclaw’s; he had to duck for her to do so. The life that went through him this time was calm, and soothing. This must be what patience is, Brambleclaw thought. He would do his best to watch after his Clanmates. For Sorreltail, and all the others they had lost. 

 The next cat to step up was one Brambleclaw admitted he had been expecting. Mousefur dipped her head to him, looking younger and livelier than he had ever remembered her in life. She was like a kit again, looking as if she were about to burst with excitement. “Mousefur,” he said warmly, coming up to the molly.

“Brambleclaw.” Even her voice was different. “Welcome.”

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “Purdy misses you, you know.”

Mousefur sighed. “I know,” she said, her mew distant. “But we will meet again, in this life or the next.” 

“I’m sure he would be happy to hear that.” 

Mousefur shook her head. “Never mind that, I’m here to give you your life!” Her yellow eyes glowed, and Brambleclaw recognized the cat he had known since he was a little kit. “Brambleclaw, a give you a life for listening to your elders. We may be retired, but that doesn’t erase our importance. Elders carry the stories of the Clans, and without them we would never know our own history.”

Brambleclaw took a shuddering breath as Mousefur touched noses with him, and the life that passed through him left his knees shaking. His mind flashed, and he knew he was seeing the elders. There was a fire, a raging fire, and a little brown kit. That’s me. This is Patchpelt, he thought. The elder who had died in the fire that had killed Yellowfang so long ago. 

Then he saw a rabbit, and his stomach growled. In the distance, he heard the muffled sounds of his Clanmates. But he was so hungry... if he just... ate it. This is Dappletail’s memory. 

Then it was Longtail, the cat who had become an elder far to soon, and here he saw nothing. The world was black and voices beat down on him from every side; they were so overwhelming that Brambleclaw wanted to curl up and mewl like a kit. 

Last he saw Purdy, and Brambleclaw realized he was fighting. He was battling against a big dark tom, and with a sudden jerk he was picked up and thrown across the camp, and then-

The memory faded. Brambleclaw stared at Mousefur, dazed. The brown molly just gazed back calmly, nodded, and went back to join the ranks of her starry Clanmates. Goodbye, Mousefur, Brambleclaw thought sadly. He didn’t know when he would see her again.

If hearts could break, he was sure his did as he saw the next cat walk up. “Ferncloud.” He wanted to run to her, the cat he had known since he was a kit, one he had grown up with. 

The gray molly padded up to him, her eyes bright. “Brambleclaw,” she purred. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you to,” Brambleclaw breathed, wishing that he didn’t have to watch her leave. “Dustpelt misses you.”

“I miss him too.” Ferncloud dipped her head. “I miss him, and my kits. But I have a life to give you!” she purred. “The life I give you is for understanding that it is not just warriors who have a part to play in the Clan. Even though we may not add food to the fresh-kill pile, we raise each apprentice, each little kit, as our own. Honor the queens, Brambleclaw, for we are the ones who give you life.”

Brambleclaw let out a shuddering breath as Ferncloud’s life hit him. He had expected this one to be gentle as well, but he was surprised with the ferocity that it hit him with. He saw Ferncloud, battling for her life against Brokenstar, and Sorreltail, defeating Darkstripe. Then he saw his own mother, defending a young Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt from the Clan. You’ve all done so much for us, he thought. 

But Ferncloud’s memories didn’t stop. He saw every kit that his friend had ever raised. Brambleclaw had thought it would only show her own kits, but no- he saw Spiderleg and Shrewpaw, and Squirrelflight and Leafpool, Whitewing, and then Hollykit and Larchkit who had died so young, and then Birchfall, the only surviving kit from her second litter. He saw his own kits, Jayfeather, Lionblaze, and Hollyleaf along with Foxleap and Icecloud and Cinderheart and Honeyfern and Poppyfrost and Molepaw. He saw Blossomfall and Bumblestripe and Briarlight, and Cherrypaw and Molepaw and Amberkit, Snowkit, and Dewkit and Lilykit and Seedkit, and Brambleclaw thought he might collapse if he had to see any more.

But there was more. He felt Ferncloud’s fierce loyalty to the nursery, he felt how bravely she had defended the nursery. Brambleclaw felt her pain as she saw Hollyleaf’s unmoving body lying in the camp, her pain as the Clan had found Ashfur, her pain as they had buried Brindleface. She’s been through so much.

The memory cut to black and Brambleclaw jumped back in shock. That’s where she died, he thought. 

Ferncloud said nothing, but her eyes glimmered like stars. Brambleclaw didn’t even know what to say. What could he say? 

As Ferncloud padded back to her new Clanmates, another cat came up. “Feathertail.” His long-departed friend approached, starlight dappling her beautiful gray pelt. “It’s been a long time.”

“Indeed it has, my friend,” Feathertail agreed. “With this life I give you courage. Use it to guard not only your own Clan, but also all the cats who need it.” As she touched noses with him, Brambleclaw knew Feathertail was thinking about how she had given her own life for the Tribe of Rushing Water. You were the bravest of us all, he thought.

This life was a roaring, raging storm that ripped through him like claws and Brambleclaw stumbled. He knew what courage was- yes, he saw it in his Clanmates and in his leader, and in Squirrelflight and Hollyleaf. He knew it well.

As Feathertail began to walk away, he cleared his throat. “Where will you go now?” Brambleclaw’s voice faltered. He didn’t want her to leave yet. 

“I walk two skies now, my friend,” Feathertail replied, turning her head. “We will see each other again.” 

Brambleclaw found that a vague and rather frustrating answer, but he nodded silently and stepped back, waiting for his next life. There were only two more to go, if he was counting right. He couldn’t help but wonder who would give his last lives to him.

He couldn’t have been more surprised by who came up. The small black and white cat looked up at him, and Brambleclaw was surprised. He had never been this small in life. He always remembered looking up at the apprentice. “Swiftpaw,” he whispered, taking in the sight of his brother who had died so long ago. 

“Brambleclaw,” he purred. “Clan leader. Who would have thought?” His voice was young and high, but Swiftpaw sounded so much wiser. 

“I certainly wouldn’t have.” He kneaded at the starry ground, still feeling awkward. It was as if there was no floor; it was unnatural. “I wish you’d been here.”

Swiftpaw said nothing, but moved forward to touch noses with him. “With this life I give you mentoring,” he said. “Raise each apprentice to be the best warriors they can be.” Then he paused. “I gave this life to another leader, a long time ago.” 

Brambleclaw gasped. Firestar? he thought, and looked around for the leader.

But he had forgotten about the life Swiftpaw was about to give him in his shock, and he was pushed back by the force of it.

His vision blurred and suddenly Brambleclaw was standing in his brother’s paws, snarling at a huge, vicious dog. Through the corner of his eye he saw Brightheart, a much younger Brightheart, standing next to him.

There was a growl and a clamp of jaws and it was over. 

Brambleclaw stumbled, reeling from the force of the life. “Brother...” he panted, at a loss for words. Swiftpaw’s death had been so terrible, so brutal. But the apprentice didn’t respond.

“One more life to go,” was all he said before joining StarClan once more. Brambleclaw didn’t even get a reply. 

Only one to go! And Brambleclaw was sure he knew it would be.

He had expected it, of course, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised when a familiar flame-colored tom weaved his way through the warriors of StarClan. He was much bigger and stronger than he had been in the moons leading up to his death. The ginger tom looked like Brambleclaw remembered him as an apprentice.

“My apprentice,” said Firestar warmly. “My deputy.”

“Firestar.” Brambleclaw’s voice was thick with emotion. He had missed his mentor more than he could say. He saw Jayfeather raise his head at the edge of the starry clearing, staring straight at them. “Are you here to give me my last life.”

“Yes, I am,” Firestar said, his forest-green eyes glistening. “My life is a life for nobility.”

Nobility. Brambleclaw exhaled softly, watching Firestar continue. 

“Long ago, I had an apprentice,” Brambleclaw’s former leader began. He had no idea who Firestar was talking about. “She was a bright, energetic cat, and I trusted her with my life, even after she was no longer my apprentice.”

He’s talking about Cinderpelt. Brambleclaw leaned forward, intrigued. A storm of emotions raged inside him, making him shake at the feet. 

“Afterwards, I mentored my own kin. And despite his shortcomings as an apprentice, he is one of the finest warriors I’ve ever had the honor of knowing.” Firestar was talking about his nephew, Cloudtail. Brambleclaw frowned. What was the point of his speech?

“As I mentored Cloudtail, I met a young cat who looked far too much like someone I knew.” Brambleclaw held his breath. He’s talking about me. 

Firestar’s eyes rose to meet his, expression stony. “And I held that against him. Yes... I did. I held that against him for a long time, until he was faced with a choice. A choice to join his father, who looked so much like him, or to stay and fight for his Clan. And he chose the second one.”

“I should have seen it then.” Firestar’s mew was hollow. “But I didn’t, not fully. It wasn’t until I had gone on my quest, named him after his father. I didn’t realize until he brought us to our new home. And I realized that what a good leader he was.” Firestar paused. “And I couldn’t blame him for hesitating to kill me on the lake that sunset. I would have killed a cat who had never trusted me.”

Brambleclaw was shaking. How could he tell Firestar that he blamed himself for that day, for that life Hawkfrost’s fox trap had taken from him? How his hesitation was the reason Firestar wasn’t with them anymore.

“What are you saying?” Brambleclaw asked thickly. 

“I’m sorry, Brambleclaw. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Brambleclaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re sorry? For what?”

“For never trusting you. For being so foolish. You’re one of the noblest cats I’ve ever known.” Firestar’s voice was shaking. 

“No.” It was so sudden that Brambleclaw hadn’t even known he had said it. “I’m not. I’m really not.”

“What?” Firestar didn’t seem angry, just confused. 

“I’m not noble,” Brambleclaw hung his head. “I spent most of the past few seasons avoiding my responsibilities, as a father, as a deputy, as a mate. And I’m sorry.”

Firestar didn’t say anything, just listened.

“You’re the noblest warrior I’ve ever known, Firestar,” Brambleclaw murmured. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t be half the cat you were.”

Firestar still said nothing, just touched his nose to his former apprentice’s. 

The life that rushed through him was Firestar’s. It was all his. 

First Brambleclaw was a little kit, sitting on the fence of a Twoleg nest. He was looking out at the forest, his paws itching to jump into the trees. Then he was fighting a younger Longtail, one that could see and he beat him. And there was Bluestar, and with a shudder Brambleclaw recognized his own father. As he followed Firestar’s life, he saw Silverstream, Feathertail’s mother, dying. And Cinderpelt in the medicine den with Yellowfang, who he had only known for a few moons. And then Cloudtail, and Sandstorm and Firestar rushing to rescue him. 

And with a startle, Brambleclaw saw himself, a tiny, mewling kit hanging from a tree, with flames rising up around them. He jumped out to grab Bramblekit and carried him out of the camp. The scene changed, and Brambleclaw was watching his own apprentice ceremony, and Sandstorm’s anger. Then there was Stonefur’s terrible death, and now Tawnypaw had gone to ShadowClan with Tigerstar. 

Brambleclaw watched as Scourge ripped every single life from Tigerstar, and felt Firestar’s shock. He watched in horror as Bone crushed Whitestorm, the most loyal of Firestar’s warriors, and saw Graystripe’s appointment to deputy. Then there was a long pause, and Firestar was leader of the Clan, finding out that Squirrelpaw and Brambleclaw had disappeared. He watched as ThunderClan had fallen apart- Brambleclaw saw Dappletail die, and then Hollykit and Larchkit and Shrewpaw. He felt Firestar’s agony as Graystripe was captured, his sadness as the Clans left the forest and Ravenpaw, Firestar’s other closest friend. 

But there was also happiness. Brambleclaw was still in Firestar’s body, giving Squirrelpaw her warrior name and making Birchpaw an apprentice.

But the sadness came again, as Cinderpelt died and Graystripe was declared dead and he was bleeding out on the beach... bleeding, bleeding... and Brambleclaw saw a dark brown shape standing over him. Two of them. Panic rose up in him as the throbbing in his throat worsened. I’m going to die here, he thought. 

But he didn’t die.

Brambleclaw, still in Firestar’s paws, watched three little kits stumble into camp, golden, gray, and black. He felt Firestar’s pride as he watched his kin, but also his hesitation. There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws. Then his body broke out into a coughing fit. This is the greencough. And then Sol appeared, his menacing eyes staring right into Brambleclaw.

And there was a long time of peace and happiness after that, until a shadow fell over the lake and Brambleclaw turned fearfully to see Tigerstar standing behind him.

There was a flash of lightning and Brambleclaw was released from the memory. 

And it had pretty much confirmed it for him, that Firestar was the noblest cat he had ever known. 

But Firestar seemed to make no comment about what Brambleclaw had said before. The flame-pelted tom stood up tall. “I hail you by your new name, Bramblestar. Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants you the guardianship of ThunderClan. Defend it well; care for young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”

Bramblestar! The rest of the cats broke into cheers of his new name. Bramblestar turned to his leader.

“Go well, Bramblestar,” Firestar murmured. “I will be with you, always.”

[malkumtend]

I Like Your Laugh - A SquirrelCrow AU - Chapter 23.

Crowpaw hadn’t slept.

He wished it was because of the dusty stink of the rabbit warren his clan had been forced into, or the scream of the monsters outside, far away yet never quiet, or the constant growling and parched coughs of his clanmates that carried on throughout the night like a predator’s call.

But it wasn’t anything like that.

It was the never-changing grind in Crowpaw’s chest. Pounding. Stinging. Unrelenting.

All night he’d stirred restlessly as the nightmare of reality picked at his dreams like ravens at fresh kill. It could have been about anything, the failure of the clan meeting, the growing desperation it was clear Windclan was facing, the knowledge that with every passing second the forest was becoming barren of the prey and shelter they needed.

But it wasn’t anything logical.

Instead, the searing pain that flared over his belly was carried by a wildfire of five words.

She’d be ashamed of you.

Crowpaw breathed in the dead air and tried to imagine that it didn’t burn.

“Crowpaw?”

Stopping himself short, he turned to his mother, feeling suddenly guilty for how sadly she was looking at him.

Crowpaw wanted to give the most simple answer of “Yes?”

But that felt too heavy. His ear flicked instead.

Ashfoot looked down to Crowpaw’s feet, her whiskers shuffling. When Crowpaw followed, he saw his right paw inches from a deep rabbit hole. Crowpaw grumbled to himself, hating his own stupidity. Windclan were taught as kits how to avoid tripping in the many holes that engorged their territory. Angry embarrassment prickled along his neck.

“Sorry, Ashfoot.” He rasped, walking around the trap.

His mother looked at him gently. “Don’t worry, I know it’s hard to recognise much about the moors anymore.”

She wasn’t wrong, but it was still the kindness of a hollow excuse. Somewhere inside, she must have felt ashamed that her own flesh and blood had almost made such a ludicrous mistake. Crowpaw certainly felt the shame curl inside him.

She’d be ashamed of you.

He said nothing more as he followed Ashfoot. There would be nothing to gain from scenting these holes; the prey had long since moved on. There was nothing left here for rabbits or hares.

There was nothing left here for any cat.

But the clan was still starving, and someone needed to feed them. Elders, mothers, and kits needed some cat to search this wasteland for them. Crowpaw had been the first to volunteer.

He couldn’t just sit and do nothing. What point would there be to him if he did that?

Ashfoot slowed her pace to walk beside her son. Crowpaw knew she was staring at him. How exactly she was looking at him he didn’t want to see. “When was the last time you ate anything?” She asked tersely.

Crowpaw’s chest fluttered, “It doesn’t matter.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

It was hard to admit that he was forcing himself to look at his own mother. His tail tried to hide the sink of his ribs along his pelt. “I don’t know.” He lied, “Yesterday morning?” Truthfully, he hadn’t eaten since a few days after he’d left the Tribe’s cave. Even then, he’d been forcing himself. Swallowing just didn’t seem to have a point then. And now he was back, and now that he’d seen every shrinking stomach, the idea of eating felt like something wrong.

His job was to feed those who needed it.

He would survive.

“Then it will do you good to eat when we get back, Crowpaw.” Ashfoot said, “Onewhisker and Tornear caught some prey for the apprentices to share this morning. I’m sure there’ll be spare for you.”

“Give it to another cat. Whitetail and her kits can have it if they saved some for me.”

Ashfoot looked torn between pride and worry. “Crowpaw, I know what you’re trying to do and it’s very noble of you. But we don’t know how long it will be before we move on; you need to make sure you eat as well.”

“If I need to eat, I will. But right now, I don’t.”

Ashfoot’s mew hardened, “And what will happen when you need to and there isn’t any prey? We need to share what we can as a clan! And that clan includes you!”

The clouds overhead didn’t cool the foul winds, they amplified them. Walking toneless underneath the cold grey, Crowpaw felt like an icicle buried in a freezing tomb. When he walked, paws sinking in mud and grot, nothing felt like home. He felt no attachment to this place like he once did. He felt the disorientation of an outsider.

It had been like ever since he’d come back.

“If we don’t know how long we’ll be here for, then it makes more sense for me to make sure the cats who need it the most get fed.”

“It’s not down to you alone, Crowpaw.” Ashfoot said, sighing. “Windclan will do better if you keep your strength up as well. We all work together, like we always do.” She pressed her pelt against Crowpaw’s with an amorous purr.

Crowpaw felt her bony frame and the fur that sagged without weight.

He didn’t like disagreeing with his mother, but she was wrong. It was up to Crowpaw to make sure that cats got the meals they deserved. It was the least he could do after they’d suffered for so long.

“I’m strong enough, Ashfoot.” He said plainly.

Ashfoot gave him a weak smile, “I know you are.” Crowpaw once felt warmed when his mother spoke like this, with the warm drip that stroked her lips and reminded Crowpaw that this powerful Warrior that had raised him and his siblings alone, for the greater part of his life, was his mother.

The mother who despite starving for what must have been a moon, still cared more about the son who had run away.

It was moments like this that made it so much easier for Crowpaw to forget that he was hungry.

Ashfoot pulled away, giving her son a firm look. “But please, you do need to eat Crowpaw. Every cat is hunting, so you mustn’t think you’re being selfish by eating as well.”

“I don’t think that, Ashfoot.” He didn’t. He just knew that someone else deserved it over him.

“You swear?”

“Yes.”

His answer seemed to reassure Ashfoot enough. Good. She could worry about herself now. The same way Crowpaw worried about her.

They travelled over the next two hills and didn’t find anything. Crowpaw could hear the monsters silver claws somewhere, tearing into their home once again effortlessly. He saw his mother shiver, a thin look of dread on her muzzle.

