#fetch mews

[fatedheavylion]

sorry I haven't been posting a lot just kinda been bummed out lately

[damiel-of-real]

new headcanon: papyrus allows mad mew mew to keep living in the house because he hopes she'll drive out the annoying dog. but then she just keeps engaging in looney tunes esque shenanigans with it and its just an overall far worse situation

[miasanmuller]

"Messi's last big tournament" oh my god he's going to die isn't he? Omg omg omg omg omg

[sanchoyo]

whys ygo the only fandom I’m in that’s really populated with crackships/rarepairs out the wazoo. Like there’s ofc A Lot of popular ships but no one looks twice at ‘weirder’ ones like ones where the charas never spoke. More fandoms could learn from this 😔

[awkward-parabuteo]

A DAY IN THE RETRAINING OF MY HARRIS'S HAWK, ARAMIS

Come along for a glimpse at our routine!

Starting with fetching the man himself from his mews. Aramis is kept tied during the early stages of training, but is otherwise free lofted.

His pre-meal weight is noted, then we go on a short manning walk. There was a little breeze this morning and he got excited!

Then we're off to practice his recall to the glove! Aramis' meal is devided into tidbits and we repeat this exercise a few times. We just want him to hop on the fist in the beginning. Over time, we'll be able to recall him from a much greater distance as we continue to adjust his weight and his motivation increases. I'll also reintroduce him to the lure soon. He's very familiar with the process by now (this is our 7th hunting season together) and retraining usually doesn't take very long.

Aramis is weighed again once we're done, then he waits patiently in the travel box for me to move his bow perch outside (he really likes his box).

Time for a second manning walk!

Aramis is provided fresh water and gets to weather in the yard for the rest of the day since it's nice outside.

That's it for now, thanks for joining us! :)

[ohbabydollie]

MORE MUTUAL BREAKUP 🙏🤲🧎‍♀️

i need a break from trying to write smut 😔

moments of u two!!

a lil comp of silly scenarios, dialogue, etc. i think would apply to reader n schlatt

— — — —

a guy who asked to do a podcast interview with you obviously flirting while schlatt is sitting along side the camera man, sucking his teeth and biting his tongue, staying quiet

you ignore the flirting until you notice schlatt is getting jealous by the second and a few more flirty remarks away from punching the guy

so you do the only thing you can think of

“it’s a little cold in here” you say rubbing your arms

“really? i think it’s kinda hot” the guy says taking off his jacket about to hand it to you before schlatt sprints into action

he takes off his hoodie and hands it to you

“thank you honey” you say grabbing it and receiving a small peck from him and putting it on, completing the rest of your interview with the hoodie on, all warm and cozy in schlatt’s jacket

———

you held a volleyball tournament (very similar to the dodgeball tournament)

everyone showing up in shorts and shirts meanwhile you were in your highschool volleyball uniform, fitting you tighter in some places than it used to

everyone sees the way schlatt’s brows raise when you first arrive

everyone noticed schlatt not taking his eyes off your ass whenever you would bend over, go retrieve the ball, receiving and in general doing anything

during breaks he’ll take you into a corner when he thinks a camera can’t see and kiss you, parting with a smile and slapping your ass as you walk off with a dopey grin

———

“my favorite song right now? it’s probably that song from juno” you say smiling “here is the church and here is the steeple”

“we sure are cute for two ugly people” schlatt chimes in

“i don’t see what any one can see in anyone else but youu” you both sing smiling

“she plays it all the time, it’s so annoying” schlatt teases as you stick your tongue out at him

———

schlatt talks about you when asked or if you’re even referenced

“y/n, she is genuinely the best most incredible person i know, the way you see her on camera is the way she is in person, just that she’s softer and sweeter. I am her biggest fan, genuinely, she’s the most perfect person i know and i love being with her, not even just sex, i like being around her as a person, they make me a better person and it’s like every time i have to leave her, i feel empty. a piece of me is filled when im with her. She could ask me to get back with her in five minutes, tomorrow, fifty years in the future, i wouldn’t care, i’d get back with her in a heartbeat”

———

“my gum is out of flavor” you say looking around for a place to throw it out

“hand me it” schlatt says putting his hand out before you spit out the gum softly onto his palm, schlatt wastes no time putting it in his mouth almost immediately after causing you to look at him with wide eyes

“Schlatt! that’s disgusting”

“eh, i’ve had your tongue in my mouth before” he says blowing a bubble

———

“hello?” you ask putting your phone on speaker for the chat

“hey toots”

“oh hey schlatt”

“so, jambo has been cryin, sittin in the spot he always sat down next to you n he jus’ misses you” schlatt says sadly “i was wonderin’ if you could come over n comfort him since he jus wants his mommy” he asks softly

“yeah, i’ll be over in a few” you say before quickly ending your stream and going over to schlatt’s

“oh my poor baby jambo” you say picking up the mewing cat “you missed your mommy, didn’t you” you ask the cat softly, sitting down next to schlatt and giving jambo small kisses

eventually you fall asleep with jambo in your lap and schlatt carries you both to his bed, laying you down gently and he takes a photo

it’s his background for the next few months

———

“you got any sauce for this?” you ask schlatt as you bite into your fries before he goes into his pantry and fetches a new bottle of your favorite sauce

“schlattie” you chirp “you hate this sauce” you say opening up the bottle

“i know, i just had it left from when you lived with me” he lies

“i took the last bottle with me when i moved out” you say downwards smiling “you bought a new bottle for me”

“whatever” he huffs, knowing that you were right, he hated that stupid sauce but found your reaction to him having it adorable

———

“yeah, i’ve always wanted a surprise birthday party, but i’ve never gotten one” you say softly as schlatt makes note of it

a few months later on your birthday, you realize that very few people have said happy birthday, one of the few being schlatt

it’s a lonely day, you spend some of it alone before you get a text from schlatt at 2 pm

cat babydaddy: get ready, i’m picking you up at 5

you happily get ready, showering, shaving, everything

once he arrived he has a large bouquet of flowers, a teddy bear and a box of chocolate covered strawberries, smiling at you lovingly

“you look great toots” he says handing you your bouquet and bringing your gifts inside, you thank him with a few kisses before he tells you to hurry so you won’t be late for the reservations he made

you giggle the whole way there, holding his hand as the both of you talk before you notice that he’s going past a bunch of restaurants before he makes you put on a eye mask which you do confused

he leads you out of the car and in through some doors, gently he takes the mask off of you to reveal a beautifully decorated venue

your friends and family jumping out to yell happy birthday at you as you feel yourself tearing up, turning to schlatt with tears of joy

“don’t cry, happy birthday toots” he says wrapping an arm around you and planting a kiss on your lips

lmk if u guys want some more, i gotta feed my mutual break up lovers

[xxtc-96xx]

I can't remember if this has been asked but in the like stayed mew au where obviously twins weren't turned into mewtwos, would Pig have come out a pale off color mew or would she have likely still been cloned and altered from mewtwos dna so it'd just be mew-mewtwo with his abnormally large pale baby? (cause I imagine he'd probably sense and go fetch her)

I believe I made her still a mewtwo, so she's just mew!mewtwo's lorge baby

[ravennaortiz]

I got my Juice fill. Now I need my Happy fill.

Happy and Coffee: Happy becomes a Cat Dad! From he doesn’t want a cat to teaches cat to do tricks 😆

Thank you!!!

This brought me so much joy lol! Feel free to pop back in for more!

Happy was not one for having a living being in his home let alone a pet. His lifestyle was too dangerous.

So one night coming home from a run it was easy for him to walk by the little creature in his driveway.

The next day was just as easy if a bit more annoying because Juice drew attention to it when he stopped by. "You know there's a kitten outside right?" Juice had asked to which Happy had grunted his answer. "Its cute. Think its lost? I wonder where its family is?" stated Juice as he looked back out at the kitten as it walked towards the open door. "Don't speak cat. Shut the door" snapped Happy.

The next couple of days Happy barely left the house but every time he opened the door the little creature bolted towards him. "Shoo! Go away!" he would grumble. Though its pitiful mews were starting to get to him.

"Alright, you can stay. Yard only" stated Happy at the end of the week as he put a little cat house down on the porch with some food and water he had picked up on his way home. "This doesn't mean we are friends" he stated as he gave the cat a small pat on the head before going inside.

"Dammit" grumbled Happy as he got out of his bed as a thunderstorm raged on. It had been raining all day and he hadn't seen the cat in a few days.