She was no fool.

Crowpaw wished he could say something to ease her thoughts.

But he was no fool either.

“They’re getting closer.” Ashfoot muttered. “It won’t be long until they reach Shadowclan’s territory.”

Crowpaw couldn’t stifle a growl. “Who cares? If they’re going to run away like frightened hares, they won’t need it anymore.”

Ashfoot glanced at him briefly, her tail twitching.

Crowpaw knew how it sounded. The cat who had come back talking of prophecies about the clans leaving together, now damning a clan for fleeing certain death. He didn’t care. He saw Blackstar’s unwillingness to negotiate. The tom had made up his mind before he’d even arrived.

“If he wasn’t even going to listen in the first place, he shouldn’t have wasted our time and just made Shadowclan leave.”

Ashfoot stared ahead gravely. Tallstar had reluctantly informed the clan of the opinion of the leader’s and had advised them to be patient for just a bit longer while they and Thunderclan worked to change their minds.

But no cat had the strength for patience.

“Blackstar has always been…” Her words broke off in a quiet hiss.

“Hare-brained?”

“I was going to say insufferable, but sure.” Ashfoot admitted, the slither of a snarl on her lips. It disappeared with a sigh. “But he is still a leader, and hopefully Tallstar can convince him to leave with us.”

Crowpaw spat, “Nothing would convince that fox-heart of anything!”

“If the monsters make their way through his territory, he may soon be thinking differently.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Ashfoot nodded silently, lifting her nose to taste the air again. “I wouldn’t either. But Tallstar wants all the clans to leave together, and it’s our duty to stand by his wishes until he thinks differently.” A bitter mew muffled out of the molly. “No matter how long that may be.”

Anger. Crowpaw was accustomed to the feeling. For a long, long time, he’d taken a twisted comfort from it. Anger had pushed him on, made him stronger, chased away enemies. Anger had been a red sky that kept him ready for the battle of this forest.

But now, that anger just tasted like bile.

“Yeah.” Crowpaw muttered bitterly. “Well, maybe we don’t need them if they’re going to make us wait like this.”

Ashfoot whipped her tail pointedly, a knowing frown on her muzzle. “Well, at the very least I know you’ve been listening to your mentor.”

Crowpaw cringed. Mudclaw’s stern face froze over a dark corner of his mind. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Ashfoot asked, “Crowpaw, you’re the one who told Tallstar about the prophecy.”

Crowpaw walked on wordlessly. His nose felt full of tight air that stung when he inhaled. She was right. When it all came down to it, it had been Crowpaw’s idea. Not to leave, in his heart he knew that Windclan definitely would have come to that conclusion on their own. But to leave with the other clans.

‘I bet you’re really proud to have that kind of influence.’

The snarl prodded Crowpaw with an accusing reminder. Even if Crowpaw hadn’t meant it, maybe Webfoot had a point. His story had created influence over Tallstar’s decision. It was because of that that his leader was reluctant to leave with just his own clan.

He’d probably be begging them to leave when he was close to his own death.

And as the days went on, and Tallstar grew weaker and weaker, that didn’t seem as much of a nightmare as a certainty.

“I’m sorry.” His apology crossed the stale air, hopefully reaching more cats than just his mother.

Ashfoot’s tail stiffened as it rose in the air. “What for?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“And keep Starclan’s message from the rest of us? Don’t be mouse-brained!” Her tail whipped his rump, like she did when he was a grouchy little kit moaning about staying in the nursery.  “It’s good you told us, Crowpaw. Now we know what Starclan wants.”

If it was what Starclan wanted, then where were they while the clans argued last night.

“Sometimes I don’t understand you, Crowpaw.” Ashfoot meowed, “Why would you even suggest leaving the clans after what you told us?” Her stare hardened, “Did Mudclaw say something to you?”

‘Remember where your real allies are if the time comes.’

“Not really.” Crowpaw couldn’t make more trouble for his Deputy.

Ashfoot sighed, giving him the look. The look that showed she knew what he was thinking and how he wasn’t being honest. Even now, it made his head drop.

“Well… maybe he’s right? If the clans won’t help us, maybe we should go on our own.”

“Do you really think we could make it on our own?” There was a soft directness there that was open yet judging all the same.

Crowpaw kept quiet. Windclan was weak, he had to admit that, but if no help was going to come whether they swallowed their pride or not, maybe it was best they just did what they could quickly.

“I’m not saying I don’t understand where Mudclaw is coming from. I’m sure he has only Windclan’s best interest in his heart.” Ashfoot smiled, though it looked perfunctory. “But what he needs to remember, as do you.” She mewed, “Is that he is not Windclan’s leader. We don’t need to be raking up old bones at a time like this.”

Crowpaw snorted, “Why not? The other leaders have.”

When Ashfoot looked back at him, Crowpaw suddenly felt tired again. He frowned and made his eyes go low once again, ignoring the discontent, but mostly ignoring the worry that clouded his mother like hail.

The worry he was the cause off.

Here he was again, making problems like he always did.

“Crowpaw…” His mother sounded closer now.

Crowpaw, against his nature, took a brisk step away and let his mouth move, not caring for what words came out. “No! Why should we have to wait because a few leaders can’t see sense?”

“Because that’s how it is.”

It was hard to tell if Ashfoot said that with assurance or reluctance. Perhaps it was resignation.

Like everything was inevitable, no matter what.

“Fox-dung.” Crowpaw muttered. It didn’t have to be that way at all. Blackstar and Leopardstar did what they did because they could, because circumstances had gifted them the luxury of an escape or shelter that the others could not cling too. What did they even know? What had they done while their clans picked at bones for food or sucked on leaves for moisture?

But then, what had Crowpaw done?

He pushed away the dark, nestling into the nest of anger.

He became aware again of his mother’s presence. This time, when she’d pressed their cold pelts beside each other, she used her tail to make sure he didn’t slip away so easily. She kept him by her purring chest, offering a light lick on the back of his head.

She hardly ever did that.

He sighed. Just how terrible did he look?

The comfort, the understanding she offered felt suffocating. She moved so clearly with the honesty of her care. But everything just felt, at best, hollow or, at worst, like a wasp sting swelling up with doubtful venom. For years, his mother’s advice had been like the word of Starclan.

But here, believing at all just felt worthless and empty.

Nothing felt okay anymore.

“I know it’s frustrating for you.” Ashfoot’s voice came down like soft rain, “After everything you’ve been through, I know this isn’t what you thought would happen.”

Crowpaw began to itch all over.

Frustrating for him?

Everything he’d been through.

“But,” Ashfoot had now become close enough that her heartbeat synchronised with his. Her voice was like a morning mist. “Windclan now has a plan for if we decide to leave. That’s because of what you did, Crowpaw. You should be proud of that.”

Crowpaw didn’t say a word as something began to pound again at the back of his head.

“I’m certainly proud of you.”

The fragments of Crowpaw’s meaningless pride began to twist once again.

“You know that, don’t you?” Ashfoot’s questions sounded like a plea in her son’s whirlpool thoughts.

“Yeah, I do.” He just barely formed the stifled grunts into a reply. He did it at first to end the conversation. He did it more to stop the fear from coating his mother’s eyes.

“I might go check if there’s any prey over there.” Crowpaw said, forcing himself to give a courteous press of his tail to his mother’s flank before he walked away.

“Huh?” The fire of a protest built in Ashfoot. “We should hunt together.” Something hurt in her tone.

“The prey’s scattered since the Twolegs came.” As if he had any right to explain that. “I can check one area on my own.”

“But we need to-”

“I’ll see you back at camp.” He said gruffly, steadily pacing away as his mother stared at his back. He pretended not to hear her sigh as she turned to search her own area, the area that covered their border with Thunderclan.

Crowpaw made sure he’d avoid that.

He knew he’d most likely get a scolding later. There wasn’t really a reason why he needed to go on his own. All that stretched in his direction was dead grass and the remnants of bushes, green bodies turning a sickly yellow in the dusty air. He’d find no prey around here, more than likely returning to his disappointed clanmates a failure.

He could only hope Ashfoot had better luck.

He had no choice but to press on, searching yet not truly hunting. It didn’t matter, he realised. The pounding still batted like enemy paws on his neck. He couldn’t escape it. Really, he was more of a fool for imagining that he could.

The tom grit his teeth as his thoughts turned rogue once again. He lifted his sunken eyes to the hill, his neck cracking at the soft movement.

It didn’t make any sense. He knew where his heart had to lie. He knew what side he was on. And he’d made certain to clarify that last night. In the scheme of the stars, of the clans, he’d done no wrong, he’d only followed the paw prints that had guided the clans long before he was born.

So why…

Why did it hurt so much?

Why did the memory of those eyes, once soft, turned furious, make him want to vomit?

There was no reason to be like this. This was how it was meant to be. All that deserved to be on his mind was Windclan’s safety. Anything else was just him wasting time and energy that could be used to actually help some cat.

But try as he might, every thought he made, every move he took, caused a reaction on his body. A pulse in his chest, a tightness in his throat, and that never-ending pounding against his skull. Every second was like a fight.

And it made him tired.

So very very tired.

He shook himself up. What was he thinking? This was no time to be selfish. Windclan needed prey and he had to return with some.

Or why return at all.

Crowpaw whipped his head from side to side, as if the pain in his neck could be removed like a flea.

They didn’t need him.

He began to walk faster, not caring when he stumbled across rabbit holes and tripped through slumps in the hill.

He was just another cat without prey. Like so many others. He was nothing special. He was no help.

“No!” He hissed to whatever monster was making his sight sting. Windclan needed him, they needed all the help they could get. That was his duty. That was his reason to…

Did Windclan need him?

Or did he need Windclan?

Something had begun to buzz in Crowpaw’s ears. But there was nothing to see wherever he looked. Nothing at all.

What Windclan cat thought of the other clans this much?

“No!” Crowpaw yelled into the moors. Any prey for tree-lengths now would surely be scared off.

He was worried about Windclan, that was all. He was worried about his home. It was Windclan where he had been born, it was in Windclan that he had caught his first prey, it was in Windclan where he had struggled and fought fuelled on his determination to be one of their treasured Warriors.

But so had every other Windclan cat.

Nightcloud, Webfoot, even Owlpaw, they had all lived Windclan just like Crowpaw. Their loyalty was just as strong as his. They had watched as their home was destroyed, and they had done everything in their power to keep their clanmates alive and well, to keep Windclan’s spirit alive!

Did he really have the audacity to savour his loyalty as some kind of pride?

Loyalty was just the necessary goal of his existence.

Crowpaw’s legs had begun to tremble. He sniffed the air, his whiskers pathetically seeming to beg in how they wavered in the air like the shaking paws of a kitten. This had to stop, and it had to stop now. What was he even doing? Arguing with himself like this?! What good was he doing, standing in the middle of a prey-less hill, muttering and screaming at nothing?

He wanted to prove himself, didn’t he?

He had to prove himself.

He needed to prove himself.

He was loyal, he knew he was loyal, he’d do anything for Windclan, that was why he’d given up on his fr-

He pressed a paw to his face, exasperated, and didn’t flinch when he felt claws pierce into his fur.

What was he doing? No. They weren’t that anymore. They should have never been that at all. He needed to regret that, forget about everything, if he wanted to carry on, in order to function. They would travel together, but whatever false ties he’d let materialise for too long were cut. He’d seen to that. He’d made it happen.

They hated him. He was sure of that. When they sat beside him last night, there was nothing there but the same countenance as the beginning. That icy silence that should have carried them through the whole journey. Before his leader, Crowpaw had made it clear where he stood.

Last night, associating those faces with their clan had made it so much simpler to push them away into the dark. The grey tom who’s leader had left his own begging for water, the tabby molly who’s clan wanted to hide away in the den of kittypets and Two-legs, and the brown tom who’s leader refused to see sense and stubbornly put his faith in leader’s who’s hearts were already set on their own ambitions.

Yes. It was so much easier when he did that.

And as for his best-

As for Squ-

A-As for that mol-

She’d be ashamed of you.

She must have hated him.

Even in the beginning, she’d never said anything to him with such venom.

Wasn’t that better? No. It was better. It-It needed to- (Please don’t look at me like that. Please. That had been what he’d thought when she hated him)

Why was this happening? She wasn’t any different. Just another cat he’d been forced to complete a task with. She shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. There was no reason he should dwell on her, or for the molly who had (saved his life) died-

He couldn’t let them do this to him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. (They were gone. He was alone. All alone.) It wasn’t his fault they’d believed they were anything more than rivals. If they’d been truly loyal they would have kept away. (They were good cats. Such amazing cats.) The hills stretched to nowhere as he wandered. Lost. Unwanted. Unneeded. (He missed them. Even now he missed them so much.)

The buzzing in his ears was dark and hungry. It growled fiercely.

‘Focus on their clans’, he begged himself, ‘They’ve left you behind. They don’t care. They never did. It’s time to wake up. If you care so much about this, you shouldn’t be here. Be a Windclan cat, for starclan’s sake, be a Windclan cat!’

The others were the problem. Not him. Shadowclan were cowards. Thunderclan were foolish idealists. Riverclan were stubborn, traitors who refused to believe their own cats! Ignored their cats last wishes.

(She died for her clan and for you. What are you doing?)

Crowpaw stopped running – how had he not realised he’d been running – listening to the buzzing drift as it twisted over the pounding of his heartbeat. Once again, he was nowhere sufficient. The grass was cracked and caked with dirt. The scents of prey mingled in a forgotten symphony, too far to be of any use. Even the berries on some lonely bushes nearby had long since dried up.

It was silent.

Silent enough for him to consider the words.

Consider everything actually.

What was he doing?

He was prey-less, far from his clan, twisting over thoughts he shouldn’t consider. His clan was waiting for his help. They had been waiting for his help ever since he had returned.

And he’d done nothing.

The prey he had caught was shrivelled and meaningless, any cat could have caught it, if he had never been on that patrol no cat would have noticed.

He had told the clans they needed to leave. But when he looked at them, how long would it have taken them to realise that in the first place. Tallstar had believed him so easily, it was more than likely they would have chosen to left even if he had never given them the message.

So… What really had he done that any other cat couldn’t have? What help was he really?

What did Ashfoot have to be proud of?

She’d be ashamed of you.

Crowpaw looked up to the grey sky, waiting for a chance of rain that could wake him from this empty state.

Riverclan.

Leopardstar hadn’t believed their words. But her clan’s territory was safe, for now. And there was no chosen cat who could return and tell them otherwise.

Who’s fault was that?

Windclan didn’t need Crowpaw to leave. Riverclan may have needed Feathertail.

But here they were.

The clans were waiting for Riverclan, who could not be convinced by the words of their trusted Warrior.

Because the wrong cat died.

Starclan had not come. Was that because there was no hope? Or could it be because their plans had been compromised by the loss of a Warrior who had been needed, and in her place had been left with the selfish remains of some mouse-brained apprentice?

Crowpaw’s blue eyes searched for another reason, they peered over grey hills and smoky skies, searching for some reason that he was here, that he was needed, that there was some logical explanation for him not being the one who had been left behind.

But the other thoughts, the buzzing forces, they had made everything so dizzy.

He only came out of if out of sheer luck, when a high, angry cry broke through the clouds and launched itself towards him.

Crowpaw turned his head just in time to see the hawk, yellow claws spread like ten furious vipers, rush through the air as it raced from the sky, its eyes blazing right on the young apprentice.

Crowpaw didn’t have time to crash his teeth together, he barely had time for his heavy eyes to widen, all he had was a pure desire that struck his body like a thousand hot claws along his back. It was the desire to live, the primal instinct to survive.

That gave him enough time to pounce to the side, the scabby flesh of the hawk’s feet just hitting the tip of his tail. It missed. Crowpaw was still alive. He caught himself, twisting on his feet so he facing the predator as it cried out angrily, before slamming its strong wings in the air and taking flight again.

Crowpaw scowled at the beast as it hovered in a taunting circle above him. What was a hawk doing in the moors? They usually rested in high trees! Had it been scared from its shelter because of the Two-legs? He may have sympathised with that idea if the bird wasn’t clear on making him its new taste of prey.

Even as he hissed at the hawk, Crowpaw could not hide how scared he felt. He’d never seen a hawk like this before, not on his own anyway. Its wings were bigger than maybe a whole clan cat, beating the air with enraged strikes, its whole body was bigger than Crowpaw, and its dark talons glistened in the misty air, poised and ready to sink into his flesh.

Crowpaw found himself needing to dodge again, his body rolling hotly over the hill as he zig-zagged down the base, when the bird swept down with the grace of a fish in the water. The apprentice’s heart pounded like the predator’s wings. There was no way he was going to outrun this thing. And there was no where he could hide from it either. Even if he tried to slip into the bushes, they were thin, and the hawk would pass through them like clouds. It cried again, angrier this time as it missed its kill, screeching into the sky as it rose above the hills again.

Its huge head turned in the air to its prey, its eyes full of hunger, and more strangely, hatred. For some reason or not, this creature hated him.

Crowpaw couldn’t look away from the hateful stare, but as the bird’s rage thickened like black clouds, Crowpaw felt his own body tightening, fixing in an arched, frenetic reason.

If he couldn’t run and he couldn’t hide, there wasn’t anything left to do but fight.

Because he realised just what this bird was. He looked at this bird and saw a dozen full bellies that eased his clan for another few days. He saw a delighted mother nursing her kits with a body full of milk. He saw eyes that would find him with reason for once.

This bird was a reason to be here.

So, forgetting the growl and jolt of his own hunger, Crowpaw felt the blood fix his vision, and he stiffened to survive.

He would kill this bird. He would kill it to show that he was here and he deserved to be.

He watched the bird carefully, a voice digging patience into him, if he rushed into this there was a good chance this could easily go wrong. He needed to find the right moment and take it. A savage thrill had swelled in his stomach and let his anger and terror merge into a powerful shock along his back.

He had never killed anything this big before. But that didn’t matter. It would be done.

The hawk’s fox-like eyes gleamed, it thrust its wings down with the power of a dog’s jaws before it dove once more. Its beak, as thick as a kits head and strong enough to crush one, snapping open to scream.

His breath held captive in his chest, Crowpaw didn’t look away. He needed to watch if he was going to figure this out or not. He needed to get close. The bird was descending quickly, its massive wings solidly held to their furthest reach as they sliced the open air. Crowpaw waited a heartbeat more, just enough for the hawk to curl its talons from its scaly legs, before he launched himself forward on his belly, giving a kick of his paws to the sky as he felt the powerful friction of air above his back. Even as it missed him, Crowpaw knew that this thing was strong.