"And what is this little fellows name?" inquired the veterinarian as she walked in the exam room. "Smiles" replied Happy as he sat the cat carefully on the table. "Cute. Well lets get our exam done and some vaccines then we will get you two on your way" explained the vet as she started to examine Smiles. "He gotta get poked" murmured Happy worriedly as he looked at the needles. "Those are huge"

"Yeah he's the smartest cat alive. Uses the toilet, knows how to put on his motorcycle gear for rides, Square up for fights, fetches, talks, sits and walks on two legs. Smarter than a border collie. In fact I think if he had thumbs I could teach the little bastard how to use a gun and knife" raved Happy as he demonstrated Smiles tricks for the club.

Go to event page

[ask-eden]

Alaxia remains practically frozen in place, not even his tail was able to swish around like normal Almost as if he had stopped breathing on the spot Etoile fiddles with their own tail and continues to ramble on, not acknowledging the other mew's sudden stillness

Etoile: Do you keep it to appear cool? Not as a insult of course, I just know a long time ago I remember even your father went through a phase of "scars being cool" Etoile: Are scars still cool? Am I out of touch? Etoile playfully wiggles their tail tip in their hands and they giggle at themselves. Alaxia spoke suddenly, causing Etoile's pupils to snap over suddenly at him Alaxia: I... Keep it. For personal purposes. Not to appear a certain way to others. Alaxia: I can heal it but.. I don't want to. I want to remember it. Etoile raises a brow, a sharp trill purr of curiosity escapes them Etoile: Why would you want to remember a random giratina attacking you exactly?

Alaxia: Just. To remind myself that not every universe is happy to have visitors. That's all. Etoile: Hm. Do you still jump through random portals like you did when you were a kitten? Alaxia: Well. No. Etoile: Then I'm having some trouble understanding your reasoning. You've been attacked by things before, yet you don't keep those scars. Why not keep a scar to remind you not to mess with poison pokemon? Or the scar to remind you to not touch the hot spots on a typhlosion's neck? Alaxia remains silent for a moment, causing Etoile to lean in a bit closer Etoile: Plus, you seem to go out of your way to keep it covered all the time. Why keep it if you don't want to show it off? I bet it would be a hot ice breaker for any new person. Etoile: If I didn't know any better, I would think there is more to that scar than a random attack~ Are you hiding something from me Alli- Alaxia: NO. I'm not. It is just my first scar and I want to keep it. That's all. That's all there is to it. Etoile doesn't seem to jerk in surprise at Alaxia's sudden interruption, only their pupils turning into slits as they make eye contact with him.

Etoile remains silent for a moment, pupils flickering back and forth, looking Alaxia up and down with a unreadable expression. Alaxia dips his head a bit in respect, forcefully making himself smile awkwardly to try and apologize. Alaxia: Sorry for snapping, My Mew. I didn't mean to speak out of turn. Alaxia: I just.. Really want to hear what you have to say! It's not every day you have a private conversation with someone! Is something wrong? Alaxia forces another smile to appear friendly, despite the lies coming through his teeth. In all honesty he didn't care at all what Etoile had to say to him and wanted to be done with this mew. His mind already trying to think of another way to once again send Etoile on a pointless fetch quest. There is another small silence between the two, as Etoile stares for a moment longer before suddenly speaking once more in a cheery tone. As if the awkward conversation had never happened.

"..... what ....... "

[thefivecrowns]

“Swiveling her ears, Adderstep’s goading was interrupted by the sound of Bramblestar’s booming voice atop the Maple Ridge, reminding SkyClan a tradition would take place soon; the Coldest Night. Did she want Foxsnare to be a part of that? They were Clanmates. ‘I think your tantrum has lasted long enough…’ She murmured a little softer, though her phrasing still prickly, ‘It’s an important day for SkyClan. Join me, we’ll fetch some nest material.’    Foxsnare's mind raced, already planning out the best places to gather the best moss and most downy feathers. It wasn’t a competition, but Foxsnare had always enjoyed winning. His attention refocused at Adderstep’s offer, a questioning look dawned on his face. He blinked curiously at her, before in a second, his expression shifted and he wore a guileful grin. ‘Another challenge or just a simple excursion between Clanmates? My heart leans towards the first option,’ he mused, standing to his paws as his eyes scanned the camp. ‘You said it yourself: ‘There’ll be plenty of time for rematches, Foxy.’’    Although tension still bubbled in Adderstep’s chest, she was glad to see a shimmer of mischief return in Foxsnare’s eyes. That irritated, standoffish demeanour he’d exuded before, vanished before her caramel gaze. She couldn’t hold back her chuckle at the abrupt switch, eyes glittering with reignited passion—who was she to pass up on a competition? It looked like their rivalry was back in full swing. ‘I think you’re biting off more than you can chew!’ The tan-black molly grinned cockily. ‘Don’t tell me you’ll cry if it doesn’t go your way again,’ she teased, whipping her tail over Foxsnare’s ears.   ‘You’ll eat those words Addy,’ Foxsnare mewed in a sing-song tone, words turning to fog in the air, though he was already scheming his road to victory. He stood to his paws quickly, only narrowly avoiding a cuff to his ears. In his own observations, Adderstep was blunt and very serious, the opposite of himself. But they did share one commonality: their competitiveness.”

Check out this snippet from a member interaction in SkyClan, one of the five Clans in the River Territory! They inhabit the Maple Forest northeast of the grand Gathering Island, and are led by Bramblestar, a dutiful yet childish leader.

SkyClan is the eldest of the River Territory Clans, and as such, is the most traditional, valuing and defending their history no matter how outdated their practices are. Though they no longer reside in them, they are devoted to the trees; dendrology is a significant part of apprentice training, and warriors incorporate the tall maples into every aspect of their lives, including using them as their primary hunting and fighting tool. They’ve honed the unique skill of cloudhopping, a method of transportation that requires warriors to hop from branch to branch in the treetops, through which they scout out their territory to compose maps and identify landmarks. SkyClan is proud of their tree-centric lifestyle, believing it also signifies their connection to StarClan.

After their leader Finchstar “betrayed” Hawkstar by letting ThunderClan stay in the River Territory, SkyClan was disbanded by DuskClan, with only a few felines able to flee the conflict. The rest became DuskClan warriors, forced to abide by Hawkstar’s rules and support his attacks against the opposing Clans; when it came to the final fight, though, most rallied against him and helped drive DuskClan out. Thanks to Bramblestar, SkyClan has been reinstated as the fifth River Territory Clan, and is currently undergoing restoration as its members settle back into the Maple Forest.

Interested in reading more about SkyClan? Learn more here! You can also read up on more of their history within the roleplay by viewing our Past Plots doc found in the Main Doc.

Character & Snippet Text Credits: Adderstep [left; @/Kiteru], Foxsnare [right; @/Junebug]

Art Credit: Ranger [@ranger2304]

[wc-confessions]

I’m anti-Bramblestar, but one thing I realized while reading Squirrelflight’s Hope is that Bramblestar never threatened Leafpool’s life like some anti-Bramblestar documents claim. He did stop her from treating Sunrise, but never threatened to kill her. Squirrelflight thought he would fight her, but he didn’t and he didn’t threaten her. I hate Bramblestar and he is abusive, but saying he threatened Leafpool or saying that he said he “would shred her” isn’t true. Just want to correct that. Direct excerpt below for those who don’t believe me.

“As Hawk and Snow clustered protectively around their campmate, Leafpool got to her paws. “You can argue until dawn for all I care.” She turned toward the medicine den. “All I know is that StarClan hasn’t told us to let this cat die. I’m fetching herbs to treat her. I will not sit vigil for a cat I could have saved.” She began to head across the clearing.

“No!” Bramblestar leaped in front of her, squaring his shoulders as he stared at her. Leafpool froze, her eyes wide.

Squirrelflight’s paws seemed rooted to the ground. Was Bramblestar going to fight her sister to stop her treating a wounded cat? As she blinked in disbelief, Sunrise let out a low groan. She was dying! Energy surged beneath Squirrelflight’s pelt. She crossed the clearing and pushed in front of Leafpool, meeting Bramblestar’s fierce gaze with her own. “Let her go,” she growled.

Bramblestar stared at her miserably. “We can’t keep doing this,” he whispered only loud enough for her to hear. Desperation edged his mew. “If you keep undermining my authority, you could destroy the whole Clan.”

Squirrelflight held her ground. “I have to do what I think is right.”

“Even if it costs you your Clan?”

“ThunderClan is stronger than that,” Squirrelflight spat. “At least I hope it is. If our future depends on letting a cat die, then it’s not the Clan I thought it was.”

Bramblestar stared at her. Uncertainty glittered in his gaze. “Why are you doing this to me?” His words pierced her heart. “You’re my deputy. You’re my mate. You’re supposed to support me.”

“Being a good deputy doesn’t mean blindly following orders.” Squirrelflight didn’t move. “It means standing up for what I believe, and this time, I believe I’m right.” The camp seemed to swim around her. She knew she was hurting him. But she had to convince him. As the Clan watched her silently, their eyes round in the moonlight, Bramblestar backed away.

His gaze flicked to Leafpool. “If you insist on treating Sunrise, go ahead. But take her to the medicine den. If she’s out of sight, perhaps the Clan will feel less angry.” He nodded toward the Sisters. “They can stay in the elders’ den. Berrynose and Bumblestripe will stand guard tonight. Move Millie, Brightheart, Cloudtail, and Graystripe to the nursery.” Around him, the Clan got to their paws. Mousewhisker and Twigbranch helped Tempest and Hawk lift Sunrise. Leafpool nosed her way into the medicine den. Bramblestar narrowed his eyes, his face like stone. Squirrelflight tried to drag her gaze from his, her heart cracking as he curled his lip. “StarClan wanted unity among the Clans,” he snarled. “Thanks to you, there’s not even unity in ThunderClan anymore.”

It’s still shitty how he did the whole situation with Sunrise, but yeah. He never threatened to kill Leafpool or “shredded her” like some documents claim. He’s still abusive, but making up things that never happened in the books spreads misinformation.

.

[fatedheavylion]

Have I ever mentioned I do artfight every year lol

My b I'm OtherworldlyBeast on artfight (I think) so see you there ✌🌈

[beefrobeefcal]

Omg I’ve just seen pictures of waffles at the end of a fic he’s soo cute 😭😭😭 his nose is so boop-able I love him 🖤🖤🖤

Waffles would be delighted to know you think he's cute

Some fun facts about Waffles:

he is EXTREMELY food motivated. I have taught him how to sit and fetch with the promise of rotisserie chicken. If you try to boop him, he will assume you're going to give him food.

just because he's food motivated doesn't mean he's well behaved. When Mr. Beefcal get after him for stealing socks or pestering his siblings, he looks at him like he's been interrupted. But if I show him the slightest sign of disappointment, he whines and rolls over, showing me his tummy and makes air biscuits.

He is the baby of the household and he knows it. He's a whiny, needy bag of cat meat and he just wants cuddles from me. No one else. Mr. Beefcal pets him? He gets a dirty look. People come for a visit, he will herd them to the front door to get them to leave as soon as they arrive (unless there's food - then he will work the room like a high end escort).

The pics above - I promise he was purring and making biscuits the whole time. He gazed at me lovingly as I dressed him up and told him he looked like a "little ben franklin" and the "eggplant pope". The moment he looked uncomfortable, I removed everything. All the pics were taken in a matter of minutes.

Waffles is a doctor... of Mew-clear Physics. [hold for applause and laughter]

There are three other BeefcalCats - The Wagon, The Fry & ScootyPuff Jr.

Yours in sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜 + Dr. G. Waffles

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 2

The forest flew by in a blur of grays, browns, and greens as Mistyfoot and Mousefur bolted after Spiderpaw. The leggy apprentice's stride was shockingly long, and Mistyfoot found herself once again falling back on advice she had been given on the chosen cat's journey - to control her breathing and extend her legs. Despite how things were between them today, she appreciated learning such a useful tip from Crowflight on their journey.

They barreled through thickets of bracken and bramble, ignoring the drag of sticks and prick of thorns. Mousefur eventually lagged behind, panting raggedly, but there was too much urgency in the air to slow down for her. Spiderpaw's trail of fear-scent was powerful, and as they drew closer to whatever she had found, the coppery stench of blood quickly overtook that sour smell.

What had Spiderpaw encountered, Mistyfoot wondered, worry mounting on her shoulders - was it some trouble with WindClan? The border wasn’t far, and WindClan had set up ambushes on ThunderClan territory before...

Mistyfoot's ears pricked. She could hear a thin wailing coming from just ahead, behind a clump of brown, brittle ferns. The three of them burst through, shattering the delicate stems. As they came to a halt, spraying dust and dirt with their paws, Mistyfoot's eyes went wide - though thorns and plant matter were stuck in her coat, she barely felt them once she took in what lay before her.

They were in a small glade, near enough to the Divide for Mistyfoot to hear the sound of its waters but far enough to be out of sight of the border. The ground here was oddly clear of undergrowth but for a cover of old leaves, and there in the middle of them, thrashing in the mud, was a kitten.

He couldn't have been more than four moons, by Mistyfoot's estimate, with soft, cream-colored fur that darkened around his face and paws, though the mud he had ground up did its best to obscure him. He seemed to be caught by his tail, which was stuck firm in the leaves, and his whole back end was plastered with blood.

Surrounding him were two more kittens, a tom and a she-kit. The tom was white, with patches of pale gray, while the she-kit was gray, with patches of dull cream. They didn't seem to notice the newcomers, staring with rapt attention at their struggling brother with horrified expressions.

Finally, pacing around the whole scene with her tail lashing, was a lovely, long-furred queen, very obviously the kitten's mother by the faint sweetness of her milk-scent. Her fur was pale cream, her face and legs darker like her son, and her eyes were a gorgeous blue that shimmered with worry.

“Great StarClan, what happened here?!” Mousefur gasped, her breathing rough.

The queen stopped pacing and looked up, startled by the newcomers. The fur along her spine lifted, and she opened her jaws - but her eye caught on Spiderpaw, and whatever she was going to say, she swallowed. She mewed instead, her voice high-pitched and desperate, “This is all you brought?!”

Spiderpaw, panting, insisted, “It's okay! This is my mentor, Mousefur, and Mistyfoot, our deputy - there are no two smarter cats in ThunderClan!”

The queen looked momentarily baffled, staring at Mistyfoot and Mousefur as if they were birds, not cats.

Swallowing, Mistyfoot stepped forward and repeated Mousefur's question: “What happened?”

“We... We were chased over the river by some mean cats on the moors,” the queen explained, gathering herself, “We'd stopped to take a break here after going over that horrible tree-bridge when suddenly, my dear little Berry got his tail caught in something!”

Berry, the kitten, thrashed some more, crying out in pain, his little sides heaving with effort. Mistyfoot's spine tingled at the sound. Her mouth felt dry. WindClan chased them off? How could they be so cruel? More important though was the young cat’s desperate need for aid.

“Spiderpaw, go fetch Shadepool, quick!” Mistyfoot ordered. The black she-cat nodded and shot off, crashing through the undergrowth without question. Mistyfoot turned her head back to the queen and asked, “What's your name?”

“My name?” squeaked the she-cat. “Why does that matter right now?”

“Please,” Mistyfoot insisted. Mousefur crept forward, placing her paws carefully on the ground until she reached the kitten and began to sniff.

The queen looked petulant, glaring at Mousefur as she edged closer to Berry, but eventually, she relented and answered, “Daisy. I'm called Daisy.”

“Daisy,” Mistyfoot repeated. She must be a loner. “Daisy, I sent Spiderpaw to fetch one of our medicine cats, but in the meantime, we're going to try and free your son. I need you and your other kits to stay calm. Okay?”

Daisy's fur fluffed, but she nodded and swept her plumy tail around her other two kittens, drawing them close to her and away from Berry. “Please help him,” she pleaded, trembling. Her eyes shimmered, and she winced whenever Berry made a sound. It seemed like she was listening, for now.

“What're we looking at, Mousefur?” Mistyfoot asked, padding close to her friend.

“No idea,” Mousefur admitted. “Whatever has the kit's tail has gone deep beneath his fur.”

Mistyfoot drew close, sniffing. She smelled Berry's kit-scent and blood, overwhelmingly, but beneath it all was something alien but familiar: “Twoleg,” she muttered.

“Twoleg?” Daisy repeated, confused. “You mean the Nofurs?”

Nofur? Mistyfoot considered the word - it must've been another term for a Twoleg. She'd heard Purdy, the old loner who had helped them through a Twolegplace, call them Upwalkers. Everyone must have a different one.

“Yes,” Mistyfoot explained. “I think a Twoleg did this.” Why, though?

Daisy's ears pricked. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “Oh no, oh no, oh no...”