One of his back paws hit the tail end of the bird, just where it could hit flesh, but Crowpaw had already rolled away by the time the bird to curl its body around. It screeched, pained and angry, but returned to the sky, its tail feather shaking off the blow as well as it could.

Crowpaw snarled at it as it flapped overhead, if it hadn’t been mad before it was now. Crowpaw hoped it was like a cat, where he knew anger made you reckless. It seemed to fly higher than before, soaring in a dart to where the clouds seemed to just touch its head. But even then, Crowpaw could see them burning down at him.

The dark tom licked his lips and let out a hot angry breath.

When the bird spread its talons, it left its chest and throat open. He had a chance, a small chance, but if he could avoid those talons, he just needed to know where to bite.

And he didn’t have long to figure that out.

The bird was coming down again. Feather’s ruffled in complete rage. It was hurt and resentful, and it desperately wanted revenge. It wasn’t going to wait it seemed. It came down like lightning. Crowpaw watched it dart towards him, its wings curved in prepared tension. Their eyes locked, a burst of rage and hunger connecting them. Crowpaw didn’t mutter a prayer as he began to sprint his way towards the bird. With a frustrated yell, the Hawk flapped to position itself. But no prey had actually ran at it before. Adjusting itself to this new concept, the bird chose to flick its talons out once again. All it needed to do was dig those talons into Crowpaw’s soft belly, and it would be over.

Letting a numb sensation compel him from fury or fright, Crowpaw leapt as soon as the birds talons were a tail-length away.

It was an ugly collision.

The talons just slipped on his back, but Crowpaw’s whole weight stormed into the soft meat of the Hawk’s chest, breaking its grip on him. Crowpaw screwed his eyes closed, grunting as two heavy wings slammed onto his face. The pain was heavy and thick, but Crowpaw slipped through it until his teeth were lodged into the bird’s chest.

The creatures, fighting to be predator or prey, landed with Crowpaw’s jaws wrenching with delirious speed on the bird’s stomach. Feathers and blood were thrown into the air as Crowpaw ripped and ripped. The Hawk let out a sound it had never made, one of real horror, as its beating wings became more and more desperate. It twisted, its feet scratching wherever it could to find the dark-fur of its opponent. Cold pain seared Crowpaw’s flank, but he only bit down again, higher this time, his tail curling when he tasted hot blood.

How long had it been since he’d tasted blood?

Immediately, Crowpaw felt his muscles tense, his claws sprang out to pin the frantic wings, tearing down the fragile skin, fracturing ligament and muscle with every punching scratch. The bird screamed and bit at Crowpaw’s scruff, but the cat launched five claws over its face and it let go with a true cry of real, blood-curdling fear.

Crowpaw realised with savage electricity, that he was winning.

The hawk, realising far too late it had misjudged this battle, changed tactics. Its talons didn’t claw now, they tried to grip the cat, furiously attempting to drag Crowpaw off before he found its throat. It rocked frantically to loosen the cat from its blood soaking feathers. But Crowpaw knew this opportunity would never come again. He wasn’t going to let go, even if those talons found his own throat.

The only time Crowpaw did let go was when the hawk stopped shaking and instead used its damaged wings to roll over to its belly. Its large wings already straightening for takeoff. But Crowpaw was quick, and this bird had made a massive mistake in taking its talons from Crowpaw. As soon as he’d slid onto its back, Crowpaw was safe from the claws and beak. It was almost over.

Crowpaw groaned and bit down on its neck, where the head had to be connected to the spine. The hawk screamed, its body convulsing and large eyes bursting in pure agony. Blood coated Crowpaw’s tongue once more, and just to be safe, he dug his claws right into the base of the hawk’s wings, holding it down. Whether they were too damaged or weak, they slowly began to wither in their rabid twitches for survival.

Crowpaw, deep in his chest, realised that this was over.

But stubbornly the hawk continued to fight, dragging itself along with its weak talons or broken wings, even as Crowpaw bit down hard on its neck, hard enough to hear something crack. The tom let out a hiss as the hawk cried mournfully but continued to struggle. This wasn’t meant to happen. It should have been dead by now.

But it didn’t. Its body twitched along, its head craning out to a bush just ahead of them both, probably seeking the dark safety even as its back cracked behind it.

It was impressive but horrible all the same. Crowpaw bit on the neck again, horrified by how it clung to life despite its little hope. This wasn’t how hunting was meant to be. They hunted to be quick, they hunted to survive, this didn’t feel like hunting, this felt like slaughter.

But Windclan needed to eat all the same.

‘Die.’ Crowpaw thought as he bit and tore and shook. ‘Just die already.’

The hawk responded with a series of sounds that may have been the caw of a bird, but not one that any bird, any creature should make. It hissed and bubbled in the bird’s throat. Crowpaw felt it. For the love of Starclan, he felt it rattle out of the shivering beak. It eyes, glazing quicker and quicker, were wide but slow, blinking in jittering convulsions, still calling for the safety of the bush.

It wanted to live

Crowpaw wanted to scream.

With a needing, breaking yell, Crowpaw slid his claws over the Hawk’s thin, torn throat and ripped back.

With a rasping, wordless gasp that sounded too much like a mewling kit for Crowpaw’s liking, the hawk’s struggles relaxed, and its tattered head fell down stiffly onto the grass.

Blood slowly oozed out onto the shadow of the hill. The dirt did not soak it up, denying the gore, letting it flow down into a dark slide in the grass.

Crowpaw fought for his own breath as he stood triumphantly above his prey.

It should have been triumph anyway.

Didn’t feel like it.

He shook his head. That couldn’t start up now. Yes, it had been messy. But it was done. And prey was prey.

This was actually the largest prey he’d ever caught, this was a meal that would last Windclan for days, this was his chance of doing some real good for his clan, this was his reason for standing here.

Something he’d done mattered.

He looked over his own wounds, the wings had battered his head until it was shaking, and there were some deep gash marks along his flank that he needed to clean before they got infected. But other than that, he was remarkably well.

Much better than the blood-soaked, torn apart, ruin under his paws.

But more than ever, he was alive.

Tired, battered, and hungry, but alive.

So hungry.

Crowpaw’s tongue touched the blood on his lips, he couldn’t suppress a shiver. It tasted good. Good enough that his throat began to hurt at the idea of not tasting it again. He looked down at the hawk, thinking. It was a huge catch. If he took one bite, a small one, enough for him to get by, he could get the rest back to Windclan soon.

His joints ached, and his head spun like crazy. He needed to eat, even just a little.

Crowpaw gave the hawk a wane look. Just one tear off the wing. That would be enough for him.

Slowly, his own stomach cleanching, Crowpaw placed his teeth over the soft meat of the wing. He shivered as the sweet blood permeated his senses.

But then his ears twitched.

Almost angry at his meal, his victory, being disturbed, Crowpaw growled. But then he stopped and really listened. Something was letting out high, bristling squeaks. They cracked into the air pathetically, rustling the air with its light whimpers. Then the sound rustled as it doubled, then tripled, and then Crowpaw was sure he heard a symphony of tiny whelping ring around him.

They were coming from the bush.

The hawk’s head still stared at it lifelessly, but a longing melancholy still quivered in the draining colour of its eyes.

Crowpaw stared as the squeaking continued. The back of his head began to hurt again. His whole body felt cold.

With step after reluctant step, Crowpaw approached the bush, becoming more and more aware of the buzzing that came back to his ears.

He pressed his head in. Four pairs of black, terrified eyes glinted wetly back at him. The chicks, from the looks of their thin tufts of feathers, or the way they held their gaping mouths at him in either fright or hunger, could not have been born more than a day or two ago. They huddled together, some peeping helplessly at him under the darkness of their scrambled, hastily put together nest, the others just stared at him. Stared enough to hurt.

It took only a second for the desperation of the hawk to sink in.

With blank eyes, Crowpaw turned back to the hawk that had died to protect what it loved, the blood had now begun to pool around its head.

Another bloody body, another creature that had sacrificed itself to protect what it loved, flashed over Crowpaw’s eyes.

Once she had, everything seemed so much clearer to Crowpaw.

And he didn’t fight the hungry buzzing in his mind, rumbling, screaming, blaming. It stung, it ached, it swelled.

It reminded.

Sacrifice.

A sacrifice was why Riverclan had no cat to believe, a sacrifice was why the journey was tainted, a sacrifice was why the clans may not survive, a sacrifice was why Windclan was suffering, a sacrifice was why his clan could die.

A sacrifice was why his friends, the only one’s he’d ever really had, hated him.

He’d driven them away because he wanted, in his selfish need for reason, to be seen as important for his clan.

But the truth was, Windclan didn’t need him. They would live or die without him. They always would have. All he’d done returning, robbing Riverclan of a reason to leave, was further the dark towards his home’s destruction.

It was all his fault.

This was all he was.

Letting the buzzing attack his mind, and drown out the chicks’ cries for a mother that would never return, Crowpaw began to drag the hawk back. If this was the only good he could ever do, he should at least do it with some effort of care.

But was it good?

How tough could this hawk have been if an apprentice could kill it? It was weak and hungry, that was all. Any real warrior could do it. They probably could have brought themselves to catch the extra prey as well.

But those chicks’ had such familiar eyes.

The eyes of the weak, saved by the strong.

But what did it matter?

It was over now. Whether they were caught by him, or another cat, or a fox, or even if nothing came for them. Their deaths had been set in the dirt.

That was the cruelty of life. The reality that Crowpaw would do better to accept.

It didn’t matter how much creatures tried to fight nature.

Things that were meant to die? They always did. Someway or other.

Crowpaw would make sure of that.

With this realisation, with empty eyes and passing, silent breath, Crowpaw almost felt a shameful peace that made him blink away the tears so easily.

But he was unfit for peace, so he let the buzzing convince him into feeling nothing.

...

[away-from-anthills]

chapter eleven-

It became apparent to Antstar near immediately that Whitetooth and Marblepaw weren’t the only ones in the medicine den.

Next to Whitetooth lay Stripedwing. The gray molly seemed well, but even under the cloak of sleep her face looked troubled. Next to her were four small bundles of fur, one of which Marblepaw was tending to.

“What’s going on?” asked Antstar, his breath so low that he wondered if he was just thinking particularly loud.

“I believe I have told you in the past about the matter concerning Stripedwing’s family tree,” began Whitetooth. “For as far back as I or my late mentor can remember, the litters containing such ancestry are quite weak, and have difficulty surviving illness. You may recall that Rainleap and Stripedwing were born in a litter of four, yet only they survived their kithood.”

Antstar nodded, but worry began to dig under his skin like a short-tempered hare. These were Russetfoot’s children!

“They’ve all caught kitten-cough. It appears the other three in the litter- Runningkit, Rustkit, and Wheatkit- are safe and healthy, and Shadeflower is caring for them. But these four… these four, I worry about.”

Suddenly, Whitetooth and Marblepaw at once pricked their ears and pointed their long snouts towards the entrance, where a figure was standing. She was a calico tabby; half of her fur was an off-white color while her back and face were covered in splotches that were mottled orange and liver. She was a naturally rather demure thing, like a particularly thin workhorse, and her pale green eyes were cradled by thick, dark eyebags that had been tinged reddish from discharge.

It was Houndnose. One of the permanent queens.

“Are they alright?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, awkwardly walking forth to inspect. Whitetooth leaned toward her, causing her to back up into herself and arch over. “I cannot say they are. I and my apprentice are giving them all the care we can, but we do not know what will happen to them.”

Whitetooth was usually fairly tall, definitely within the upper half of WindClan’s heights. But their head only met Houndnose’s lower neck. She shot one last long glance at the kittens; her glance slowly lingered and met Antstar’s before she trotted away.

“Poor, feeble thing,” Whitetooth said, solemnly shaking their head. “All she wants in the world is to take care of kits and to be a mother. But every litter she’s had…”

Antstar didn’t need Whitetooth to finish the sentence. Houndnose’s first litter had been born two springs ago. But Dustkit was a stillbirth, and Privetkit and Newtkit slowly, agonizingly succumbed to illness. Her second litter the next year was healthier, but didn’t fare better in the long run, as a fox wound up getting them.

Antstar remembered how Shalestar had asked Houndnose if she truly wanted to continue being a queen after all that. But Houndnose was insistent: Queen life was worth all the heartbreak, all the pain; and her third litter would make it, whenever it would be.

“It must be horrible,” Whitetooth said softly, a true sympathy shining in their teal-green eyes. “Having to watch what happened to your own all over again- and not be able to do a single thing about it.”

They turned to inspect Stripedwing and her kits, and upon assuring themself that the molly and her kits were all in a deep slumber, they turned, in that sort of blank way they were so masterful at, to Antstar.

“I have heard about Stoatslink’s… suspicions, yes.”

“Well.” Antstar stepped back, a touch of incredulousness as he shifted his weight from one side to another. “What in StarClan do you suppose we do?”

Whitetooth squinted slightly before wheeling around to sort a stack of herbs near the back of the main chamber. “You are my leader, Antstar. I follow your command, not the other way around.”

Antstar opened his mouth to protest, but Whitetooth turned, their eye lidded with seriousness. “I do not kill my Clanmates, sir. I am simply the agent by which they join StarClan. If you truly think I’m going to kill Stoatslink on my own volition, you are sorely mistaken.”

Kill? Antstar had said nothing about killing. But in a strange sort of way, his mind was already headed there. And then he blurted out: “I don’t want to be the one to do it!”

“Quiet!” Whitetooth hissed, snapping at their leader. For a second, Antstar glimpsed their long white canines that had gifted them their name, and he was there in Sunningrocks all over again, when that flame-pointed ThunderClan tom had threatened him. Whitetooth’s mouth was very small and slight, and looked nearly invisible when it was shut. But inside- when they opened their mouth… it was nearly all teeth. Teeth that had never been dulled by the wear and tear of warriorship. Teeth that were long but with points so small that if they were to bite into something, nobody would notice but the victim, like hypodermic needles.

Antstar’s eyes darted over to the corner of the medicine den, where Marblepaw was curled up, eyes huge and glimmering with the shine of Whitetooth’s canines.

“You are going to wake her-“ -they gestured to Stripedwing, still asleep- “-if you continue, and the Clan will not understand us. And I know from hearing things that Clan cats have no trouble kicking out leaders if they decide they are no longer worthy. Why, it could be happening right now…”

“Right now?” said Antstar. “What do you mean?” “Not here in WindClan.” They tipped their head back cryptically. “I hear of things.”

“But what do we do?” asked Antstar. “What if- StarClan damn you for making me think of it, but- what if we were to kill him?” “Outside,” said Whitetooth, their tail still flicking towards the sleeping mother and her kits. “Now. Marblepaw-“ -they turned to address their apprentice, who was still hunched over from fear- “you watch Stripedwing and her kits.”

They were on the rim above camp now, the moon across the sky staring straight upon them.

“Well, now. What do we do?”

“Well, what does Stoatslink thinks he knows?”

Antstar tried to flicker back memories of all they had learned about the white tom. He was an analytical sort, yes. But he was stubborn, and seemed to fashion himself a genius. Bull-headed. An intelligent bull? Perhaps. But still one that would charge if he saw a red cape.

“He thinks a non-Clan cat killed Sparkthistle and threw her body in the gorge as cover.”

“Good, good.” Whitetooth’s voice slowly blended into a sort of hypnotic charm as it flowed through the air. “That’s exactly what we need. Here’s what I would propose.”

They stood back and tipped their head up and ears back, as if they were disposing of rotting crowfood, and spoke.

“We can make an example of Stoatslink. He is a family-oriented fellow, but has few friends because of his flaws. If he died-“

“What are you getting at? You think we can openly kill him to ‘make an example’? Are you mad?” Whitetooth looked offended, their nose slightly wrinkling with indignance. “Not openly, you shrew-headed fellow! And, personally, I was never saner than I am now. Listen. You know what happens, when Tatteredstar makes a faulty decision?”

Antstar nodded. Recently, there had been Rosefire. But he hadn’t been the only incident. He remembered that at his first Gathering as a warrior, she had announced that an ill-advised attack on a group of kittypets had killed her deputy. There was a sort of shock at it- he had quite liked seeing the fellow in question at Gatherings when he was an apprentice. And even before that, he remembered hearing from WindClan warriors returning from a Gathering- did you hear Tatteredstar didn’t let SkyClan get the herbs they needed, due to their prey dispute? And a bunch of SkyClan cats died because of it? I have no idea why ThunderClan adores her so much…

“Now. What else would happen shortly after?”

Antstar’s mind floundered at first, but as soon as he considered Tatteredstar’s other habits his mind latched onto something. “…They would attack RiverClan, and get Sunningrocks back.”

“Bravo.” Whitetooth drew back slowly, like he was leading Antstar with a carrot on a string. “A stroke of genius, on her part. In styling a common enemy for all her Clan to be directed towards, at once it removes the eyes from her and it unites the Clan together against this new obstacle. So even if the Clan is divided at her decision- they are swiftly united again by this distraction.” “So what you’re saying is-“

“I know the cats who live just beyond our territory. I would not say they are black of heart, but they are desperate. For food, for shelter… they shall do anything to get their claws on that sort of miscellany. I can arrange with them a deal- some of my medicinal herbs for them to kill Stoatslink, and then we shall throw him into the gorge. Solidify the belief he had in a killer outside the Clans- and then send a patrol to deal with the rogues that shall still be at the border.”

They turned away back into the medicine den, hearing Dewkit weakly cry as she began to stir.

“Think upon my words, Antstar, and consider it for now. If need be- I would consider it a necessary sacrifice to keep our Clan together for the oncoming of no-leaf.”

The last days of late summer slipped by, until autumn arrived in a hazy orange mist one day about a week or two later.

WindClan’s territory had always been at her prettiest in the mist- most of all when the sun still was able to shine through and cradle it with light. The sky above was mostly clear, but pale from its dawn youth. The trees, just slightly tinged with dappled shades of ginger, were practically painted gold by the sun’s light. The last morning stars slowly winked away just beyond the horizon, and the ground was so soaked with dew that WindClan cats nearly appeared to be RiverClan.

Antstar, however, had no time to admire newborn leaf-fall. He and Whitetooth, this morning, were on a mission at dawn. He had told Russetfoot he was helping Whitetooth find herbs, as it was important to do before the plants died out.

Russetfoot had accepted, numbly, his forest-green eyes staring mournfully at a small, freshly buried patch of earth that lay just beyond camp, where the last wildflowers of the season had begun to blossom. But Russetfoot had sighed and gone on with it, announcing names for the dawn patrol- mourning, in WindClan, was rarely ever a public affair.