“Do you know what this is?” Mousefur asked. She lifted her muzzle to look at Daisy with cold eyes, her nose smeared with a little mud and blood from Berry’s thrashing.

Daisy nodded, her fur fluffed up in alarm. “The Nofurs who took care of the barn I lived in talked a lot about how the Nofur who lived in the cabin in the pines laid these traps for foxes every few seasons,” she whispered. “It upset them because sometimes their dogs or chickens would get caught, and not all made it out of them alive. I thought we had left in time to avoid this...!” She shivered. “Oh, the sounds those things make when they're caught! It's horrible...”

While the queen trembled, Mistyfoot considered her words. She's a loner from the barn on WindClan territory, then, she thought. She recalled hearing that there were kittens in the barn - why had she left such a safe, prey-rich place?

Not the time, she decided. Berry needs us to get him out of this.

“Look at this, Misty,” Mousefur hissed.

The dusky she-cat gestured with a paw, and Mistyfoot hunkered down to get a better look. While she had been talking to Daisy, Mousefur had cleared away some of the mud and leaves around Berry's tail, which was ominously still.

What lay hidden there boggled Mistyfoot's mind for a moment - it was difficult at the best of times to figure out what a Twoleg object was, but this one was more bizarre than many of the things she had seen. The closest she could compare it to was a large, shiny butterfly with two strands of long, thin fence-web that clung to the back of its wings. That fence-web had captured Berry's tail, and the butterfly's wings were folded up almost in victory.

He must've sat on it without knowing and made it snap, Mistyfoot guessed grimly. Staring at this - what had Daisy called them? A trap? - she could imagine how easy it would be for them to snap shut around a fox's thin leg, shattering bone and muscle. She could also imagine what they might do to an unsuspecting cat, which made her queasy.

“How do we get it open, do you think?” Mousefur wondered. She glanced up at Mistyfoot, her pale eyes worried. “You've got way more experience with Twoleg nonsense than me.”

Mistyfoot grimaced. “Give me a moment,” she mewed. From the way Berry had stopped thrashing and mewling, she knew she didn't have long - he had lost so much blood, and shock could give way to unconsciousness. The poor mite just lay there now, trembling, his eyes unfocused.

She tried to imagine how this thing might work, and it seemed simple enough - step on it, and those wings would snap up and trap whatever they had caught. So, perhaps, pushing the wings down would release it - but with what? A cat's weight was probably not enough to accomplish that, or any animal might get out. There had to be another way, an easier way, for Twolegs to deal with this.

Mistyfoot peered down at the trap again and, paws trembling, reached out to feel for something, anything that might help her. She heard Mousefur hiss a warning, but Mistyfoot was pretty sure that since the trap had already caught something, it couldn't do it again.

There has to be a reason its base is so hidden...

Her claw caught on something. Mistyfoot's ears pricked. Belly deep in the muddy earth, she practically had her nose right in the trap's base as she tried to peer at what she had found - a small hole in the tiny little metal square hidden beneath the dirt and leaves. She could see something shiny and silver in there, like the wings that had caught Berry’s tail.

“Mousefur, get a stick,” Mistyfoot ordered. “One that's long and very thin.”

Mousefur obeyed and, a moment later, returned with exactly what Mistyfoot was looking for - a long, thin stick. Mistyfoot repositioned herself, lining up the thinnest end of the stick with the opening she had found. Carefully, she began to push the stick into the snare until she felt resistance.

Mistyfoot prayed to StarClan that she had found something, otherwise this looked ridiculous, and worse, it might hurt Berry more. Planting her paws at the end of the stick closest to the snare, she pressed with all her weight. She heard Daisy hiss with worry.

There was a soft click, and, gloriously, the wings of the butterfly flapped down, and the fence-webs parted.

Daisy let out a yowl of delight, and sensing his freedom, Berry shot off, barreling right into his mother's paws and bowling over his siblings in a trembling heap. The queen captured her son in her paws and began to cover him with licks, purring as loud as a thunderstorm.

Trembling, Mistyfoot stepped off of the stick. The moment the pressure was released, the butterfly snare snapped shut again, but this time, it had caught nothing but the bloody fur it had torn from Berry's flanks and tail. Mistyfoot felt so relieved that she thought she might be sick again.

Before anything more could be said, Spiderpaw and Shadepool emerged from the undergrowth. Spiderpaw looked exhausted from running so far so fast, and Shadepool was winded, carrying a bundle of herbs in her mouth. She observed the scene with a calm gaze.

“You figured it out!” Spiderpaw gasped, looking at the trap. “What did you do?”

“That can come later, youngster,” Mousefur rasped. She drew a shaky paw over her ear. “For now, we need to get this poor mite back to camp.”

Daisy looked up from her son. “C-Camp?” she repeated, eyes darting between all the cats present. She curled her tail tighter around her kittens.

“Yes,” Mistyfoot meowed. She looked at Daisy and willed her to understand. “We live not far from here - you'll be safe with us while your son recovers.”

Daisy looked uncertain, and Mistyfoot didn't blame her - though they had helped, they were still strangers she knew nothing about. Mistyfoot knew from experience that Clan ways were strange to outsiders.

“Please come,” Spiderpaw begged. Her tail twitched back and forth. “Where else is there for you to go?”

Daisy's expression softened into sorrow. Mistyfoot saw her gaze down at her kittens, and she licked each one between their ears, lingering on Berry most of all. She was clearly weighing her options, and Mistyfoot wondered if she regretted leaving her barn.

“Okay,” she decided, finally. “We'll come with you.”

Shadepool set down her bundle of herbs. “Before we go, let me just stop the bleeding...”

———————————————————

It was sunhigh by the time they returned to the camp, Mistyfoot leading the way through the thorn tunnel. Mousefur and Spiderpaw followed behind, each one carrying one of Daisy's exhausted gray kittens by their scruffs, and after them were Daisy and Shadepool - the queen had insisted upon carrying Berry on her back while Shadepool monitored him closely as he had finally passed out from the shock.

Nightfrost, washing beside the warrior's den, was the first to notice them. Leg still high in the air, he looked up and mewed, “Whoa!”

Soon enough, most of ThunderClan was crowding around Mistyfoot and the newcomers, the scent of strangers and blood drawing them out from the corners of camp. Daisy hissed, nervous, backing up towards the thorn tunnel as if to leave, her eyes wide to their whites at the sight of so many strangers.

“Who’s this?” Whitewing mewed, head tilted curiously.

“Smells like the moors,” grunted Snowstep, signing with his paws. “Are they WindClan?”

“They’re not any WindClan cat I know,” remarked Rainwhisker, signing back. “Loners?”

Mistyfoot thrust herself forward and meowed, “Everyone, give us space!”

The warriors obeyed, backing up, but gossip began to fly through the air like a cloud of flies. Rainwhisker and Ashfur bent their heads together, and Dustpelt had Cinderpelt's ear. Snowstep’s tail was lashing. Mistyfoot fought to keep herself from bristling - couldn't they at least wait until Daisy was out of sight?

“Let's head to the medicine cat's cave,” Shadepool insisted quickly. She wrapped her tail gently around Daisy's shoulders. “It's quiet back there, and like I was saying, Brackenfur and I can take a look at each of you...”

Mistyfoot thanked StarClan for Shadepool, and as they made their way to the back of the camp, she flicked her tail to beckon Nightfrost close. The small black tom looked so curious, and Mistyfoot knew that he was just dying to know what had happened and who these new faces were, but he was thankfully keeping his jaws shut.

“Is Tinystar's patrol back yet?” she asked.

Nightfrost shook his head. Mistyfoot felt worry bloom in her gut - what if WindClan had accosted her leader like they had Daisy and her kittens? “What about ShadowClan?” she wondered, hoping for better news.

“Quiet,” Nightfrost remarked.

His tone was uncertain. Mistyfoot pressed, “Quiet good, or quiet bad?”

“I'm not sure, honestly,” he admitted. His pale eyes wavered. “Their border seemed fine along the stream, but as soon as it broke into the woods near the greenleaf Twolegplace, it seemed faint, like they haven't bothered to keep that side of it up as often.”

Mistyfoot's ears pricked, her pelt prickling. “The whole way?”

Nightfrost nodded. “From there and beyond,” he elaborated. he shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea why - ShadowClan has always been really assertive about their borders.”

It is odd... Ever since she was a kit, ShadowClan had kept their borders strong no matter what troubles they faced. Showing any sort of weakness was something that they had always staunchly refused to do.

“Anything strange about their scent?” Mistyfoot asked. “Sickness or fear?”

“It was hard to tell,” Nightfrost admitted, shrugging. “We didn't run into a patrol; it's not like we could ask...”

Mistyfoot nodded in understanding. Great - problems on both borders now! she complained inwardly. With ShadowClan, she couldn't imagine that it was nothing. I can ask Stoneheart about it at the next Gathering. Her brother surely wouldn't keep something serious from her.

“So, what's going on with these new cats? Are they staying?” Nightfrost wondered, gesturing with his tail towards the back of the camp. Mousefur and Spiderpaw were emerging from the cave, Spiderpaw seeming to have found her energy again as she bounced around her mentor.

Mistyfoot mewed, “I don't know yet. We found them by the Divide; the queen said that WindClan had run them off. One of the kits was stuck in something she called a fox trap.”

“A what?” Nightfrost repeated, eyes wide.

Mistyfoot waved her tail. “I'm sure I'll be explaining it soon enough,” she sighed. She didn't look forward to that, but if those things were all over their territory, she needed every capable cat to deal with them. “I don't really know anything else. The queen's name is Daisy, and she said she was from the barn up by the Arrival.”

“Whoa,” Nightfrost breathed. “That's a long way!”

“It is,” Mistyfoot agreed, nodding along. “I'm wondering why she bothered leaving, and with her kittens no less...”

The thorn tunnel shifted, and Mistyfoot lifted her muzzle. Tinystar strode into camp, followed by the rest of his patrol. Mistyfoot's gaze searched each one of them, looking for any sign of injury - blessedly, they seemed to be just fine. Graystripe, Cloudtail, and Swiftfoot parted ways with Tinystar as the small black tom approached. Both Mistyfoot and Nightfrost dipped their noses in greeting, and Mousefur sidled close, ears angled to listen.

“WindClan's border is quiet,” Tinystar reported. “It was freshly marked on their end; we must have been just behind their dawn patrol. No signs of any trespassing, either - we checked all the spots they used before the battle.”

“Good,” Mistyfoot sighed. The WindClan dawn patrol must have been the group that had run off Daisy - the timing lined up. Mistyfoot wondered who was on that patrol. However far he might've fallen when he became WindClan’s deputy, she had to hope that Crowflight wouldn't have run off a mother and her kits.

Tinystar looked equally pleased, unaware of Mistyfoot's thoughts. “Let's hope it stays that way,” he mewed. “At least for now.” He glanced around, his tail-tip flicking in thought as his nose twitched. The fur along his spine lifted. “Did something happen while I was gone? I smell strangers and blood...”

Nightfrost flicked his tail. “Well...” he looked to Mistyfoot.

Quickly, Mistyfoot and Mousefur explained again about Daisy. Between them, the story was streamlined and over quickly. “She's with Brackenfur and Shadepool now,” Mistyfoot finished.

Tinystar sighed, relieved. “We must’ve just missed her,” he breathed. His gaze darkened. “If we had run into one another, we could’ve avoided this mess. I’m glad they’re all okay.” Tinystar looked troubled, briefly. “I'll go and speak with her now, then. I've no problem with her staying until her son has healed - you can go ahead and tell the Clan as much.” He glanced about. “I'm sure they're curious.”

They definitely were. The scent of Daisy and her kits, both injured and not, had drawn out each and every cat, even pulling Sorreltail out from the nursery, and heads were bent in speculative gossip. Mistyfoot groaned inwardly and hoped she wouldn't have to repeat herself too much.

Pushing that aside, Mistyfoot dipped her head. “Of course, Tinystar,” she meowed.

“And you can tell them that Spiderpaw's warrior ceremony will be tonight,” Tinystar went on, looking at Mousefur. “She might not have finished her assessment, but her quick thinking helped save a kitten's life!” He purred, “A true warrior never ignores the sound of a kit in pain.”

Mistyfoot's heart warmed. Good news, at least! Mousefur twitched her whiskers. “I shall!” she promised.

Tinystar stretched his forelegs, curling his tail over his back. “Well, off I go, then,” he said. “Get something to eat and then some rest, Mistyfoot. You, too, Mousefur. You've both done well.”

Mistyfoot watched Tinystar pad away towards the back of the camp, the warmth in her heart spreading to her toes. He thinks I did well! The idea was electrifying - it seemed to be further proof of what Mousefur had been saying, that Tinystar had chosen her for deputy because she was worthy.

As Mousefur padded away with a dip of her head, Nightfrost brushed against Mistyfoot's side. “Go and get settled,” he mewed quietly. “I'll bring you something to eat, and I’ll be sure to explain things to anyone who asks.”

[turkeypawed]

THE GREAT FEAR | Prologue

Clans of the Waste Masterpost is HERE! Please review applicable TWs.

MOON 79, 15TH DAY

ROCKCLAN CAMP, SUNDOWN

“We really shouldn’t all be outside like this.”

“Especially after dark.”

“What was that noise?”

“What noise?”

“Alright, everyone!” a sandy brown tabby she-cat trilled, weaving through the crowd of her assembled Clanmates. “We’re almost ready to start. Where’s Whisperfur?”

“In her den,” an elderly silver and black tom muttered, his gold eyes gleaming in the shadows. He and the other elders gathered beneath a jutting outcrop of rock. “Where we all should be.”

“Ignore Coaldapple,” one of the other elders, Chervilfeather, rumbled. He flicked his tail over his denmate’s ears, causing Coaldapple to let out a low hiss.

“Tell your daughter that none of us wish to die just to see her perform some stupid ritual,” Coaldapple growled, his hackles raising. Silence fell around the camp, some cats looked at each other with agreement, others with exasperation at the grumpy old elder.

Volereader wove her way through the throng of cats until she stood in front of Coaldapple. She seemed unoffended. “It’s not a ritual, it’s a ceremony. And you know just as well as anyone, we need something to celebrate these days.”

“Can we not celebrate from inside our dens?” Coaldapple grumbled. “Don’t blame me when the smell all of us out here attract one of those damned Creatures.”

An uneasy feeling rippled through the gathered cats. Tails fluffed up; hackles begun to raise.

“Nevermind that!” Volereader meowed, turning away from the elders and bounding over to the clearing at the center of the camp. “Will someone fetch Whisperfur? It’s time to start.”

An apprentice darted away, leaping up the muddy cliffside with the agility of youth. The RockClan camp was situated on a rock-and-clay cliffside, on a slightly-sloped plateau that had been cleaved from the greater cliff by what must’ve been unnatural forces- or Twolegs. Their dens tunneled deep into the soft earth, connected by a network of well-trodden paths. A small, central clearing had been created by packing dirt and rocks into a platform. During the mid-morning, dazzling sunlight hit the camp directly, and large, flat rocks all around the cliffside provided great sunning spots. Now, in the dusky post-sunset air, the only light was from fireflies that danced just out of reach of the Clan cats.

“Ah!” Volereader chirped, her tufted ears pricking as the sound of clattering stones foretold Whisperfur’s arrival.

The dark gray she-cat picked her way down the cliffside, burdened by her rounded belly. The long white fur of her legs and underside was stained orange with clay and clumps of dirt were caught in her claws, as if she had been digging. Her yellow eyes scanned the assortment of gathered cats, first looking at the fireflies, then at the crowd, then at Volereader, standing beside a pile of flowers, practically bouncing on her paws.

Whisperfur made as if to turn away, but behind her, an orange tabby tom bound up and nudged her on. He whispered something in her ear and she sighed before leaping down the last couple mice-lengths of cliffside to stand in the clearing.

“Excellent, let’s begin!” Volereader mewed. “Peakwind, stand over there, and… can the Council come over to this side, and stand with Logstar?”

Cats slipped past one another, trading places, until Volereader was satisfied with the order.

“Can we get started already?” a striking golden-brown tabby tom grumbled. He sat with the other two Councilmembers, beside Logstar.

“Calm down, Hollowfur,” another of the Councilmembers mewed, blinking encouragingly at Volereader. “This is an important moment for the Clan. We need something to bring us all together. Have some respect for our Lorekeeper.”

“You only say that because it is your sister’s ceremony,” Hollowfur grumbled, but tucked his paws beneath his chest, as if he intended to remain in place despite his protests.

Volereader began to look nervous, her eyes flickering doubtfully around the camp.

“Now what?” Whisperfur mewed, sitting with her back to the crowd, facing Volereader, the Council and Speaker, and her mate, Peakwind.

“Okay, yes,” Volereader mumbled, and then furrowed her brow, as if trying to remember something. “Right. Okay, we are all gathered here today to celebrate the creation of new life, the beauty of motherhood, and the gift to the Clan that is a litter of kits!”