Whitetooth always had a strange way of moving through the grass. It was almost like a swan: their top half remained still, except for the vague movements of the haunches and the flick of the tail; their legs, however, kicked away wildly beneath them. It was at once graceful and off-putting, as Whitetooth tended to be.

They went along, from the dewy grass to the slick, cold asphalt of the Thunderpath just beyond Mothermouth. They were traveling up it, parallel to the road. Antstar felt nervousness nip at his paws- ever since Rainleap’s death, which in truth had been only a season or so ago although to Antstar it had felt like eons, he had always had second thoughts about crossing roads.

And then Whitetooth stopped. They looked one way, then another, and then slunk across the road, Antstar in tow.

They stopped at a small, craggy cave, which resembled a much smaller version of the Moonstone’s cave- but with no tunnel, and no mystic monolith either. Inside, although it was dark, Antstar could see the silhouettes of a small group of rogues. They were all emaciated, and he tried to keep his distance- he could smell the fleas from here, and it appeared at least one of them had mange.

He heard a snarl and two cats caught his attention. One was a large ginger-and-white molly with patchy fur and scars webbing her shoulders, the other a much smaller, underfed little brown tom with a white underbelly.

“So you haven’t found any prey this morning?” asked the ginger-and-white molly, her voice thick with an accent that Antstar couldn’t place.

The smaller tom shook his head. He was visibly shaking, and his ribs were defined enough that Antstar could count nearly all of them.

“You know, Whimbrel, that this is the eighth straight morning-“ “I don’t want to go out to where the Clans are!” he squeaked, his voice hoarse.

“The Clans?” She scoffed. “You’re scared of the Clans?”

Whimbrel nodded. “I didn’t-“

At once the large patched molly leapt onto Whimbrel. He tried to flee, but there was little time before she was on top of him. She beat him around, as a kit would a moss-ball, and then thrust a thick yellow claw right into his eye. Whimbrel let out a wicked screech of pain.

“That’ll teach you,” she said, giving a crooked smile. Her teeth were cracked, and a few were missing altogether. “You’ve got more to worry about than the Clans, rag-pelt.”

Antstar winced. With no medicine, that eye was going to get infected- and it was already out of the question that Whimbrel would ever see in it again.

And then- speak of herbs- Whitetooth stepped forth, their chest puffed with confidence. “Sisters, brothers! May I see the leader of this fine group? I have a proposition I am willing to make.”

Antstar had no idea how much of Whitetooth’s words were laced with sarcasm, if any of them were. Yet some of the rogues seemed to know Whitetooth already, and acknowledged their presence with a nod. Antstar knew that medics were often entangled with connections to cats outside the Clans, and with each other; he didn’t want to press the matter further than that.

A large, muscly black cat came up to them. He had a sort of youthful swagger about him which was only further punctuated by mischievous yellow eyes and a white spot just above his left lip.

‘Name’s Captain.”

Captain? Fancy name, for a rogue, Antstar thought. He wouldn’t be surprised if this cat had once been a kittypet. Whitetooth nodded and bowed slightly in greeting.

“I and my companion here are willing to arrange a deal with you, provided you are capable of upholding our end of the bargain.”

The ginger-and-white molly from before trod up beside Captain, her hazel eyes clouded with suspicion. “They smell like Clan.”

“I am aware,” Captain whispered in her ear. “Hold on a moment.” He turned back to Antstar and Whitetooth, his gaze smooth. “What is it?” “I will give you enough herbs to last two moons, as well as a position on the edge of our land,” Whitetooth began. Antstar nodded along, not wanting to interfere- or get too close to the rogues, as he watched a yellow tabby tom pry a fat tick from his shoulder. “…So long as you get rid of this rogue that has been bothering us.”

“And you’re sure you’ll hold up this bargain?” asked Captain, leaning forward with interest.

“Certain.” Whitetooth turned to Antstar. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”

For a moment, Antstar’s mind faltered. He thought of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, who loved their father dearly. Their final apprentice assessments were to be held that quarter-moon. If he continued now… they’d have no parents at their warrior ceremony.

But it had to be done.

By God, it had to be done.

He nodded.

As Whitetooth and Captain got into the specifics- he’s a white tom, rather muscular, face like a bull terrier, yellow eyes- Antstar felt his head swirl with excuses. No, he didn’t- wasn’t going to, rather- kill Stoatslink. It wasn’t his fault. These rogues were going to kill someone anyway, right? And someone had to die to unite the Clan. He hadn’t killed Stoatslink; he didn’t kill Sparkthistle. He spoke no lies- he was solely omitting what he had to in order to keep his Clan safe. And in the long run, turning WindClan on these rogues was the right thing to do, to train them, to compel them to fight and band them together.

His mind stopped. He was at no fault, he decided. This was going to happen any other way.

“We’ll get the job done,” assured Captain, giving Whitetooth a gaze that was almost playfully roguish. Antstar wasn’t entirely sure he trusted him. “Meeting, everyone! Meeting!”

The rogues in the den gathered around the black-furred tom, their gazes wary.

“We have a deal with these two generous Clan fellows. I am aware most Clan cats are heartless bastards,” he jested, “but these two have granted us both part of their territory and medicinal herbs.”

“That’ll be great for Whimbrel’s injury here!” half-heartedly said the patched ginger and white molly. Beside her, Whimbrel was trying to wipe the blood from his face, but the more his paw rubbed the uglier the wound became. He tried harder and harder to stop the bleeding, to soothe himself; but in the end he had made a mess of it, giving up entirely as the blood seeped through his fur.

“It will be,” said Captain, flinching with disgust at the rogue’s injury. “However, we must uphold our half of the bargain. They have asked we… deal with… a white rogue who lives on their territory, who goes by the name Stoat.”

“Oh, that bastard!” said an old, thin black molly with long fangs. “Heard of him! Could have sworn he was a Clan cat, though…”

“We follow what they say, Linsky, and we don’t ask questions.” He turned back to the other rogues. “Tonight, we’ll get rid of him, so we don’t worry about having to do it later. If we all gang up on him, we’ll outnumber him. We’ll set up two groups. Towser here-“ -he indicated the patched ginger and white molly- “-will lead the first group, I’ll lead the second- as we are the best fighters after all, especially in my case.”

A large silvery tabby molly in the group rolled her eyes.

“One group will chase, the other will ambush. He’ll stand no chance. Towser, you’ll have Peg and Scamp with you; you’ll chase him down. I’ll lead the ambush group, which will be myself of course, but also Linsky, Garlic, and Whimbrel. I’ll kill the cat, of course, as I have special experience and tact-“

“You don’t,” growled the silvery tabby.

“Peg, you must have forgotten my run in with the ShadowClan patrol a few moons ago. You see, there were five of them, and one-“

“Let us leave,” said Whitetooth. “They’ll take most of it from here. And I have a queen and kits I must care for, especially after poor Mousekit’s death the other day.”

The day seemed to take forever.

Antstar felt like he was going to vomit every time he caught sight of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw. Even though he had mostly trained himself now into accepting that Stoatslink’s sealed fate was fixed, and that he had no true hand in it, his gut disagreed with his brain.

What would be, would be.

He took solace in Whitetooth’s confidence, at least- if that’s what you could call it. Nothing about the pale-furred medic seemed to indicate any sense of wrongness, or even that something different was about to occur that night. Hell, ever since even before Sparkthistle had died, they had looked the same way; acted the same way.

Medics were close to StarClan- and if Whitetooth hadn’t been smote down by StarClan themselves the last time they had visited the Moonstone and trod upon StarClan’s own divine territory, Antstar had to be fine.

Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, meanwhile, seemed to be having a fairly average day. The wound Goldenpaw had received in the massive Sunningrocks battle had nearly healed, although it left a scar that twisted and snaked around her flank and leg like a tangled vine. It had been her first hunting patrol since, as Whitetooth had only released her from their care the other night. She was the only moor runner apprentice, now. Twigpaw had moved on to his tunneler training after he had gotten the basics of hunting and fighting, and Shadeflower’s litter had graduated. Antstar wondered if the small catch she brought- only a small, scrawny whinchat- had to do with the lack of recent training since the injury, or the fact she had no competition she could brag about her catch to.

Coalclaw had been on the hunting patrol also, his face seemingly-permanently twisted into what Antstar could only describe to himself as something between numbness and far-off horror. Rockscratch, who was the one who had dragged the dark gray tabby along, had hoped that a hunting patrol would lift Coalclaw’s spirit and “get him back into a fightin’ mood”, but Coalclaw seemed almost too dazed to catch prey, even missing out on a rather clumsy red grouse that his sister Spiderfoot caught without even having to think about it. At one moment, Coalclaw was able to catch a young hare that had been chased around to him by the other members in the patrol; but as soon as he was told to clamp down on its neck and kill it, he started to cry in an ugly, desperate way, and yet again Spiderfoot had to finish the job for him. It’s only a hare, his patrol members told him, it’s only a hare, they are living but they are our food and they live through us, but he could not stop crying and staring into the crimson of its blood, and eventually Webwhisker had had to bring Coalclaw early, where he resumed his usual position sitting at the edge of camp towards sunset; still as a stone but haunted by something within.

“Something’s wrong with him,” Rockscratch said, with an air of sympathy but also a slight twinge of annoyance, like he was inspecting a tear in a well-loved coat of his. “We have to figure out how to fix it. I quite liked how he used to be.”

Milkpaw, meanwhile, was quite successful as a tunneler. While traditionally, a tunneler’s job was dependent on hearing, a trait Milkpaw lacked, her other senses brought a new understanding to the job. She could not hear, but her eyesight was excellent even in the thick, clammy darkness of the tunnels, and she had a sense of motion in the ground that only the finest tunnelers could really tap into. It was understood that tunnelers had longer training periods than their above-ground counterparts, but tunnelers generally got their warrior names around the time they had learned all of the basics and not when their training had truly finished. A tunneler’s leaning never ends,they reasoned when asked about why, as it was rather silly to everyone else.

That’s what terrified Antstar the most. The warrior ceremony. If Stoatslink really was to die, those two would have neither of their parents at their warrior ceremony. He supposed he knew how it felt to not have any parents to begin with… but to have them, and lose them, was a cruelty Antstar felt like he’d never really comprehend, just as he never had anything to say to Russetfoot’s wild grief about his children slowly beginning to slip away.

He didn’t want to cause that. Goldenpaw and Milkpaw had done nothing wrong. The idea of naming his victim’s children made him sick.

But he reminded himself. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t him; it could never be him. The rogues by the Moonstone were going to be a problem. Perhaps some wandering patrol would run into them; even worse, perhaps they would see the medicine cats entering Mothermouth as a threat. They were going to kill some cat eventually. And he didn’t make the deal, nor did he tip them off- that had been Whitetooth. All he had been was there, due to absolutely nothing besides Fate and her wicked talons.

And he couldn’t simply expose Whitetooth, no. Whitetooth was the sole trained medic in WindClan; it would be a few moons before Marblepaw could even think about what her medic name might be. A Clan without a medic would be a death sentence, especially in the coming no-leaf season. And Whitetooth might turn on Antstar, which really wouldn’t be good for anyone.

Besides- as much as he felt wrong for admitting it, as much as he knew Whitetooth was a killer- he only truly felt calm, or perhaps the closest thing he knew to calm, by the white-and-brown cat’s side. There was something about their rich, dark voice; their eyes with pupils nearly always slit like a pocketknife had cut through the teal surface; their silent steps, their confidence. It wasn’t a romantic attraction, no. But it was like they were two souls, bound together by the limbs and thrown over the river; each pushing the other towards a direction only Hell and Heaven knew of.

The day was slow, but the night came quick.

“Stoatslink,” said Antstar as he approached the bullish white tom- he tried to sound confident- “I need to tell you about something. About what you said, regarding… you know.”

Stoatslink said no words, but nodded. At once he understood.

Thought he understood, rather.

“There’s a pack of rogues on the border,” Antstar began, his voice weary and hesitant like the first frost of a season. “I don’t know how many there are. But I am nearly certain they are the ones that may have killed Sparkthistle. You were right, Stoatslink.”

There was a moment of idle hesitation, and Antstar could see Stoatslink’s expression flicker between horror at the suggested reality and a strange, smug sort of pride.

“I’ll kill them,” the white tom grumbled. “I’m run them straight through. Nobody messes with WindClan. By the time I’ll be done with them, you won’t be able to tell they were ever feline.”

Antstar hoped to God and back that Stoatslink’s death would be quick, and that Captain’s group knew what they were doing. He knew he himself couldn’t take the white tom on in a fight- especially not with this attitude.

“That is why I want you, and you alone, to watch over the camp tonight. I hardly expect they’ll attack us. But just in case- I want you to sound the alarm.”

“Only me?” Stoatslink scoffed. His breath smelled like dried hare meat. “But what if they do attack?”

“Then the Clan will know about it,” continued Antstar. “And if the Clan knows about it, they’ll panic.”

“Rightfully so! They-“

“Do you want your daughters to live in fear or not!?!” Antstar yelled in a whisper. He realized he had never felt his voice go harsh like that before- at least, not since he had been a moody kit in the nursery.

But it was effective. Stoatslink backed down. His mouth opened up, as if another word had to escape his snout- and then, sensing he had no argument to speak of, it clicked shut like a music box with no coil left.

“I’ll do what I can, Antstar. And trust me- if they approach, the rogues won’t stand a chance.”

Antstar watched as the white tom sauntered away. He tended to sway about when he walked, like a basset hound; but from the way his shoulder blades perked up Antstar could see the purpose burning in his brain. Then, another white figure approached- Whitetooth, as smooth as ever. Antstar watched as the white cat took Stoatslink aside- or, really, rather just brushed him near, effortlessly; like a breeze guiding leaves. They whispered something in Stoatslink’s ear and threw a few glances.

This was all part of the plan. Whitetooth would convince the ever-bullish Stoatslink that Antstar was being too nice, that Antstar was underestimating him, and rile him up into a fury against these rogues. That way, Stoatslink would charge when he saw them, not caring to alert the Clan in a false belief he could manage on his own- and, therefore, charge into his own death.

It was a simple plan.

It was an awful thing to know.

It had to be done. For WindClan.

Perhaps Whitetooth sensed Antstar’s doubt. For as soon as Stoatslink set off, his vision cloaked in red, they slunk up to their leader and sat next to them, only for a moment whispering something into Antstar’s flattened ear:

“Rest assured, Antstar, this is needed. All of it is. You are doing what you can to keep your clan safe. Elsewise… evil would prosper in your failure.”

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 25

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Tallpaw was the first to leave. Woollycloud’s story came back to him. Sandstone was still here, under the moor somewhere. Tallpaw never understood all his life what his clanmates meant when they said their lost ones were still with them. They were so far away. But for just a brief moment, even if it was probably in his head, he started to feel it. Sandstone was looming over his shoulder now, watching him sit there next to his mother and wallow. How could he do this to him again? The longer Tallpaw stayed there with her, the more he wanted to succumb to the despair that pulled him down, down to where she was, where the time would slip by as he lay there wasting away. That was what his father meant when he said that dwelling on your emotions never did any cat good. Palebird couldn’t help him. 

Tallpaw gritted his teeth. Of course Palebird couldn’t help him, it had always been his father, not his mother, telling him where to put his paws. Now that he felt more unsure than ever of every movement, he was willing to let anything create a clear path for him. It didn’t matter how afraid he was, or how heavy his feet felt with each paw placed in front of the next. He needed to start doing what was best for the whole clan. And in that moment, there was only one clear choice.

As Tallpaw looked out over the moor on his quiet trek back to camp, he couldn’t remember what it had felt like on that first day with Dawnstripe. The wonder of the world stretching out, or the breeze catching his whiskers and pulling him along, light as a feather. He saw frivolities that he should never have indulged in. There were many cats who would run the moor, and do a much better job of it than he ever could. But there was another place to fill now, and he had to finally stop being so selfish and do what he should have done from the start. The open moor was never really his, and it was unfair to Dawnstripe to waste her time training a hopeless apprentice. But how do I go about telling them? 

Hawkheart called him to his den as soon as he arrived back at camp. He answered the usual barrage of questions. It was just another set of motions they both had to go through. “Did any of the wounds reopen?”

“No.”

“Any additional pain?”

“No.” Well, that one was a bit of a lie, but it didn’t matter.

“Have you started feeling feverish or hotter than normal?”

“No.”

“Good, now wait here for a moment and then you can get out of my fur and back to your own nest.”

As Hawkheart went to the back of his den, to Tallpaw’s surprise, it was Briarpaw who approached him. The medicine cat apprentice looked worried, which Tallpaw supposed was a little better than stricken or blank, as he usually looked as of late. Briarpaw sniffed at him.

“You weren’t lying about the pain, were you?” he asked. Why did Briarpaw always have to be good at catching him on that?

“You don’t have to worry about me," was all Tallpaw said. It was true, he didn’t want to fuss over a bit of pain, but he also didn’t want Briarpaw to feel obligated to care for him after what had happened. 

“It is my job to be concerned...I need to return to it. You seem troubled. I suppose that doesn’t take much intuition...” Briarpaw gave a small humorless laugh. “Who isn’t troubled? Nearly all the clan knows the pain of losing a parent, but...are you alright? You look...distracted.”

“I’m going to ask Heatherstar to let me train as a tunneler instead.” Now that Tallpaw had said it out loud, it felt more real. He was sure now, at least he told himself he was. It was the only right thing to do. 

To his surprise, Briarpaw nearly jumped back and stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. “You’re...b-but why? I thought you’d taken so well to moor running. It seemed to make you happy!”

“There are more important things. Tunneling is my legacy.” Tallpaw replied firmly.

“But...this is surely a rash decision--n-not that I’m saying you can’t make your own choices of course. I’m only suggesting...maybe you should think about it before telling Heatherstar.”

Tallpaw was taken aback by the sudden pitch of Briarpaw’s voice. Hawkheart returned with a bundle of herbs. He caught Briarpaw’s gaze, and some wordless agreement passed between them because Briarpaw simply gulped and said “It’s your choice, of course...” He didn’t say anymore as he helped Hawkheart chew the leaves into a pulp to slather on Tallpaw’s scrapes. 

The injury from the tunnel was probably going to leave a scar across his shoulders. Tallpaw was almost glad of it. He wanted a reminder. Once he left, feeling Briarpaw’s anxious gaze on his back the whole way, he tracked down Dawnstripe and Woollycloud. They should know first.

“You look a little more perked up today,” Dawnstripe said encouragingly when they sat down. “I hope you were able to find some peace in the ceremony..”

“I think I have.” Perhaps peace was not exactly what he felt, but at least he felt a drive.

“So what is this about?” Woollycloud asked.

Dread started to creep up Tallpaw’s spine at the commitment he was about to make, but he shoved it down. He needed to do this. He took a breath, “I want to become a tunneler.”

Dawnstripe and Woollycloud both blinked at him, clearly startled. 

Woollycloud spoke first. “But...you don’t like tunneling at all. What could have changed?”

“This is what I was born to do.” Tallpaw forced himself to sound confident “I want to follow in my father’s footsteps. It was what he wished for me. After everything...I don’t think I could run on the moor again and feel right. I will get past my fear, and you could teach me!”

He hoped Woollycloud would seem excited, but he wore more sadness on his face than enthusiasm. “Tallpaw...I want you to decide your future for the right reasons. You can’t only tunnel for your father's sake.” 

“I promise I want this!” Tallpaw pressed, “I must try.” He turned to Dawnstripe, who seemed unsure of what to say, and bowed his head. “I couldn’t have asked for a better mentor. You have done so much to teach me, and I won’t forget anything. I loved our training sessions together, but I’m not meant to run on the moors. I feel like StarClan is telling me that I’ve been hiding from my real path. You deserve an apprentice who can truly live up to your skills.”

“You’ve only ever made me proud, Tallpaw,” Dawnstripe said. “I’ve always believed you could become whatever you wanted to be. If you stop, I can’t deny I’ll miss having you as my apprentice. But this is your path, and if you truly feel called...I won’t be the one to forbid you from it.”

She looked up at Woollycloud, who still seemed hesitant and unconvinced. Tallpaw willed the tunneler to agree, to just give him another chance to prove himself. He needed another chance. 

“I think this conversation should be had with the leader. This is...a bit unexpected.” Woollycloud said.

Together they went to find Heatherstar, who was just leaving her den. She had been speaking with Hawkheart, who gave Tallpaw a brief look before returning to his den. All three cats dipped their heads respectfully to their leader.

“Good morning,” Heatherstar said, nodding to Tallpaw and Woollycloud. “I’m glad to see the two of you on your paws again. Is there something you need?”

“There is,” Tallpaw said. No timidness, no hesitation. This was the final step. He would force himself to do this if he had to. “Heatherstar, I….” His tail curled anxiously around his back paw. Spit it out. Just say it. “I want to talk to you about training as a tunneler. Some cat needs to try and fill my father’s place, and I know I never can exactly but...I want to try.”

Heatherstar looked at him in quiet surprise, and then over to Dawnstripe, who only nodded. “I’m willing to do what you agree is best.”

Heatherstar hummed, and Tallpaw could see the discomfort in her eyes. “Well...Tallpaw, I understand fully why you want to do this. But I don’t think I can allow it.”

Tallpaw felt his fur begin to bristle “What? But, you said that you’d allow me to change my training later if I decided to! I have to do this Heatherstar, my father always wished for Woollycloud to be my mentor.” When he raised his voice, several cats in camp began to stir from their quiet conversations and morning naps.

“Circumstances have changed since then.” Heatherstar said.

“I can do it,” Tallpaw insisted “I know I messed up last time I tried to tunnel, but it was only the first time. I didn’t know what to expect, but I do now!”

“It’s not just that Tallpaw,” Heatherstar said calmly. “It has nothing to do with your potential ability.”

“Did I hear that right?” came Crowfur’s voice. A couple cats were starting to inch closer. “Tallpaw is interested tunneling now?”

Hazelnose looks anxious “But should we take more young cats to be tunnelers while so many of our systems are so unstable? Woollycloud, you said that yourself, didn’t you?”

Woollycloud looked from Hazelnose to Tallpaw and sighed. “It’s...true. This has come on a bit quickly...Heatherstar may be right. I don’t know if it’s a good time.”

“But it has to be now!” Tallpaw began to feel frantic. “I can’t wait around for moons more! If you can do it, so can I!”

“Tallpaw, I must be honest with you, I don’t know if I’m in a good place to take an apprentice. With everything that has happened recently....” he trailed off, his gaze drifting down. “I’m not confident I can give you my full attention.”

“T-then some other cat. Crowfur perhaps.”

Heatherstar raised a paw for attention. “No, I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. I suppose now that we have so much of the clan's attention anyway...There is something I have been needing to discuss.”

She leaped up onto the meeting rock and called for the clan's attention. It didn’t take long, and most had come out of their nests at the commotion already. “I have conferred with my council,” Heatherstar announced. “This is not an easy decision to make, but there must be a change in WindClan. Our skilled tunnelers have been part of our clan for countless moons, and WindClan owes much of our past prosperity to them. But our territory has changed. The ground has become weaker in many areas. Our ambition to expand below has started to create unrest with the other creatures on the moor we depend on. And worse, the amount of accidents and loss we’ve experienced weighs heavily on us all. Our land is a gift to us, and we cannot demand too much from it. And so, I have made the decision that tunneling as an official rank must be abolished. WindClan will not pursue complex tunneling projects any longer.”

Tallpaw stared up at her, mouth agape. “N-no. No, you can’t do this! I need to be able to do this!” he looked towards the elders, "You can't have agreed to this!"

Flintfoot looked impassive, he'd expect as much from the old moor runner. But Whitetooth sat with his proud old shoulders hunched, gray eyes clouded with grief. 

Fennelpelt just shook his head sadly. "We had the same meeting last time this happened. We hoped for better outcomes then too, and now... we cannot deny it any longer."

“I’m sorry, Tallpaw." Heatherstar said, "We have a choice, and we must carefully weigh the benefits of an old tradition against the costs. I cannot in good conscience choose the former. You will continue your training as you have been.”

“You can’t get rid of the tunnels!” Plumclaw cried “Tunneling is our life! T-the plans that Sandstone made--”

“Heatherstar is right.” Hazelnose said. “The project can’t be done. It was a dream, but all our attempts to plan proved dangerous.”

“What do you know!” Plumclaw snapped

“I know as much as you do! I value our skills, but we’re asking too much.”

Crowfur glared at his son “You’ve always been a tunneler, how could this have changed?”

Hazelnose sounded bolder than he ever had before “It changed when I knew I’d have kits, and I had to think about what kind of life they’d lead and how safe it was. Mistmouse agrees with me. The more we push our projects, the more dangerous it becomes. I don’t want to risk my kit's lives doing something that we can find other ways to do. I cared for Sandstone as much as any of the tunnelers, he was the best of us--and if even he could be caught in such an accident...We must accept that what he wanted was too much. Let us not lose anymore than we have.”

To Tallpaw’s horror he heard voices of agreement from all around. He looked desperately at Woollycloud. “Woollycloud, you must say something! W-WindClan’s legacy--”

But Woollycloud’s defeated look said everything. He simply looked away with a heavy sigh.

“This decision is final.” Heatherstar called out. “WindClan will never forget our burrowing skills, we will keep the short tunnels that serve as escape routes from predators on the open moor, but we cannot split ourselves into opposing groups anymore. We must be one clan, and share our skills, not divide ourselves into factions. Tunnel running and patrolling long stretches underground takes too much time and risk to maintain. Without those long tunnels to keep, there’s no point in designating tunneling as a separate rank. From today, no cat is permitted to go down into the tunnel systems while the wet weather remains. And when the ground dries, the longest and unstable tunnels must be abandoned and have their entrances blocked.  Tunnelers will be assigned normal patrols with the moor runners rather than going on separate missions. That is all. This meeting is finished.”

Tallpaw sat there in shock. Heatherstar had hardly allowed any debate. It was exactly as his father had feared, and he didn’t know what to say to stop it.

He hardly noticed Woollycloud coming to sit beside him. “I understand your feelings perhaps better than any cat. I have lost loved ones to the tunnels but...I always wanted to go on, in their name. I thought it was what they would have wanted. If they were still here, they may have the chance to agree to this change. But they aren’t, and that’s just the problem. Even if it feels wrong, perhaps the best way to uphold their memory is to make sure old mistakes and accidents can’t be repeated. Stone Claws and his children prided themselves on their ability to adapt to new threats. Perhaps this is how we must adapt again.”

Dawnstripe brushed her tail against him. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed, Tallpaw. I understand, but you must continue your training with me. You’re an excellent runner, and you will make your clan proud. What more could your father have wanted?”

He wanted so much more…

  “What can I do?” Tallpaw’s voice was hollow. “It can never be better now. I've already failed...”

“Tallpaw…” Dawnstripe began, but he turned away from her.

“I need to go.” 

Without further explanation he ran from camp, ignoring Woollycloud and Dawnstripe’s voices calling after him. How could this have happened? If he hadn’t gotten scared in those tunnels, Heatherstar wouldn’t have started considering shutting them down. If he hadn’t messed them up, maybe they wouldn’t have been so unstable when Sandstone went in for all he knew! Everything was falling apart. Heatherstar and Dawnstripe and Woollycloud all looked at him with such pity. Pity he didn’t deserve They’ll let you get away with it, but never forget how this has hurt me. Sandstone snarled in his ear. His paws thudded against the ground and he heard his father's outraged growl continue. You just let her do this. Everything is ruined now. Everything we ever hoped for.

He couldn’t stand it. He ran without direction. He thought he knew how he could repair this horrible pain, or at least how he could make it lessen but now...now there was no chance of relief. Tallpaw was running through open air and still felt like he was suffocating underground.

He slowed his run to a fast walk, and found himself heading north. Did he want to go back to the burrows? No. He needed some relief from this, to get it out of his head if only for the briefest of moments, before it crushed him completely. His paws directed him to the treeline. Jake? How could he think to look for Jake now? Dawnstripe was probably right behind him. But Tallpaw couldn’t think about that right now. He just wanted to be anywhere else but WindClan. Even the blistering wind itself picked up suddenly, whipping at his ears, as if scolding him. He had never felt so exposed and helpless on the moor before. He needed to go as far as he could reasonably allow himself to go--and right now, to Jake was all he could manage. What would he even say to him? Probably nothing. Jake would be able to tell he was upset, Tallpaw would decline talking about it, so the barn cat would start rambling aimlessly about a bird he saw that day or a really great beetle he found. And Tallpaw would be fine with listening to him ramble about anything if it succeeded in distracting him even a little. Just for a moment. A moment was all he needed.

But the wind blew a scent towards Tallpaw that stopped him dead in his tracks. A short dark brown tabby stood some fox lengths ahead. Tallpaw had been so oblivious of his surroundings he hadn’t smelled Shrewpaw until he almost ran into him. He would have given his former friend a wide berth if he’d known. The bristling apprentice wasn’t supposed to be out here alone, but then, neither was Tallpaw. He had not so much as smelled Shrewpaw since Brackenwing died.

 Shrewpaw just glared at him through narrowed cold yellow eyes. That sharp hatred shot another claw of guilt into Tallpaw’s chest. For a moment, he wondered if he’d be attacked again, but Shrewpaw didn’t come closer.

“W-what are you doing out here?” Tallpaw didn’t know why he bothered asking, what Shrewpaw did was hardly his concern anymore.

Shrewpaw held his glare. “Don’t feel like being hounded by my mentor right now. Probably the same as you. Unless you’re just running away again for good this time?”

“No. No, I was just--”

“Looking for that kittypet?”

Tallpaw stared at him and anxiously wound his tail around his back feet. “What? H-how do you--”

“Briarpaw and I both saw you half a moon ago. What a shock to see you not doing what you were supposed to be doing and running off. You didn’t always get the kittypet stench off completely when you came back. Briarpaw didn’t want you to get in trouble, and I guess I liked you enough back then, so we didn’t say anything. Figured it didn’t matter if it wasn’t technically on the territory. Not that I care what happens to you.”

Tallpaw wasn’t in the mood for a fight. He turned to walk around him.

“That kittypet’s gone anyway, you know.” Shrewpaw called after him.

Tallpaw turned back. “What are you talking about?”

“It was the mouse-brained orange one, wasn’t it? I saw him poke his nose past the treeline. I was going to chase him off, because I don’t make friends with twoleg pets. But a monster stopped on the side of the road and a twoleg climbed out of its belly. The stupid kittypet went right up to it, and the twoleg picked him up and put him in the monster. Then it took off. So, sorry to say your kittypet probably got fed to the monster. That’s what you get for trusting twolegs.”

“You’re lying.” Tallpaw hissed.

“Why would I bother lying?” Shrewpaw spat. “I was half hoping you’d do us all a favor and go join him. There are less things to mess up being a twoleg play toy at least. It might suit you. Go run all the way to the barn if you want. He’s not there. Hareflight told me nearly all the cats born there disappear eventually. But by all means, go see for yourself. Get yourself into all the trouble you want. I’m not going to protect you anymore.”

“I never needed you to protect me!” Tallpaw hissed. He couldn’t help it. “You just decided that I should be treated like a kit because it made you look better in comparison! If you leave me alone from now on, it would be the best thing you’ve ever done for me!”

Tallpaw started to run without giving Shrewpaw a chance to respond. He kept going to the trees, but then turned in the direction of the Thunderpath. Shrewpaw had to be lying to upset him. He opened his jaws to taste the air as soon as he’d touched the shade of the woods. He caught Jake’s scent. It was recent. He followed it through the bushes, noting small clumps of long orange fur caught on sharp sticks and brambles. Dreadful certainty began to rest in his belly the closer Jake’s trail went to the Thunderpath. It always stunk of monsters, but behind the sharp acrid smell was unmistakably what he’d been taught to recognize as twoleg. And Jake’s trail ended. Tallpaw stood staring at the empty black stone path. Of course Shrewpaw hadn’t been lying. Why would he? He would be ecstatic if Tallpaw ran off to share Jake’s fate. Could a cat even survive being in the belly of those stinking monsters? He couldn’t even imagine it. Tallpaw wanted to wail in despair.

There was nothing here for him. He was alone. For a while he paced as the cloud cover overhead began to darken the sky. Small drops of rain dribbled through his thin coat, stinging the dried poultice covering his scars. He couldn’t be bothered to shake them off. He listened to the wind begin to howl as it carried in heavy clouds, imagining Sandstone’s growl in the distant rumble of thunder. Of course Tallpaw was trying to run away. He should never have come here. Should never have spoken to Jake. This is what he got for it.

Down the Swift Step Hills, Tallpaw found himself back at the muddy clearing where the collapsed burrows lay. He hardly even knew what he was doing anymore as the angry dark sky roared above and opened up a downpour on top of him, turning the soil to sucking mud. He was digging. Digging as fast as he could with no direction. 

Some part of him knew this was irrational, but the urge had taken control anyway, insisting that maybe maybe the others just hadn’t dug far enough, maybe there was a pocket in the earth, maybe Sandstone wasn’t even gone! Or at least if he could find him, find whatever was left, then his spirit could be free. Sandstone wouldn’t be trapped on the ground, wouldn’t have to wander unrested and angry. Tallpaw couldn’t get away from the image of his infuriated gaze.

“I’ll make it up to you, I’ll find some way to help,” he said under his breath, already panting from the effort. “Just tell me what to do, I’ll listen this time. I promise I’ll listen!”

His paws squelched into the earth, he was aimlessly tearing up the shallow ground and every pawful scooped out was immediately replaced with oozing mud. But then his claws hit something more solid that squished under his paws. His breath caught in his throat when he saw matted fur, and he thought for a hazy second he’d found what he was looking for, and he yanked it up without thinking as it gave way. Tallpaw shrieked so loud he hurt his throat at what he’d snagged in his claw. Under the mud was a misshapen furry face attached loosely to a small filthy rotted corpse, leftover from the abandoned warren. Probably a rabbit, but it was so decomposed it was almost hard to tell. Half of it left behind in the mud, the frail body tore with sickening ease. Its eyes were sunken in, indistinguishable from the dark muck, and earthworms crawled through its fur. Tallpaw flailed, shaking mud from his paw, hardly even aware he was still yowling until he heard Dawnstripe calling over him.

“Tallpaw!” Dawnstripe’s voice made his heart sink. She’d found him after all. “Tallpaw, you can’t be here! You must come back with me.”

Tallpaw finally looked down at himself. Standing in a pit of mud, soaking wet, dripping poultice, scared senseless out of his fur at the sight of old buried crow-food. He looked up at her pathetically, and he saw the depth of her concern. I wonder if she thinks I'm losing it, Tallpaw thought dimly. He wondered too. Could grief do that to a cat? He spent a long time staring at the muddied ground, while Dawnstripe tried to coax him out. She insisted they had to get back to camp, the coming storm would be bad and they needed to take shelter. Tallpaw would have preferred to just stand there through it. The prospect of going back to camp to sit with his thoughts and hide was awful. But, he thought, what does it matter how awful it feels?

What exactly happened if a cat was so weighed with grief they couldn't stand anymore? They broke. Maybe he’d broken. An image of his mother flashed through his mind. Her empty eyes, her distant voice, her frame thin and frail. How she couldn’t bear to get up most days. And with his paws sunk into the dirt, he heard his fathers disapproving snarl and flinched. You're going to become like her after all? Another promise broken. The water soaking in the mud let him see a faint dark smudgy outline of his reflection. Dripping and miserable. If he tried to go on like this, he might as well bury himself here and now. He wasn’t strong enough to detangle this grief. But...maybe he didn’t have to deal with it. If he couldn’t cure it, maybe he could just turn it all off and walk forward like this, a husk with claws. Claws were all that was needed for their borders, right? However broken he was, he could pick up the pieces in his jaws and make himself keep going anyway. A new resolve planted itself deep inside, one that would cover up everything else. Tallpaw looked up to his mentor again.

“Ok Dawnstripe,” he said. 

“O-ok?” she was taken aback by how calm he sounded.

“I’m coming. I’ll go back with you.”

He silently let Dawnstripe herd him out of the pit and followed her through the pouring rain. He sensed the discomfort in his mentor as her tail swished. Surely it was too easy… Well, Tallpaw would make it that easy. She was stuck with him, but he vowed not to trouble her for it anymore.

 Every paw step didn’t feel like his own. But as long as he was moving them, he didn’t need to feel better. That was what his father had been trying to teach him. It was ridiculous of him to be out there trying to placate his grief when such a thing was impossible and pointless. 