Peakwind’s emerald eyes shone with pride as he gazed upon his mate. Whisperfur shifted uncomfortably under the attention, her dark gray ears swiveling as she tried to take in all of the sounds- murmurs of support and agreement, and a little bit of scattered laughter.

“The bearing of kits is always something to honor,” Volereader continued, unperturbed by her Clanmates’ judgement and skepticism. “By gathering here under the spirits of our Ancestors, we pray to them to ensure a healthy pregnancy, and a safe birth, for Whisperfur, and her kits.”

The Lorekeeper picked up a white blossom, and dipped it in a small nut husk that was full of sticky tree sap. She carefully placed it near the base of Whisperfur’s tail. She continued placing sap-dipped flowers all around Whisperfur’s tail until she reached the tip. Volereader stepped back to admire her work, and swished her own sandy brown tail with satisfaction.

“Um… right! Whisperfur’s tail has been adorned with flowers to signify the creation of new life! May you and your kits have long, happy lives.”

“Hah!” someone shouted from the crowd. Volereader snapped her head around, trying to pinpoint who had said it, but couldn’t. A rare moment of anger flashed across her hazel eyes.

“Thank you, Volereader. Your ceremony was beautiful.” Whisperfur mewed, in an attempt to placate the poor Lorekeeper.

Sufficiently distracted, Volereader turned to Whisperfur and purred as she touched noses with the she-cat. Rainhawk stood from his place among the council and stepped forward to rub his head against Whisperfur’s. Bashfully, Whisperfur endured the affection. She glanced over the top of Rainhawk’s head and made eye contact with her mate, Peakwind. The orange tabby Healer looked on encouragingly.

“Oh, I almost forgot! We’re all to feast now!” Volereader exclaimed. It seemed to be an idea the rest of the crowd could get behind- tails shot up in excitement, anticipatory mews broke the awkward silence that had settled over camp previously. “Hunters, if you would… as we discussed?”

Having heard their cue, the youngest Hunters picked their way over to the storage den and pulled out one dry husk each. The carrying devices were shaped like acorn shells, but larger, and made from prey pelts sewn around sticks or bones, to maintain the concave shape of the object. Handles, made from dried grasses or from the dried innards of larger prey, allowed the cats to carry the husks with ease. The Hunters gripped the twisted handles in their mouths and trotted out of camp, to the Pits, to retrieve prey for the Clan.

The crowd broke up into smaller social groups as they waited for the Hunters to return with the feast. The apprehension about being outside seemed to fade as each cat’s mouth watered with the prospect of freshly-slaughtered prey from the Pits. Whisperfur and Peakwind settled down along the outskirts of the clearing. The expectant queen curled her flower-adorned tail around her paws, seeming to admire it now that she was out mostly of sight of her Clanmates.

Stormspeckle returned first, her dry husk swinging and thumping her in the chest with each bounding stride she took. The black tabby trotted up to Whisperfur and placed the husk before her, presenting a heap of still-warm prey. Whisperfur sifted through the pile, until she found a small quail. Peakwind chose next, selecting a plump mouse.

The other Hunters that had gone to collect prey returned. The Clan had separated into their social castes: the Speaker, Council, and Healers all congregated at one end of the clearing, while the Fighters, Hunters, Makers, and then the Elders separated into their respective groups. Milkface, a cream and black tabby she-cat, trotted over to the Speaker’s group, where each cat selected their prey in order of ranking. Cragwhistle, a dark gray tabby she-cat, presented her husk full of prey to the Fighters, and then to the Hunters, and then to the Makers. Stormspeckle brought her husk to the Elders, and then set it down in the middle of the clearing so that any cat who had not been able to select their prey yet could come and do so.

A few of the younger Makers came up to pick through the last dregs of prey- the smallest, squished ones that had been at the bottom of the husk. After everyone had eaten, leftover prey would be torn apart and the meat would be laid out to dry in the sun, while the innards of the animals would be picked over by the Makers and turned into whatever useful items they could come up with.

Volereader nibbled at her shrew as she studied the cats of her Clan. All traces of their reluctance to participate in the ceremony had been washed away by the feast. A prickle of embarrassment washed over the she-cat as she thought about how many cats had been skeptical, and hostile, about the idea of her ceremony. She had just wanted to do something to bring the Clan together again! She kneaded her paws in the dirt in frustration, churning up the soft reddish-brown clay.

She looked up as the lumbering steps of her father, Chervilfeather, grew closer. The elderly tom rasped his tongue over her forehead affectionately, something he hadn’t done since she was a young apprentice, before slowly settling down beside her. He moved with great care, as if the chilly leaf-fall evening had aggravated his sore joints.

Volereader leaned into the warmth of her father’s pelt and closed her eyes for a moment. She tried to let the feelings of anxiety seep out of her and into the earth through her still-kneading paws.

“I just wanted to start a new tradition,” Volereader blurted out, opening her eyes and glancing at her father, who was watching the Clan with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. “After everything that has happened, and changed, I thought…”

“You want to prove yourself,” Chervilfeather guessed.

“I guess,” Volereader mumbled, feeling defeated. “I know that not everyone thinks I should be the Lorekeeper, since Milkweedmist died before my training was finished.”

“You’re just as good a Lorekeeper as Milkweedmist was,” Chervilfeather insisted. “The Clan is scared right now. Emotions and tensions are high, and they are projecting their insecurities onto other things. If times weren’t as they are, no one would think twice about you being fit to be Lorekeeper.”

“Ceremonies have always been so important in Clan life, to all the Clans,” Volereader explained. “Apprenticing ceremonies, Healers being accepted by StarClan, all of that. The Clans have changed so much recently, I thought new traditions would help everyone feel more secure in our ways.”

“They will, once everyone allows them to,” Chervilfeather rumbled. “I’ve been around since RockClan was formed, and every change, no matter how small, was met with skepticism like this.”

Volereader purred in acknowledgement, and gratitude. She wished she could convince herself that her father was right, but her pelt still prickled with insecurity. She looked up from her half-finished meal and observed her Clanmates again. They were all finishing their meals and depositing the remains of their prey on the flat rocks above the Warriors’ den, near the Firepit. The lowest-rank Makers, Dropletlaurel and Alpinespots, were sitting there sorting the prey and tearing off usable parts.

“Did anyone hear that?” a long-haired, white she-cat yelled. She was sitting on the rocks above the Elders’ den, her white tufted ears pricked as she gazed out into the territory below with her sightless eyes.

“Hear what?”

“Is a Creature coming?”

“If Pranceowl heard something, one must be!”

“Pranceowl has the best hearing in the Clan, you don’t have to tell me twice!”

The Cats of RockClan quickly dropped off the rest of their prey to the Makers, who shoved it into crevasses within the rocks. Then they dove into their dens, burrowing deep into the tunnels within and below the rock formations.

Chest tightening with terror, Volereader helped nose Chervilfeather to his paws and escorted him to the Elders’ den at the bottom of the camp. She followed him inside, taking one last look around camp before she did so. She still didn’t hear or smell anything, and part of her doubted that what Pranceowl had heard had been a Creature, anyway, but she didn’t want to be the one to find out.

“Bed down with me tonight,” Chervilfeather rasped. “My denmates don’t mind, do they?”

Coaldapple grunted in what sounded more like annoyance than agreement, but didn’t argue. Mudfreckle shook her head kindly, and Curlewfoot shifted over to give Volereader room to curl up beside her father. She circled around on his bed of moss and rabbit down, curling up with her head resting on her paws, eyes and ears trained on the entrance of the den.

Though no one said it, Volereader knew that none of the Elders, nor any other cats within the camp, would sleep for some time yet, lest a Creature really have its sights set on the camp. Maybe having everyone outside for the ceremony had been a bad idea, Volereader worried. The scent of cats could have attracted a Creature, not to mention the smell of the prey.

Stop catastrophizing, she told herself. No Creature had come into the camp before, and it was unlikely one would ever, with so many cats around.

Volereader shut her eyes and let sleep overcome her.

Somewhere, not so far away, Something opened its eyes. And its eyes. And its eyes. And its other eyes.

[talonslockau]

Forest of Secrets - Chapter 50

Chapter 49 || Index || Chapter 51

Fireheart did his best to stifle a yawn as he led the Shadowclan dawn patrol back into camp. One of the perks of being deputy was not needing to go on dawn patrol unless he wanted to. Yet as much as Fireheart desired to sleep in, he also wanted to show that he could pull his weight and be a good deputy - at least until the time came when he could finally be just a normal warrior once more.