He would do his duties, like every cat else. He let the grief that wound tight around his chest like thorns get pounded down by the heavy rain, and focused on the new burning feeling in his belly. That’s what he would do. He would make himself dangerous. And then he’d know how to make up for his weakness before. Action, Sandstone had said. That’s all he would think of. That was how the dead were best respected. Tallpaw would just keep walking and doing as his mentor and his clan asked. Perhaps seeing that small bit of usefulness could help Sandstone find peace. And perhaps it is for the best, he thought, that I've lost so many cats all at once. I can’t make my problems into their problems. They don’t need to be troubled with me anymore. No one does.

chapter list / previous / next

[transparenthologramrebel]

Chapter 6 Warrior au

Hollyleaf Chapter 6

POV

“Power, I have power!” Hollyleaf’s mind raced as she turned back towards her brother. Lionblaze’s eyes twinkled slightly with pride for his sister, yet his still fierce appearance kept her from joining her brother’s joy. 

“I think I stopped him...I think he won’t reveal the secret. Starclan, we might be safe.” she said breathlessly. Lionblaze nodded, affirmingly. Hollyleaf stared at her paws. Her emotions were in a whirlwind, anxiety and fear still twisting in her belly. Yet her heart was fluttering like a bird’s wings with joy. She had just witnessed her brother trying to murder their clanmate, yet she had stopped him and in doing so had discovered her own power in the prophecy. Starclan, it felt like her lungs were filled with cobwebs as she struggled to catch her breath!

“We need to head back to camp. We need to tell Jayfeather and...see if Ashfur made it back.” Lionblaze said, his voice gruff and hollow. His shoulders were sagging, heavy with guilt. Hollyleaf blinked at her brother, finally coming back out of her thoughts. 

“Right, we need to go.” Hollyleaf flicked her brother in the shoulder with her tail. 

“Go wash off in the river. You can’t go back to camp covered in blood and smelling of Ashfur.” she told him sternly. Lionblaze nodded, padding back towards the stream. Hollyleaf watched him, her blood running cold through her veins. Her brain was struggling to reconcile that her beloved brother had nearly been a killer. 

“He did it for us...he was desperate...just like I am… I was almost a killer today too...no it would have been the fox that did the killing. I am a code bound warrior. If Ashfur died it would have been his fault, not mine.” Hollyleaf thought to herself. She shuddered in disgust at herself. She had been hunting Ashfur as well today with the same intention just with a different plan. She had come across a starving fox on Thunderclan territory. She found its den and formulated a plan. She would lead Ashfur back to it, in the hopes that the fox would have killed him. Yet finding her brother already drowning the tom stopped her from carrying out her plan. 

Hollyleaf stood loathing herself. Her plan would just be another secret in their family, one she would never tell. Lionblaze padded back over to his sister, shaking his pelt dry.

“Come on, we need to get back to camp before any cat suspects something.” Hollyleaf said, flicking her tail. 

The storm quickly rolled in as the two siblings headed home. Rain began pouring from the sky soaking both cats.

“Thank the Starclan...the rain will wash away Lionblaze’s scent along with Ashfur’s at the stream.” Hollyleaf thought to herself as they pushed through the tunnel into camp. 

“Lionblaze, Hollyleaf!” Cinderheart’s terrified voice called out. The gray cat ran across the clearing, skidding to a stop in front of the siblings. 

“Thank the starclan you’re alright!” She cried bunting her head against Hollyleaf’s chin, before licking Lionblaze’s cheek. Lionblaze let out a weary purr, running his tail along Cinderheart’s spine. Hollyleaf stifled a growl, digging her claws into the soft earth. Protectiveness of Cinderheart washed over Hollyleaf like a wave. 

“If you only knew what he nearly did! You wouldn’t be cozying up to my brother!” her mind cried. 

“What’s wrong Cinderheart?” Lionblaze asked.

“It’s Ashfur! He came stumbling into camp covered in blood! He looked like a fox shredded him! He collapsed when he came in, Jayfeather and Leafpool are over seeing him now! Starclan, Firestar is beside himself!” Cinderhear explained, her voice was almost a whisper from disbelief. Hollyleaf nodded. 

“I saw a starving fox on our territory today when I was out with Lionblaze. It’s to the east near the stream. Lionblaze and I stayed hidden, until the fox moved on. It must have found Ashfur...Starclan poor Ashfur.” Hollyleaf, mewed sadly. She pinned her ears back, her tail dropping as she feigned sadness for her clanmate. Cinderheart looked up at Lionblaze, her eyes filled with worry.

“I’m so sorry, Lionblaze! I know Ashfur was your mentor, you must be upset! Don’t worry, Leafpool and Jayfeather will do their best to take care of him!” she purred, nuzzling his chin. Lionblaze opened his jaw to speak, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes, lowering his head pushing Cinderheart closer to his chest, seeming to be in pain. Hollyleaf flicked her ears. 

“Is he faking, or is he actually upset? Does he feel guilty for what he did?” she wondered. Hollyleaf cleared her throat, getting both of her clan mates' attention back.

“I’m going to go speak with Firestar and Brambleclaw. They need to know about the fox, we have to get rid of it before it hurts anyone else. Lionblaze you should go to the medicine and check on Ashfur and warn Jayfeather not to go out without an escort.” Hollyleaf explained. 

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” Lionblaze murmured, turning his attention back to Cinderheart. Cinderheart purred, nodding to Hollyleaf. 

“Thank the Starclan, Thunderclan has you Hollyleaf. Don’t worry I’m sure we’ll drive the fox out no problem.” She purred. Hollyleaf felt herself relax for a moment, before tensing up again.

“If only you knew! Thunderclan would be better off without us!” She thought sadly to herself.  

Hollyleaf turned away, heading towards Firestar’s den. Poking her head inside, she found Firestar, Brambleclaw, Graystripe, Sandstorm and Dustpelt sitting in a circle talking in low serious voices.

“Maybe it was Windclan!” Dustpelt hissed. Sandstorm blinked at him, lashing her tail.

“Why would Windclan attack a single warrior and not an entire camp? Even if Ashfur did run over the border I doubt they would have mauled him!” Sandstorm growled. Firestar shook his head.

“Windclan has no reason to attack us or our warriors!” he said gruffly.

“Maybe it was a rogue!” Graystripe chimed in. 

“It was a fox! A starving fox,” Hollyleaf finally spoke, catching the group's attention. Brambleclaw got up, padding over to her. 

“A fox, you saw it?” He asked, his amber eyes burning with concern. Hollyleaf nodded. 

“Lionblaze and I saw it. It's in the east of the territory near the stream. It didn’t spot us and moved on. We had no idea Ashfur was close by, otherwise we would have warned him.” Hollyleaf explained. Brambleclaw’s chest rumbled with a purr. He gazed down proudly at his daughter, before licking her head. Hollyleaf felt her fur crawl as if her pelt was filled with ants. 

“Don’t worry you didn’t know what it was going to do. Either way I’m glad you're safe. After the storm ends Firestar, I’ll take a patrol out with Hollyleaf and we’ll drive the fox out of the territory!” Brambleclaw promised. Firestar’s stiff posture relaxed. 

“Alright, make sure to only take those with the most fox fighting experience. I don’t want any more warriors almost lost to this beast! Good work, Hollyleaf.” Firestar praised. Hollyleaf opened her jaws, but all she could do was stammer.

“I...thank you..sorry. Today has been stressful, first the fire...then the fox.” she muttered. 

Brambleclaw ran his tail over her.

“It’s alright, we’re all a little overwhelmed right now.” He purred reassuringly. 

“If only you all knew!” her mind wailed like a kit.  Hollyleaf nodded to him, before leaving the den. As Hollyleaf exited the den she bumped into Squirrelflight. Squrrielflight looked up at her daughter with worried eyes. 

"I heard about Ashfur. You and your siblings need to be careful when you leave the camp." She began to explain. Hollyleaf didn't reply, only brushing past her former mother. 

"Hollyleaf…" Squrrielflight called, following after her. She trotted quickly catching up. 

"Are you listening to me? You and your brother should go with Jayfeather when he leaves the camp. He'll need an escort to protect him." Squirrelflight continued. 

"Stop it! You don't think I know that? Why do you even care? You're not my mother!" Hollyleaf hissed in a whisper. Squirrelflight's green eyes misted over with pain. 

"That doesn't mean that I don't love you!" She whispered back. Hollyleaf felt her stomach twist. She gritted her teeth, flicking her tail wildly before padding away, leaving squirrelflight behind. 

Hollyleaf pushed her way past the moss covering into the medicine den. Ashfur laid unconscious on a moss nest. His fur was matted in blood, cobwebs and poultice. He looked more dead than alive.  Hollyleaf swallowed hard as she looked at him. 

"Starclan...Lionblaze what have you done?" She thought to herself. 

"Hollyleaf are you alright?" Leafpool asked worriedly, carrying more herbs over to Ashfur. Hollyleaf nodded wearily to her.

"Yes I came in to check on Ashfur. I saw the fox that attacked him. Do you think he'll be alright?" Hollyleaf asked, secretly hoping that the answer would be no.  Leafpool blinked at her reassuringly. 

"So it was a fox then...while his wounds are deep he's a strong warrior. I'm sure he'll recover with time." Leafpool explained adding more poultice to Ashfur's wounds. As Hollyleaf watched Leafpool work, she couldn't help but notice that Leafpool seemed preoccupied even troubled. 

"Leafpool are you alright?" Hollyleaf asked, running her tail over her former mentor. Leafpool seemed to jump. 

"Oh yes I'm alright...just so much has happened to Thunderclan in the past few moons. The fight with the sun disappearing, the fire, now Ashfur being mauled by a fox. Not to mention I heard that we are struggling to feed the clan because of the fire! I keep praying to starclan but I'm not sure they're hearing me." Leafpool sighed heavily. Hollyleaf let out a reassuring purr. 

"Don't worry Leafpool. Thunderclan is strong, we'll make it through."

"Starclan, are you two going to jabber like birds all day? We have an injured warrior in our den!" Jayfeather hissed coming out from the herb store. Hollyleaf felt relief rush over her as her brother approached. 

"We need to talk." She whispered in his ear. Jayfeather flicked his ear acknowledgement. 

"We've done all we can for Ashfur for right now, Jayfeather. All we can do is wait for him to wake." Leafpool murmured as she began to clean up the den. "Take a break and go eat with your sister. You haven't eaten all day."  Jayfeather let out a huff before padding out of the den. Hollyleaf quickly followed after her brother.

"What happened? I know it wasn't a fox that mauled Ashfur. I found Lionblaze’s fur in his claws!" Jayfeather hissed when the two siblings finally entered their secret meeting place. Hollyleaf felt her heart stop.

“You know? Did Leafpool find out too?” Hollyleaf asked worriedly. Jayfeather shook his head. 

“No, I hid the fur before she saw it. Now what happened?” Jayfeather demanded again, as he did Lionblaze pushed his way into the hiding place. Jayfeather turned his attention towards their brother. “Why did you attack Ashfur?” 

Lionblaze flinched, his body lowering to the ground as he shrunk in on himself. 

“I wasn’t….I was trying to convince him not to reveal the secret, but it didn’t work. I attacked him, I was going to try and drive him away from the territory. I lost control...my power took over.” He whimpered. “I wasn’t trying to kill him...it’s just what ended up happening. Hollyleaf stopped me.” Hollyleaf shuffled uncomfortably. It was clear Lionblaze regretted his actions, yet the worrying part hung over the three like a storm cloud. Lionblaze had lost control of his power and terribly maimed their clanmate. If Hollyleaf hadn’t shown up in time Ashfur would be dead and his blood would be on Lionblaze’s paws. If he lost control of his power again, what would happen if nobody was there to stop him?

Jayfeather flicked his tail against the dirt, agitated.

“You’re lucky she was...Starclan, can things get any worse? Lionblaze’s scent wasn’t on Ashfur which is a good thing. Did you cover it up where it happened?”

Hollyleaf nodded. 

“Yes I used fox dung to try and cover any signs of Lionblaze there. Also the rain should wash away any remaining scents. I told Firestar it was a starving fox I saw out by the stream. They’re going to lead a patrol to get rid of it.” Hollyleaf explained. Jayfeather stood up, pacing nervously. 

“Ashfur is going to speak when he wakes up. He’s going to tell the clan about Lionblaze and most likely about the secret. What are we going to do?” Jayfeather muttered his words, shaking. Lionblaze let out a small purr, tapping his brother with his tail. 

“Actually, we don’t have to worry about that anymore. Hollyleaf discovered her power.”

Jayfeather stopped on his heels, spinning around to face his sister. 

“You discovered your power!? Hollyleaf, that's amazing! What can you do, how do you know that Ashfur won’t speak?” He cried, excitement burning in his blind blue eyes. Hollyleaf purred, feeling her pelt beaming with pride. 

“I don’t know what exactly I can do, but..when I looked at Ashfur I felt...I...I felt like I had control over him. I told him he couldn’t speak about what happened and he said he wouldn’t. I felt like my claws were in his head.” Hollyleaf explained, struggling to find the right words to describe what happened. Jayfeather straightened up.

“Do you think you can control other cats?” He asked, blinking curiously. Hollyleaf licked her chest, trying to think.

“Maybe? I’m not sure.” Jayfeather blinked thoughtfully, flicking his tail.

“We need to run an experiment to find out exactly what you can do.” He said. 

“What kind of experiment?” Hollyleaf asked. Jayfeather walked over to the entrance of the hideaway, poking his head out, listening for a moment before coming back in.

“Berrynose is over by the freshkill pile. I want you to use your power to get him to do something. Try to get him to give you his prey.” Jayfeather instructed. Hollyleaf shuffled uncomfortably.

“Use my power on my clan mate? I don’t know Jayfeather.” Hollyleaf protested. She had used her power on Ashfur because she had to protect her family. Using it even for a test on a clanmate felt like a misuse. Jayfeather flicked her ear with his tail.

“Come on Hollyleaf, we have to know what you can do! Besides, there isn’t anything in the warrior code against it.” Hollyleaf felt her fur stand up in annoyance. 

“Fine!” she hissed stalking out of the hiding spot. 

Hollyleaf felt her throat tighten as she spotted Berrynose, pawing his way through the freshkill pile. He finally picked up a squirrel, and started walking across the camp. Hollyleaf drew in a breath gathering her courage.

“Berrynose, can we speak?” She asked, padding over to the cream tom. Berrynose flicked his ear in curiosity, setting down his squirrel. 

“What about?” he asked. Hollyleaf opened her jaws, but nothing came out. Berrynose tilted his head.

“Hollyleaf, are you alright?” 

“Yes! I...I just really want that squirrel. It was the fattest in the pile.” Berrynose let out an amused purr.

“Yes it was. I’m sorry though, I'm going to share it with Honeyfern. There’s other squirrels in the pile.” Berrynose said firmly. Hollyleaf shuffled, digging her claws into the earth. 

“You should really give me that squirrel Berrynose.” Hollyleaf muttered as she stared into his eyes. Once again she felt as if there were vines wreathing their way around her legs, tugging against her fur. Berrynose stared back blinking, his eyes distant. The moment was over in seconds. Berrynose blinked, shaking his head. 

“You know what, take it. There are other squirrels on the pile. I’ll get another one for me and Honeyfern.” Berrynose muttered, pushing the squirrel towards her, before walking away. Hollyleaf shook her pelt, trying to feel better about what she just did. She bent down picking up the squirrel, heading back to her brothers. Both Lionblaze and Jayfeather were poking their heads out of the hideaway, watching with wide eyes. 

“Hollyleaf, that was amazing!” Lionblaze purred, licking her shoulder. Hollyleaf pulled away from him. Jayfeather blinked thoughtfully, a purr rumbling in his throat.

“We’ll that confirms it. Your power can control what other cats do. That’s really powerful, it’s just like what Yellowfang said.” he purred. 

Hollyleaf purred, feeling pride and excitement falling off her pelt in waves. She had finally found her power and it was powerful. She had found her place in the prophecy among her brothers. 

“Starclan, I promise you, I will use the gift you have given me as best as I can. I will use it to protect Thunderclan and preserve the warrior code. I will leave my paw print on the forest and place myself among the legends of the clans!” Hollyleaf thought. 

[twilights-800-cats]

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Chapter 3

The walk back to ThunderClan territory was long, tense, and mostly quiet. More than anything, it was humiliating. Though RiverClan and ShadowClan’s territories were empty of patrols this early in the morning, Shadepool could almost feel their warriors watching from the shadows of every bush. Were they laughing? Did they find it funny that ThunderClan was being forced to take the long way home?

Orange dawn light streaked the sky as the ThunderClan patrol crossed into ShadowClan territory, and by the time they had forded the stream and made it across their own border and into the forest, the sun had risen fully. It was just another humiliation, taking so long, and the entire patrol felt it, with shuffling paws and dragging tails.

“I hope the dawn patrol went out on time,” muttered Dustpelt as they stepped into ThunderClan territory. Shadepool glanced over her shoulder – the dark tabby warrior was clustered with Mousefur, Brightheart, and Sootfur just behind her.

“Graystripe took care of it, I’m sure,” Brightheart assured. She stepped over a large, fallen stick, brought down by the recent blizzards.

Dustpelt raised his lip in a scoff. “Graystripe could hardly ever get his apprentices up on time, you think he can handle waking up a whole patrol? Or waking up for one himself?”

Brightheart rolled her eye, though Shadepool saw Sootfur’s whiskers twitch in amusement. Mousefur’s voice was stiff and certain, however: “Come off it, Dustpelt. The patrols are fine – no cat wants to get an earful from you...”

Dustpelt looked like he might complain further, but Tinystar’s voice stopped him. The Clan leader didn’t look back, only yowled, “Ferncloud! Snowstep! Come up here, now!” and continued on his way, leading the patrol along the winding, up-and-down paths through the forest.

Ferncloud and Snowstep obeyed, hurrying away from whatever conversation they were having with Sun, Mistyfoot, and Nightfrost. Shadepool watched the couple huddle around Tinystar and Brackenfur, heads bent close.

“Wonder what they’re talking about?” Nightfrost wondered, sidling up to his sister.

Shadepool twitched her whiskers, curious herself. She longed to go up and listen, but she imagined that Brackenfur would simply tell her that it wasn’t her place, which made her pelt flash with annoyance.

I may have my full name, but I'm still just an apprentice in his eyes.

To distract herself, she glanced at Sun. The young she-cat's expression was troubled, and Shadepool wondered, “Are you alright?”

Sun flicked an ear. “I am fine,” she responded, sounding uncertain about it. “But, well, I’m sure you understand that I wasn’t expecting such a thing at a Gathering...”

Shadepool blinked in understanding. This must be so hard for you to wrap your head around. This Gathering had been her debut as a full warrior of ThunderClan after leaving her home in the mountains, and Shadepool felt sorry that such a momentous occasion had been taken from her new Clanmate by such dismal news.

“Not all Gatherings are like this one,” Nightfrost assured. He brushed his tail along Sun’s flank. “I think every Clan is going to be reeling from what happened last night for a while, though...”