He padded over to the usual deputy’s spot beneath the Highrock, only to find that there was someone else waiting for him there as he nearly walked into them. The sudden shock was enough to finally wake up his brain, and he nearly fell over as he stumbled back to take in the stocky, thick-furred form of Yellowfang. Just as he was about to mew an apology - or at least a hello - he noticed the panicked look on her face.

Yellowfang? Panicked? That was enough to make him nearly panic, too.

“I need to speak with you.” Yellowfang mumbled to him as she stood up, keeping her copper gaze on him for no more than a heartbeat before turning and all but rushing for her den. Fireheart hurried after her, not daring to keep the old healer waiting. Worries rushed through his mind. Was this about Bluestar? Had some illness befallen her, just as she was making progress? Had something happened to his niblings? Worse yet, had something happened to his sister?

Fireheart was running through all the possible catastrophes as he ducked through the crack in the ravine wall, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness of the healer’s den inside. There were no other cats inside beside Yellowfang herself, who was pacing back and forth in the small clearing. He’d never seen her like this before, and suddenly his fears went from accident or illness to outright death.

“Whitestorm came to speak with me.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, nearly faster than her tongue was able to keep up. “Just after I sent Dewpaw to go fetch some coltsfoot and borage. It’s a bit late in the season for kittencough, but there’s always a chance, and borage will be good for Frostfur when-” Yellowfang paused, taking in a shuddering, raspy breath and slowly releasing it. “You don’t care about all that. The important thing is, we were alone.”

A sudden inkling trickled into the back of his mind as he recalled his earlier conversation with Whitestorm, just before the Gathering. He suddenly suspected he knew what this was about. “And?” Fireheart prompted, doing his best to speak calmly and gently.

She shook her head back and forth, as though trying to shoo off an angry fly buzzing about her head. “He said he’d noticed I’d been spending more time with him lately, and he wanted to know why. I didn’t know what to say!” She raised her eyes skyward in agony, as though Starclan would come down from the heavens and give her the way forward. “He can’t find out, Fireheart. If he knows the truth- if he finds out what I did-”

“Calm down, Yellowfang.” She turned her wild gaze to him, and Fireheart did his best to steady himself in the face of such unbound anxiety. As real as Yellowfang’s fears were - and he was sure they were very real - it was nothing compared to what he had been afraid of. He could handle this - of that he was sure. “Why can’t he find out?”

For a moment, he thought she might unleash any number of creative Shadowclan swears upon him, her gaze becoming dark and stormy as she glared at him. At last, she turned away, forcing herself to take another deep breath. “Isn’t it obvious, Fireheart? If he finds out that I’m Brokentail’s mother - that he’s my grandson - he’ll want nothing to do with me ever again.” Her thorny claws raked along the stony floor of the healer’s den as she kneaded it in agony. “I should- it’s selfish of me, I know, but I’ve enjoyed spending time with him. It makes me imagine what I could’ve had with Brokentail, had- if things had been different.” She bowed her head, no doubt remembering what her son had ended up becoming. “I don’t want to lose that.”

Fireheart took a step towards her, doing his best to appear comforting. “You don’t have to lose that.” He mewed soothingly, reaching out to gently touch her tail with his paw. She didn’t flinch away. “What makes you think that he won’t want to speak with you if he finds out the truth? Whitestorm is patient, understanding, and wise. I think if any cat were to hear you out, it would be him.”

Yellowfang glanced briefly at him as her face screwed up into a scowl before looking away once more. “You don’t understand, Fireheart. Just because you took it in stride doesn’t mean he will. The healer’s code is a sacred thing to Clan cats. Anyone who breaches it must be shunned - that’s what all Clanborn cats are taught from the moment their ears open.”

Fireheart did his best not to react at the none-too-gentle reminder that he wasn’t Clanborn. The old healer was in her own world of agony, he knew, but that didn’t make it sting any less. “And I suppose Dewpaw is a kittypet, too?” He did his best not to let his voice lower into a growl. “Yellowfang, you judge yourself because no one else can. You think you’ve committed the highest sin because of who Brokentail became, and I’m sure narrow-minded cats like Patchpelt or Tigerclaw would agree. But Whitestorm is not them - you should give him a chance, at least.”

She didn’t respond to that, and Fireheart did his best not to lash his tail in frustration. He was suddenly reminded of his apprentice days - was this what Tinyfrost had had to deal with, with him? He mentally noted that he should apologize to his old mentor later. “Yellowfang, look at it this way. You could not tell him the truth, but he’ll expect an answer when he next sees you. Will you be able to lie well enough to satisfy his curiosity? If not, he might stop talking to you because you lied to him. You could avoid him, so you don’t have to answer - but then, you’ll never be able to have anything to do with him again. Is that not exactly what you’re trying to avoid?” He could almost see her mind working as she parsed his question, slowly turning to face him once more. “I can be there with you when you tell him, if it will help. You know I’ll stand by you, no matter what.”

Her face was covered in shadow as she stared at him, her eyes unreadable in the darkness. He did his best to look confident as he met her gaze, waiting for her to make a decision. “Alright.” He perked his ears as she croaked out a response. “Alright. But you have to stay with me.”

Fireheart smiled and nodded affirmatively as he stood up. It was nice being the reasonable one for a change - he could see why Peppermask enjoyed it so much. “Of course. I won’t leave your side.” He flicked his ginger tail towards the entrance. “I’ll go get him now, and we can take a walk together?”

“Now?” Yellowfang’s eyes were as wide as her paws as she stared at him in shock. “But I don’t know what to say!”

“Yes, now.” Fireheart tilted his head as though he were confused. Now he was being a bit petty - but he enjoyed it nonetheless. “I don’t have all day, you know. What with being the deputy and all.”

He turned and left before she could protest further, leaving her alone to gather her wits. Whitestorm was guarding camp, which he knew from assigning the patrols earlier. At the moment, he was talking to his mate, who had been on the dawn patrol with Fireheart. Thornpaw was sitting next to Lionheart, looking quite grumpy from the early morning wake-up.

“Whitestorm!” Fireheart called, the three turning their attention to their deputy as he crossed camp towards them. “Yellowfang needs some help gathering marigold, and Dewpaw’s out fetching other herbs at the moment. Would you mind helping us? I’m sure Lionheart can finish guarding camp in your stead.”

The senior white warrior regarded him with a guarded golden gaze, but Lionheart just chuffed in amusement and tapped his mate with his tail. “I’m sure I could! I was going to take Thornpaw hunting, but I’d happily take some time resting in camp instead. Besides, with Frostfur kitting any day now, the nursery nests need to be cleaner than ever. Isn’t that right, Thornpaw?”

Fireheart did his best not to wince in sympathy as Thornpaw glowered in their direction. Going from a hunting trip to changing out nests - that would put a damper in any apprentice’s mood, and he couldn’t blame the tabby tom in the slightest for his anger. “Fine.” Thornpaw growled before stalking off towards the nursery.

“I’m sure your mother will appreciate it!” Lionheart called after his apprentice, who only lashed his tail in response. Lionheart smirked as he turned back to Fireheart. “Oh, don’t feel bad for him. Goldenflower told me he mouthed off to your sister yesterday when she asked him to fetch her some prey. He could stand to learn some respect for all the queens in our nursery, not just his mothers.”

Any sympathy Fireheart might have had for Thornpaw evaporated in a flash. “He most certainly could.” The deputy agreed readily, before looking back at Whitestorm. “It seems that’s all taken care of, then. If you’ll come?” He questioned, realizing that Whitestorm had never actually answered him.

Whitestorm was still staring at Fireheart, but slowly nodded his assent before getting to his paws. “I suppose it’s only right of me to help out, since Lionheart’s back now.” There was a reluctance to his words that the helpful older warrior would usually never have for such a simple task. He wondered briefly what Yellowfang had said to him, but didn’t ask as he led them to the camp entrance where the old healer was waiting.

She seemed to have collected herself somewhat, no longer looking quite as outright afraid as she led them through the bramble tunnel and up the ravine. They traveled in silence, Yellowfang leading them on a familiar path that Fireheart had taken with her many times before - towards the Twolegplace.

“I take it this is about our earlier conversation?” Whitestorm interrupted the quiet with his question, flicking an ear in response to Fireheart curiously turning towards him. “Marigold doesn’t grow until greenleaf. Spottedleaf taught me that, back when we were young.” 