Sun’s expression only grew more clouded. “The Tribe never had these sorts of issues,” she pointed out.

Mistyfoot drew close and mewed gently, “The Tribe do not share their mountains with anyone else. Here, Sun, you must remember – ThunderClan isn’t the only Clan around, and the Clans have hardly ever seen eye to eye on anything.”

Sun frowned. “But to accuse us of something so heinous? Has the Great Journey meant nothing after all?”

Shadepool glanced between Nightfrost and Mistyfoot, feeling a twinge of discomfort in her stomach. They must be thinking the same thing – that the journey they had taken, all the hardship and loss they endured to bring the Clans to their new home, was for naught.

The unity borne from the Great Journey had faded like mist in the moonlight at the power of Mudstar's words, and now the grass beneath their paws was as dry and cold as it had ever been. The worthlessness of it all was overpowering.

“I don’t think that’s fully true,” Nightfrost mewed. He was trying to sound optimistic, and he gave Sun a playful nudge. “Some cats just can’t stop holding on to grudges no matter what, and Mudcl-Mudstar is one of them, for sure!”

“Yes,” Mistyfoot agreed hastily. Her expression was unreadable. “That's exactly it. Every cat has their own agenda.”

Sun frowned. “I suppose,” she mumbled.

Mistyfoot's eyes sparkled when she looked down at Nightfrost, as if she were grateful for his words, and Nightfrost’s shone right back at her. Shadepool had to look away. The feeling creeping in between her ears from her brother was so warm, so happy – it felt inappropriate to partake in.

She tried instead to focus on Crowflight. This entire situation was so baffling, and Shadepool was struggling to understand that the cat she loved was now the deputy of a WindClan that hated ThunderClan with every hair on their pelts – but despite all of that, he still wanted to meet her. Surely that meant that some sense could be made of the whole thing!

We ought to be able to figure this out, she thought, determination warming her limbs, staving away the cold. Surely he has something I can use to help us out of this situation?

It was nearly sunhigh as the Gathering patrol drew close to the tightly woven gorse bushes that formed the camp walls. They were each and all cold, tired, and more than a little annoyed with the long trip they'd had to take. Shadepool herself did not look forward to subsequent Gatherings feeling like another Great Journey, herself - all the more reason to find a way out of this mess, with whatever she and Crowflight could come up with.

Tinystar drew them to a halt just outside the entrance with a flick of his tail. When the cats in the patrol were all gathered around him, he raised his chin to speak:

“I know you are all tired,” he meowed, “and each one of you will be spared from patrols or hunting parties for the day while you rest.” Tinystar’s sharp gaze leveled on his Clanmates. “Say nothing of this Gathering to the Clan until I've had the chance to speak about it.”

“When will that be?” Dustpelt demanded.

Tinystar flicked an ear. “I intend to call a Clan meeting immediately.”

“Good,” Mousefur grunted. Her shoulders were squared. “But is there a plan?”

Tinystar did not reply for a moment. Shadepool sensed her Clanmate’s growing restlessness in the way that Mousefur shifted her shoulders. The others were just as expectant - surely Tinystar had a plan, right?

After a moment of silence, her father meowed: “This is not a situation we can take lightly. I’ll be open to any ideas from the senior warriors, once everyone else is informed.”

Mousefur’s pale eyes flashed in surprise. “But-”

“Mousefur, there’s really nothing else I can do right at this moment,” Tinystar interjected, his tone sharp. Shadepool knew he was just as tired as everyone else, and his temper was wearing thin. “I need to tell the Clan before there are any wider discussions.”

Mousefur closed her jaws. She glanced at Dustpelt, who looked equally disgruntled – but Tinystar stood strong. Shadepool knew her father was right, that this needed to be handled properly; but she couldn’t help but feel a lump form in her throat.

What if he couldn’t handle it? 

———————————————————

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the Highledge for a Clan meeting!”

Tinystar’s voice echoed, bouncing off of the stone walls that encircled ThunderClan’s camp. It was certainly effective for drawing out any cat that hadn’t already gone out for an assigned patrol, though the meeting was well-timed – Shadepool counted heads, and it seemed like every ThunderClan cat was going to be present for this one.

They might wish otherwise, she thought grimly, once they hear the news.

“We got worried when you weren't back on time,” Cloudtail purred, shaking dried leaves from her pelt as she emerged from the warrior’s den. She was quick to touch noses with Brightheart, relief in her eyes. “Graystripe wanted to send out a patrol to look for you...”

Swiftfoot was only a moment behind, his broad shoulders carrying snow from the branches of the den that he didn't bother to shake off. “What’s all this about?” he asked roughly, brushing his muzzle with Brightheart's.

“You’ll see,” Brightheart sighed, flicking the snow piles from Swiftfoot's shoulders with her paws. She drew her mates close, and they settled into the crowd. Whitewing, their daughter, joined them a moment later, just coming in from a hunting patrol with Rainwhisker and Spiderpaw.

After hauling their catch to the fresh-kill pile, Spiderpaw found her mentor, Mousefur, who didn’t seem thrilled to sit with her apprentice for the meeting. Spiderpaw was the only apprentice in the Clan at the moment, though, and thus she got her way in some regards.

Sootfur was barraged with questions by Rainwhisker as they went to join Sorreltail and Sun, but Shadepool saw them both hold firm and stay silent. Dustpelt touched noses with Cinderpelt, and Shadepool guessed she knew her mate well enough not to ask just yet. They sat with Ashfur, Graystripe, and Silverstream, and Longtail sat down close by, his ears twitching in the direction of any nearby conversation.

Shadepool saw a flash of gray and white out of the corner of her eye – Ferncloud and Snowstep had both retreated to the nursery, which made Shadepool curious. Did they have permission to miss the meeting? Was Larchkit ill? She was about to turn and ask, but Nightfrost stopped her. 

“Sit with us?” he invited.

Shadepool frowned. Her brother was sitting with Mistyfoot, near Mousefur and Spiderpaw and Rainwhisker. Nightfrost was sitting quite close to Mistyfoot, their flanks touching, and that wasn't just to leave room for Shadepool, she guessed.

She sensed that she had little choice – it was a bit late to sit by Brackenfur beneath the Highledge, as Tinystar was already gearing up to speak, and she would have to make her way through an entire crowd to get to them. She hurried over to her littermate and ended up squeezing in between him and Rainwhisker.

“I’m guessing last night didn’t go well?” Rainwhisker hissed, leaning close. “Soot here won’t tell me a thing, and Sun's jaws are sealed, for once!”

“You could say that,” Shadepool offered, tentatively.

“Cats of ThunderClan!” Tinystar’s meow rose high. “As I am sure you are all aware by now, I and my Gathering patrol have arrived far later than anticipated. I apologize for any undue worry, but we were forced to take an alternate route around the lake."

“Forced?” questioned Longtail. His ears focused intensely on Tinystar, the scarred lids of his eyes twitching as if they were trying to narrow. “How?”

“We all have the right to travel around the lake, especially for Gatherings,” Cinderpelt added, confused. “We agreed on that at the Arrival.”

“I know,” Tinystar meowed on, his tone stretched thin. “However, something has happened that has changed our circumstances.”

Shadepool saw her father steady himself. She couldn’t imagine the pain and sorrow he was feeling, having to say what he was going to say.

“After the battle on the moors, Onewhisker and Barkface went to the Moonpool,” Tinystar explained. “However, before they could contact StarClan, they were ambushed. Onewhisker was killed, and Barkface was reportedly savagely wounded.”

“Great StarClan!” gasped Rainwhisker. His eyes went wide to their whites, and Shadepool felt his pelt bristle in alarm.

“W-What?!” Cinderpelt’s mew was full of horror. She glanced at Dustpelt, who confirmed with a somber nod. Cinderpelt whispered, “Who would do such a thing?!”

Spiderpaw was bristling, and Shadepool saw her limbs shake. “Is WindClan okay?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes, are they? Who leads them now?” wondered Graystripe. His tone was full of concern. “If Ashfoot and Onewhisker are both dead...” Graystripe trailed off, clearly hurt by the news, then mustered the strength to ask: “Onewhisker appointed a new deputy before he left, right?”

Tinystar took a breath, his gaze darkening. “This is where things get a bit more complicated, I’m afraid – Onewhisker apparently appointed no deputy before he left. After the attack, Mudclaw was allegedly chosen to lead WindClan by some sort of consensus that he did not disclose.” Tinystar blinked, slowly. “He is Mudstar now, and he has chosen Crowflight as his deputy.”

Shocked yowls rose in a chorus. Within the high camp walls, Shadepool felt like a throng of birds had started to scream in her skull all at once. They were as outraged as the cats attending the Gathering had been, and Shadepool felt herself reeling once again:

“He’s too young to be deputy!”

“Mudstar? How?!”

“How do we know he didn’t kill Onewhisker?”

“Yeah! He was certainly willing to before...”

“After all we did for them?”

“I’ve got three scars because of that fight!”

“I'm still sore!”

“Crowflight? Why?”

“He’s a good enough warrior, but it’s against the code, isn't it?”

“He's had no apprentice that I know of...”

“What is WindClan thinking?”

“Calm down!” Tinystar yowled.

Her father’s voice had cracked, straining to get over the cacophony. The fretting dulled down to a murmur, and Shadepool curled her tail around her paws. She tried to lean on Nightfrost, but sensed that he was preoccupied – Mistyfoot looked to be dizzy from all the yelling, and he was busy comforting her. Shadepool drew back sharply and dug her claws into the slush instead, hot thorns pricking her pelt.

“Yes, this is unprecedented,” Tinystar went on, his voice straining. “Mudstar hinted that StarClan had something to do with both his and Crowflight’s appointments. That, however, is not the only issue at our paws.”

“What else could there possibly be?” snapped Swiftfoot. He looked incredulously up at Tinystar. “Have mice started flying as well?”

The absurdity of his question, combined with the absurdity of this entire situation, did get a few purrs of some sort of dark amusement out of a few cats in the crowd. Shadepool wasn't certain whether or not that was a good thing.

Tinystar frowned. “Apparently, at the site of the ambush, there was significant evidence of a ThunderClan presence.”

The entire Clan went deathly silent.

“Mudstar has declared that ThunderClan is responsible for Onewhisker’s death.” Tinystar’s voice broke with the weight of his grief. Shadepool saw the luster fade from his eyes. “He has closed his borders to us and is demanding justice.”

The silence stretched thin like ice just creeping over a stream. The cats who had attended the Gathering, who already knew, looked up at Tinystar with resignation to the facts. The others, those that were only just hearing of this, wore shocked, open-jawed expressions. Shadepool could almost hear their words of disbelief die on their tongues.

“Mudstar did not outright declare war,” Tinystar pressed on, tired and resigned, “but I have decided that we must prepare for it, nonetheless.”

His icy gaze swept across his Clan. “I know, deep down in my bones, that no ThunderClan warrior would ever do something so cowardly and heinous – these accusations are baseless. But, Onewhisker is still dead, Mudstar is still the leader, and all of WindClan stands behind him. RiverClan and ShadowClan’s positions are undecided. We cannot ignore what this means.”

The crowd murmured, unsettled.

“No cat leaves camp alone,” Tinystar declared. “The WindClan border must be monitored, and I want the patrols along the Divide doubled. Hunters should avoid getting too near the river. There must be no undue instigation from us. We will need every cat ready to defend ourselves - it's not a matter of if Mudstar will cause a problem, but when and how.”

He took a deep breath, and his gaze lifted. Shadepool followed his eyes, turning her head towards the nursery. Ferncloud and Snowstep sat just outside, with Larchkit between them, his fur groomed to perfection.

Oh. Shadepool suddenly realized why Tinystar had spoken to the pair earlier. Had Larchkit heard all that had been said? Did he understand what was about to happen? She felt bad for him – every kit dreamed of getting their apprentice name, but this honor would always be eclipsed by the circumstances that necessitated it.

Every cat turned their heads, and the realization dawned on them, too. Shadepool heard Silverstream murmur something sympathetically. Someone wondered who his mentor would be, but there was little suspense in their voice.

“Larchkit,” Tinystar announced, “come forward.”

The young cat got to his paws and, urged on by Ferncloud, padded forward. The crowd split around him, everyone edging away to give him some space. Larchkit kept his chin high, but Shadepool could see a wobble in his step.

So, he has some idea, she guessed. He was not fully deaf, like his father. Shadepool guessed that his good ear had caught all he needed to know. Poor mite.

“Larchkit, you have shown tremendous bravery for one so young,” Tinystar meowed, his voice clear and loud, as Larchkit paused beneath the shadow of the Highledge. Ferncloud was allowed to sit beside her son, to sign Tinystar's words in case he missed them. “You have crossed from forest to mountain to lake, and it is my pleasure to give you your apprentice name.”

Larchkit raised his head, his bicolored gaze wavering.

“Larchkit, from this moment forward, until you earn your warrior name, you will be known as Larchpaw,” Tinystar announced.

Shadepool watched her father’s gaze keenly. Who would be Larchpaw’s mentor in this trying time? An older warrior, like Graystripe or Cinderpelt? Someone young, like Rainwhisker? Or, perhaps, Mistyfoot?

She glanced at her friend, curious. Mistyfoot had had an apprentice seasons ago, in the old forest – Shrewpaw, Spiderpaw’s brother. However, an encounter with a badger had taken Shrewpaw’s life shortly after he’d gotten his apprentice name, and Mistyfoot had taken the blow and blame deep in her heart. Would she be given another chance?

Mistyfoot was looking up at her leader, now, straining as if she might convince him with her gaze alone. It was no secret that Mistyfoot longed to be deputy – to work with her former mentor and lead ThunderClan. But to do that, according to the warrior code, one needed to have trained an apprentice, unless StarClan decided to interfere. There had been Shrewpaw, of course, but his life had been cut short all too quickly, and Shadepool didn't know if that counted or not.

“Ashfur.”

Shadepool almost heard Mistyfoot’s heart break.

“You have shown strength and bravery in adversity,” Tinystar meowed on. “I think you would make a great mentor for Larchpaw.”

Ashfur looked shocked to be chosen. He glanced over his shoulder at Ferncloud, his littermate, who stared back with love and gratitude in her eyes. Shadepool’s heart went out to the queen – she had lost two of her kits to the horrors of starvation in the old forest, and Larchpaw was all that remained of that first litter. Had she asked Tinystar to put Larchpaw in the care of his uncle, for her own sake?

“Larchpaw! Larchpaw!” the Clan cheered. “Larchpaw!”

Ashfur recovered quickly from the shock. He strode up to Larchpaw and touched noses with his new apprentice.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised, signing through the noise. His dark blue eyes flashed up, looking directly at Mistyfoot. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

Shadepool felt Nightfrost stiffen beside her. “How dare he!” he hissed. “What a snake!”

“Stop, Nightfrost,” Mistyfoot whispered. Her voice was so, so tired. “It’s not worth it.” She and Ashfur had never gotten along, and Shadepool guessed that him having an apprentice over her this time wasn’t going to change that in the least. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but what’s the plan?” demanded Swiftfoot. “Are we just going to let WindClan’s accusations stand?”

Tinystar’s ice-blue eyes turned hard. “Absolutely not,” he declared, his voice gaining strength. “I won’t let WindClan get away with threatening us. Whoever killed Onewhisker and framed us will be found, and they will be made to pay. ThunderClan is not a Clan of murderers and codebreakers, and Mudstar will not smear our name across the lakeshore while I have the lives to stop him!”

“ThunderClan!” Graystripe yowled. The whole Clan raised their voices with him: “ThunderClan! ThunderClan!”

“Graystripe, Cinderpelt, you have the patrols for today,” Tinystar declared as the cheering died down. “We senior warriors will discuss things further once we’ve rested. This meeting is adjourned!”

With that, Tinystar turned and headed into the cave he called his den, blending into the darkness immediately. The Clan broke up into gossiping groups, every nerve aflame by the shocking announcements.

Shadepool saw a few patrols begin to head out, and Ashfur and Larchpaw joined them. She prayed to StarClan that his first tour of the territory would be peaceful, but she didn’t envy having to deal with Ashfur as a mentor.

“I can’t believe it,” Rainwhisker murmured. “WindClan, hating us? After everything ThunderClan has done for them?”

“Whatever could make them think we killed Onewhisker?” Sorreltail wondered. Her eyes were wide with shock. “We’ve been friends since long before the Great Battle with BloodClan!”

“It’s got to be a ploy,” Rainwhisker suggested. His tail swished in the slush. “Mudstar’s always wanted power. He’s got it, and now he wants more.”

Sootfur was nodding along. “I mean, I did hear that rumor that he pushed Ashfoot under the tree...”

“Whoa, who from?” Sorreltail demanded.

“That ShadowClan warrior Skipnose swears he saw it...”

Shadepool’s heart felt sick. She drew away from the trio, edging closer to Nightfrost and Mistyfoot. She longed for the comfort of their companionship, not the gossip of her Clanmates – but it seemed like she couldn’t escape it, even there.

“I hope we can settle things before someone gets hurt,” Nightfrost sighed. He nudged Mistyfoot. “What’s your read on this mess?”

Mistyfoot shook her head. She seemed utterly at a loss, her dark blue eyes shimmering with misery. “I-I don’t know. I certainly didn't see it coming, that's for sure.”

Nightfrost touched his nose to her shoulder. “I wish we could talk to Crowflight,” he sighed. “There’s no way he’d lie to us.” Shadepool didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered to her. She could feel him prodding and poking between her ears.

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Mistyfoot said resignedly. Her gaze looked hurt, and she was ignoring Nightfrost's prodding. “He was very quick to put borders up between us again, remember...”

Shadepool felt her tail puff with indignation. You don’t understand him at all! None of you ever did!

“I don’t think he would betray anyone, least of all us,” she meowed sternly, “and I don’t think he’d agree to be deputy if Mudstar were a murderer!” Especially if he murdered Crowflight’s own mother!

“Well, things are changing,” Mistyfoot meowed. Her gaze was even. “Our home has changed, the Clans have changed, and the cats within them have, too. We’re in danger now, and we may have to face Crowflight in battle sooner or later.” She sighed, resigned. “We have to prepare for that eventuality.”

Nightfrost sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “The Great Journey really is over...”

Shadepool dug her claws into the earth. She knew her emotions were rising, flaring up and pulsing hotly into Nightfrost’s mind. She wanted to screech at Mistyfoot, call her a mouse-brain for not trusting Crowflight – but she felt Nightfrost push back, trying to get her to understand.

Shadepool’s heart twisted, searing in her chest - she wanted them to understand her, not the other way around!

She tossed her brother a sharp glare before she got up and headed for the medicine cat’s cave. She heard Mistyfoot’s concerned mew but ignored her. Shadepool knew she would have to apologize later, and she would - but for now, she was angry and knew she would be for a time.

Crowflight has the answers, you’ll see! She thought firmly. She would see him tonight, and learn everything they needed to fix this. We won’t get out of this without him!

[everybody-loves-purdy]

Sorry for the extremely long ask

I don't get why Mapleshade went for Sandstorm at all, I'm trying to find reasons but maybe it was because of her kids? Mostly Leafpool. Though if that were the case Mapleshade should have just went straight for the source and attacked Squirrelflight or Leafpool. Now to explain, in Mapleshades eyes Sandstorm had a "loving" mate, and kits with that said mate. When it comes to Sandstorms kits, essentially both Squirrelflight and Leafpool broke the code and got just a slap on the wrist for it with no actual consequences. Leafpool having a half clan relationship, almost leaving for said relationship and having half clan kits who she in a sense (and in maples eyes) got to "raise" since they got to stay in Thunderclan and she got to be close to them and watch them grow up. She wasn't banished from Thunderclan nor condemned at all really, the only thing that happened was her medicine cat position got revoked and even when it did, she still was doing her job on the down low and even got her job back in the end. Now onto Squirrelflight, by taking in the kits and lying about their birth and origin (when starclan literally gave her no choice) she is initially "breaking the code". She knew about Leafs half clan relationship and her half clan kits and didn't say anything (which makes complete sense that's literally her sister and best friend), raised them and when the truth came out she just got yelled at by Bramble but was still deputy at the end of the day. Squirrelflight and Leafpool were still respected by their clanmates and Starclan after everything got out and were even sympathized with by some from both their clan and starclan so maybe that's why Mapleshade went for Sandstorm? Like "You and your kids got to have my life" and "Your kids broke the code but nothing happened to them" up until that point the trial doesn't happen until later so in Mapleshades eyes they had no consequences to their actions which resorts in envy, anger, jealousy and etc. I'm not defending Mapleshade at all I'm trying to make sense of why she would go for Sandstorm- maybe because she was the first person she saw? I don't know maybe I'm looking too deeply into it. I just wished the erins would have made her at least try and kill Leafpool because Spottedleaf saving her would have had the same effect since Spottedleaf was a big part in Leafpools life too but okay I guess.

Dw!

That’s a good analysis and it wouldn’t surprise me if that was true, a shame the books never bothered elaborating on it though.

I think the main reason was just so the Erins could have Spotted due to save Sand without thinking too much about why that was happening

[fireclawisexhausted]

AU Notes So Far

These aren’t finished at all yet and will be updated once I’ve got time, but here’s what I’ve got so far

Firepaw is apprenticed to Tigerclaw so that Tigerclaw can get over his hostility towards kittypets, Bluestar often coming along during their training to make sure he doesn’t push him too hard (or rusty is found when he’s too young so morningflower decides to become his foster mom and tiger begrudgingly becomes his foster father)

Spottedleaf sees Firepaw as her kit, not a potential mate

Ravenpaw is apprenticed by Lionheart after Firepaw joins the clans, training alongside Greypaw

Sandpaw and Firepaw train together due to tigerclaws and Whitestorm’s closer relationship

Tigerclaw slowly gets used to Firepaw enough to even say he’s proud of him

yellowfang still joins thunderclan and Firepaw gets close to her but tigerclaw, like an overprotective father doesn’t trust her

After the trip with mother mouth, when tigerclaw is declared deputy upon lionhearts death, Firepaw does not initially believe ravenpaw when he says tigerclaw killed redtail

Firepaws suspicions only grow when tigerclaw accuses ravenpaw on being behind the shadowclan attack

when spottedleaf is killed Firepaw is heartbroken due to losing one of the only mother figures he’s ever known

He still does not believe ravenpaw or yellowfang have anything to do with this though tigerclaw believes the opposite

Instead of leaving Ravenpaw decided to become a medicine cat when Spottedleaf visits him right before he makes his decision

When Firepaw is about to kill clawface, tigerclaw does not attempt to stop him at all even though he’s near, ending in the death of the cat

Firepaw is named Fireclaw in honor of his mentor, and is proud at first until he remembers what ravenpaw told him

Ravenpaw trains under Yellowfang, and looks relatively happy to be away from all the drama and protected against tigerclaw, but he still wants to get the truth out

Greystripe is more interested in solving Redtail’s murder than Fireclaw, who believes this is all some misunderstanding

Fireclaw feels a bit distant from the clan due to his kitty pet blood, especially upon seeing Cinderpaw and her siblings bonds. Tigerclaw offers consolation as best he can, remarking that his siblings died young, and his father left the clans, leaving him only with his mother. Fireclaw is only briefly comforted by this

Fireclaw and Greystripe still leave to return WindClan, and all goes similarly besides meeting ravenpaw at the barn.

Fireclaw and Greystripe are assigned cinderpaw and brackenpaw as apprentices

Ravenpaw soon after the ceremony warns Fireclaw of danger on the path ahead, and Fireclaw is perplexed

Fireclaw meets princess, and though extremely hesitant to even amuse her due to having some of tigerclaws opinions rub off on him, the prospect of knowing one of his family members becomes too tempting to pass up

Ravenpaw and Greystripe investigate more into the redtail scandal than Fireclaw, who seemingly doesn’t believe it went down the way it did. Grey and Raven find out that before redtails death, he and tigerclaw had a tense relationship, and at both ends both cats were being aggressive towards each other, and that oakheart died by rockfall. They find out more about redtail, and even rumors of him being involved in the death of an older warrior, Thistleclaw, Tigerclaws mentor.

After the incident at the lake with silverstream and their talks with other riverclanners, Greystripe develops a relationship with her that Ravenpaw and Fireclaw take notice of, and both agree nothing good can come of it.

Ravenpaw battles with discovering he has romantic feelings for Greystripe.

Fireclaw struggles with wanting to support his friend and the following the warrior code, much more so than the books. He often ignores greystripe and reacts badly when cats speak of him, but still refuses to say a thing about the secret relationship. He still trains brackenpaw reluctantly.

Fireclaw and Sandpaw get along a bit better than in canon here, so by this point they’re already fine friends. He spends most of his time with her and Longtail, who he has also grown accustomed to due to training closely with both cats. During this time, small little redemption arks showing how these two have grown take place, along with some change from Dustpaw, who’s still the most stubborn of the bunch.

Tigerclaw asks to meet bluestar near the thunder path and all goes similarly as to what happened in canon. The gears begin to turn for Fireclaw as he’s met with someone else he knows being affected by Tigerclaw in a more violent way. Tigerclaw is extremely apologetic and even a bit shaken by the incident, but Fireclaw remains in shock for a few days, his world shaken.

Yellowfang isn’t able to fix Cinderpaws leg, but she insists Fireclaw not give up on her and keep her in training. Fireclaw agrees and Cinderpaw continues to train, though her leg does get in the way from time to time.

princess asks Fireclaw to take in her son, and fireclaw refuses at first, but does take in CloudKit. The clan is still not happy with his choice, but Tigerclaw, though believing it wasn’t the best choice, understands Fireclaws reasoning of missing his family, Tigerclaw himself being very closely related to his own. Ravenpaw and Sandpaw also come to defend Fireclaw.

The RiverClan patrol goes similarly as it went in the books, But the fight between greystripe and Fireclaw is a lot more violent, Fireclaw taking it too far before Ravenpaw breaks them apart. Both cats distance themselves from Fireclaw.

The rogue attack on ThunderClan takes place, this time, it’s Greystripe who is overwhelmed by Blackfoot, who Fireclaw notices, also noticing that Tigerclaw sees this too, but willingly moves on instead of helping his clanmate. Fireclaw fights off Blackfoot, and he and Greystripe share a moment of brief understanding.

The relationship between Ravenpaw, greystripe and Fireclaw is still hostile, but Raven and grey are still determined to prove tigerclaws guilt. Ravenpaw is able to piece together via dreams sent by spottedleaf and stories heard from other clan mates that Thistleclaw was a blood hungry cat with a penchant for abusing his apprentices, one of which was Spottedleaf herself. Redtail, having had enough of the cat, decided to get rid of him in secret, though Tigerclaw, who saw Thistle as a father figure, always had his suspicions. It was true that oakheart died due to rockfall, but Ravenpaw doesn’t know what caused Tigerclaw to kill the deputy, whether it was his desire to be deputy, or his knowledge on the crime he’d committed.

During the battle against RiverClan and ShadowClan, it’s Fireheart who instigates the battle with silverstream, before he realizes who she is and releases her. He is shaken by his lack of self control and the fact that if he wanted, he could’ve killed her. Leopardfur, taking advantage of his shock, attacks, nearly killing him, but Tigerclaw throws her off, giving his apprentice a wary eye, as if he saw what happened with silverstream, before the battle happens as it does in the books.

Fireclaw, Ravenpaw and greystripe argue over what happened in the battle, both cats bringing to attention Fireclaws lack of self control when he’s angry or in battle. Fireclaw attempts to shrug off their worries, but Ravenpaw is genuinely concerned he might do something worse, more intentional. Greystripe brings up Clawface and how Fireclaw killed him, making the Tom defensive, Fireclaw arguing that Clawface was a murderer, and greystripe bringing up all of his most recent incidents. A fight breaks out, and when Ravenpaw tries to separate them, he’s injured. Greystripe stands defensively over his friend, and Fireclaw realizes there’s something terribly wrong with him. He runs off before either cat can say anything to him.

the next book begins with ravenpaw and greystripe investigating another piece of interesting information. They attempt to get Fireclaw in on it, in attempts to continue the conversation about his issues and repair their long lasting friendship, but the moment the tom sees them he scurried off, leaving them extremely worried. Though greystripe is still angry with Fireclaw, he fears for his friends safety, and Ravenpaw fears that Tigerclaw has left permanent damage on the tom, damage that Thistleclaw had implanted in him.

Greystripe and Ravenpaw meet with Silverstream, all three cats seemingly enjoying eachothers company. She is able to get Mistyfoot to speak with them. Ravenpaw asks her why Oakheart would specify that no one thunderclan cat would harm Stonefur, and she seems at a loss.

Ravenpaw is left to stew with many thoughts on the current mystery, but what boggles him most is a reoccurring thought he’s had on Cinderpaws incident, specifically that it was meant for bluestar, and that poor Cinderpaw was just an accidental victim. He corners Fireclaw and asks him about it, and though the tom is reluctant, he agrees that the incident has him questioning tigerclaws loyalties as well. Ravenpaw invites the tom on their next trip to RiverClan for more answers, and though Fireclaw is hesitant, he agrees.

Ravenpaw, Greystripe and Fireclaw question Graypool about oakhearts words, and she tells them the kits are from ThunderClan. Fireclaw is left speechless, and Ravenpaw and Greystripe keep him in check as to make sure nothing slips from him.

the three return, and Fireclaw continues on, mentoring brackenpaw and Cinderpaw while greystripe runs off with silverstream, babysitting his nephew, and trying to keep his relationship with tigerclaw healthy while also constantly questioning his actions.

When RiverClan is in trouble, Fireclaw hesitates to help them, but he and greystripe are still caught by Bluestar and Tigerclaw, and while they at first only punish greystripe, Fireclaw insists he was apart of the plan to too, repairing their strained relationship a bit.

the battle between ThunderClan, RiverClan and shadowclan and windclan still takes place like it did in the books.

Brackenpaw and Cinderpaw are named Brackenfur and Cinderwing.

greystripe finds out silverstream is pregnant, and when she gives birth ahead of time, Ravenpaw is the one to help her give birth. Though a more talented medicine cat at this point, he cannot stop the bleeding, and Silverstream still dies. Fireclaw is horrified as the two toms grieve, the reality of the situation setting in for all three of them. Tigerclaw runs in on the scene, and Fireclaw begs him to not tell the clan, completely and utterly terrified of what will happen to greystripe, but Tigerclaw refuses, disappointed in Fireclaws bias towards his friend.

Tigerclaw outs greystripe to the clan, sure Fireclaw would have come to his senses and stood by the code by then, but to his surprise, Fireclaw stands by Greystripe, alongside Ravenpaw, Sandstorm, and hesitantly, Longtail. Bluestar herself is visibly sympathetic to greystripe, which gets Fireclaw thinking.

Bluestar admits to Fireclaw that misty and stone are her kits. He promises to keep her secret like he keeps yellowfangs.

CloudKit is instead apprenticed to Sandstorm, and while he, her, and Fireclaw are out, they notice the scent of rogues leading to ThunderClan, intermixed with another familiar scent. They return to camp to find it being attacked by the rogue.

Fireclaw runs into bluestars den to find Tigerclaw, ready to attack. He’s able to fend him off, using the knowledge that the cat he is fighting against gave him in training, and due to Tigerclaws own hesitance it seems. RiverClan arrives to fend off the rogues.

When bluestar announces her deputy’s murder attempt, Tigerclaw reaches to Fireclaw still, asking him, as a father, to join him, telling him he accepts him as his own. Fireclaw rejects him, and goes on to announce all the details he had known on redtails death, that tigerclaw had done it, and that if it weren’t for Ravenpaw they would’ve never known. He also says the incident on the thunder path was meant for bluestar, not for Cinderwing. Tigerclaw, shocked, leaves.

bluestar announces Fireclaw as deputy.

Ravenpaw become a full medicine cat and is named Ravenpelt

greystripe leaves for RiverClan, and Ravenpelt and Fireclaw are left to themselves, to worry over the future. Ravenpelt wrestles with the guilt of being unable to save silverstream, a cat he’d grown very close to, and Fireclaw struggles to accept his greatest hero was a traitor and a liar, who may have even hurt him more personally as an apprentice, inflicting permanent damage.

in the next book, Fireclaw struggles in taking care of the damaged clan, fearful that what everyone is saying is true and that his deputyship was the wrong decision.

Ravenpelt helps littlecloud and whitethroat, even against yellowfangs orders, and him and Fireclaw agree not to tell anyone.

Sandstorm has better control over Cloudpaw than Fireclaw does, and though he’s still rebellious, he doesn’t try to eat kittypet food. Sandstorm often invites Fireclaw to watch them train, and the two get even closer.

Fireclaw leads a patrol that’s attacked by the rogues, and he finds runningwind, dead, whitethroat leaning over him. Fireclaw, enraged, chases the cat into the thunder path, and kills him. Before he can realize there’s something wrong, Tigerclaw leaps onto him, saying he’ll regret not joining him. They fight, and though Tigerclaw has the chance to gravely injure him, he chooses not to, and runs off.

The Fire still breaks out, and yellowfang is lost. Ravenpelt and Fireclaw meet with greystripe again, but the happiness is only short lived by the overwhelming grief.

Fireclaw and greystripe examine what’s remains of the forest, and Fireclaw gets to say goodbye to yellowfang. ThunderClan returns home, bluestar even more shaken than before.

Fireclaw, while leading the clan to the gathering in place of bluestar, is shocked so badly by Tigerclaw becoming leader of shadowclan he needs whitestorm to take his place, as he feels too faint.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Jaggedbriar

Aliases / Nicknames: Mom, Mother, Our Precious Kit

Gender: she-cat

Sexuality: asexual, aromantic

Family: unnamed mother, unnamed father, unnamed brother, Lionroot (mate), Nightflower (daughter)

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, unnamed apprentice

Clan: Thunderclan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: kills to protect her daughter from the life she herself couldn’t escape

Number of Victims: 3

Number of Murders: 3

Murder Method: crushing, ripping tongue out / drowning on blood

Known Victims: her mother, her father, unnamed Thunderclan tom

Victim Profile: those who bother her daughter

Cause of Death: head injury during a hunt

Cautionary Tale: don’t force your children into a life that they don’t want

Story:

A mate, a litter of kits. It was the perfect life.

And she wanted no part of it. 

Jaggedbriar had never felt romantic or physical feelings for, hell, anyone in her life. She figured she wasn’t ‘normal,’ when the other apprentices would stay up late and gossip about their crushes and she had nothing to contribute.

She told her mother, even the medicine cat, and they all said the same thing of ‘you just need to find the right one.’

But the feelings they described when you apparently do find the ‘right one,’ were feelings she was unfamiliar with.

She had been a warrior for many moons without taking a mate, in spite of the efforts of Lionroot, who mooned over her, according to her parents. Eventually her parents snapped at her, angry that she was ‘isolating herself’ even though she spoke often with friends. 

They claimed that she was ‘lonely’ even though she didn’t feel such a way, that she would regret not having kits while she was still able to, even though Jaggedbriar never had the stirrings. 

They began to say how others were thinking she was weird, that to save her own image and the image of her kin, she had to settle down with a mate and, better yet, bear his kits.

So she gave in. She accepted Lionroot’s latest offer, and soon enough fell pregnant with kits. It was a small litter, that she was happy for. One precious, little she-kit.

She didn’t love Lionroot, but she did care for her daughter. It wasn’t her fault that Jaggedbriar was forced into having her. While Little Nightpaw trained how to hunt and fight, Jaggedbrair also took the time to teach her how to be a good Clanmate, respecting others’ bounderies, and how to be a supportive friend, etc.

Then Jaggedbriar’s brother died.

His bloodline was gone, and Jaggedbriar’s parents began pestering Nightflower into settling down with a mate and having kits.

No.

No.

She loved her daughter, but it is not the life she wanted. And she will be damned if she will allow the same scenario to happen to her. She told off her parents, but they persisted, speaking to Nightflower behind her back.

Nightflower confided in her mother, admitting that the pressure was getting to her, but that she did not want to have a mate.

Jaggedbriar saw no other way around it. She got the idea when she noticed a crickety tree, loosened from the soil after the recent rainfall. She would only need to dig a little bit before it fell.

She couldn’t afford to go wrong.

And she didn’t.

Moons later, a tom kept pestering Nightflower, trying to get her to become his mate and insisting that she liked him and should just admit it.

He had to stop talking.

So she tore his tongue out. She only meant to injure him, and even then didn’t mean to be so brutal, but the rage had gotten to her, and he drowned on his blood.

Nightflower eventually came to her mother, nervously announcing that she found a mate. It was Goldenpetal, a she-cat. 

She was someone Nightflower wanted to be with. Jaggedbriar loved her daughter, and was glad that she could now have a happy life.

She only wishes to have lived longer to witness it.

Additional Information:

--Might also make Nightflower a resident just because I like her name so much. She looks a lot like her mother, if a bit darker.