Fireheart blinked in confusion, before remembering what he’d said to lure the white warrior out of camp. “Oh, I- I guess I didn’t know.” He didn’t know what else to say - short of blurting out the truth of why they were out there, which he didn’t think Yellowfang would appreciate.

As he thought of the old healer in front of them, she suddenly whirled around to look at the two warriors. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.” She growled, her eyes softening as she looked at her grandson. “Please, Whitestorm.”

Whitestorm shifted nervously beside him. Nervous was not a word Fireheart had thought would ever apply to the white tom - but the darting eyes and low ears were confirmation enough that he was nervous indeed. “I can’t do that, Yellowfang.” He mewed at last. “I don’t keep secrets from my mate, and I don’t keep secrets from Bluestar. I- I hope you understand that.”

Yellowfang gasped as if Whitestorm had threatened to kill her where she stood. “Not Bluestar!” She hissed back. “If she finds out, she’ll-”

“Bluestar’s broken the code far more than you, Yellowfang.” Fireheart interrupted before she could finish, the former Shadowclanner looking at him in baffled shock. “Trust me, Yellowfang, she’ll have no problems. As for Lionheart- Whitestorm, would Lionheart tell anyone anything you told him in confidence?”

Whitestorm’s ears perked at Fireheart’s words, his gaze suddenly curious as he appraised the ginger deputy. “You’re cleverer than you let on, Fireheart.” Fireheart blinked, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, but the other tom continued on before he could decide. “If I ask him to, Lionheart will not repeat a word I say - not even to his sister.”

“It sounds like at this point I might as well tell the entire Clan.” Yellowfang growled, but he could tell her bluster was a weak front for the fear coursing through her heart.

“Five cats is not an entire Clan.” Fireheart replied steadily in return, keeping himself calm as he met her gaze. “Bluestar won’t act on this, and Lionheart won’t tell a soul. Is them not knowing worth the price of keeping this secret from Whitestorm?”

The old healer looked like she wanted to scratch his eyes out for asking - yet, after several heartbeats, she swallowed her pride and nodded. “But you will not tell anyone else.” She growled. “Promise me, Whitestorm.”

Whitestorm looked between the other two cats, questions clouding his gaze - but he slowly nodded in agreement. “Very well. I promise I shall never repeat a word you tell me except to Bluestar and Lionheart.”

Yellowfang looked around nervously, as though expecting the woods to be full of enemies. There was nothing. “I ask that you not judge me too harshly, though I understand if you do.” She shifted back and forth, her paws working the ground beneath her into fine sand. “I- I hope you’ll understand.”

“When I was young - much younger than I am now - I fell in love with a tom.” Yellowfang began, each word scraping out of her as though it were being physically pulled out of her throat. “Raggedstar. I- I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I bore him three kits. Two of them died shortly after birth, but one survived.”

It was hard to tell exactly what Whitestorm was thinking - the older tom had always been more stoic and reserved than his mate Lionheart. “Raggedstar only had one child.” He mewed at last, slowly and carefully. “So either he never claimed this child of his, or-”

“Yes.” Yellowfang’s shoulders sagged in defeat as she kept her eyes on the ground, not daring to look at him. “I am Brokentail’s mother.”

Whitestorm was silent for several long, painful heartbeats. Fireheart watched him, fear suddenly rising in his own heart. What if he was wrong? What if Whitestorm wasn’t as accepting as he had led Yellowfang to believe?

At last, the other tom dipped his head. “I understand, I think.” He paused, his brows slowly furrowing. “Partly, at least. I had always wondered why you, of all cats, would advocate for his defense.” 

“Lionheart has been having some trouble mentoring Thornpaw as of late. It seems Tigerclaw left more of a mark on him than any of us would desire.” Whitestorm rumbled on, his claws unsheathing slightly at the mere mention of the exiled traitor. “It all had me thinking about our own kits, soon to be born. I love them with all my being, even though I haven’t yet met them. They are proof of Lionheart and I’s devotion to each other. What would I do if one of them chose that dark path? As much as I would believe that I could guide them, perhaps what I would think to be guidance is only enabling.”

Yellowfang looked up, her flat face full of hard to place emotions. “I advocated for him because I wanted to believe that he could change. I thought maybe in a different Clan, one where he had to rely on others, he would no longer be so arrogant. I thought that having only one life left would humble him, force him to see the error of his ways. Part of me hoped that if I was by his side more, I could persuade him to change.” Her eyes disappeared into a thick scowl. “But I was just enabling him to commit more crimes against a Clan I claimed to love, wasn’t I?”

Whitestorm appraised Yellowfang’s slouched form for a moment, his golden eyes guarded but curious. “A parent’s love is a durable thing, isn’t it? You couldn’t have known that Tigerclaw would use him to try and overthrow Bluestar.” He dipped his head respectfully to the old healer. “It’s easy enough to say what to do with the benefit of hindsight, but there is courage to be had in giving a second chance even to those who have wronged you before.”

Yellowfang heaved a difficult sigh. “I gave him too many.”

Whitestorm shrugged softly in response. “Perhaps.�� He mewed steadily. “Perhaps Bluestar gave Tigerclaw too many chances, between what he did to Tinyfrost and Ravenspirit. But he was a strong warrior, and she wanted to believe he could do great things one day. I wanted to believe that, too. Perhaps that was why I went along with her decision that night.” He shook his head with a sigh before tilting it quizzically. “But while that explains a good deal, I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

Yellowfang’s gaze flicked nervously towards Fireheart, all but begging him to step in - which he did readily. “When Brokentail first became Thunderclan’s prisoner, I was one of the first to guard him. He took that as an insult, of course, and started taunting me, calling me a kittypet, my mother and father kittypets, the usual.” Even now, it was hard to keep his tail from bristling as he listed off the ‘typical’ insults. “I told him that I didn’t know who my father was, and that he could be my father for all I know. I added that it was probably an insult to him to even imply that he was the father of a Thunderclanner, and he…” 

Fireheart trailed off and glanced at his ginger paws, part of him worrying about if he was wrong. Maybe Brokentail had been lying, to try and get him to suspect his Clanmates of being half-Clan. It made more sense than the cruel tyrant telling the truth about anything. But Yellowfang and Dewpaw had both agreed that his thoughts made sense, and even Whitestorm had admitted he didn’t know who his father was. 

He looked back up to see Whitestorm staring at him, obviously puzzled. “He told me that he had had a Thunderclan mate, many seasons ago. He didn’t say much about her - only that she died on the Thunderpath several leafbares ago, when her only kit - a tom - was too young to travel to meet him.”

It was easy to see the moment that everything fell into place for Whitestorm. His eyes widened, pupils growing to the size of the new moon as the senior warrior’s white fur bristled from the nape of his neck all the way to his tail. “No.” Whitestorm choked out, stumbling back a few pawsteps before falling onto his rump, his horrified gaze flicking between Fireheart and Yellowfang. “No - No. That cannot be.”

“You said yourself you didn’t know who your father was.” Fireheart continued, even as his heart tore for the warrior he had looked up to for so long. This was a terrible revelation, he knew - not one that squared with the image of Whitestorm, the pinnacle of wisdom and kindness. “Your mother Snowstorm died on the Thunderpath, didn’t she? In leafbare, when you were still too young to leave the nursery.”

“That can’t be- Brokentail cannot be my father!” Whitestorm choked out the words with a snarl, his sides heaving as he fought to control himself. “You have to be mistaken.”

Yellowfang turned away from them with a low growl, her ears pinned back in humiliated anger. “I told you this was a bad idea.” She hissed to Fireheart.

“Sit down and relax, would you?” Fireheart shot back at the old healer before looking back at Whitestorm, trying to remain calm himself. “Why is it impossible, Whitestorm?”

Whitestorm stared back at him, his eyes still round in horror. “Don’t you remember, Fireheart? I was guarding him the day his rogues attacked. He jumped at me, and I was just defending myself, but I-” The older warrior barely choked back a wail. “If what you say is true, I killed my own father!”

Fireheart blinked in surprise, suddenly remembering that no other cat knew what had truly happened that day. Brokentail had been killed, yes - but it was because Yellowfang had poisoned him with foxglove seeds, in the secrecy of their den. He had unintentionally witnessed it, sneaking into her den in fear that she was being attacked by a rogue, but he had chosen to keep that secret because he knew she had intended for no one to know. As far as the Clan knew, Whitestorm’s blows had not just blinded him, but killed him outright.

He glanced at Yellowfang, wondering if she would now reveal the truth. It was one thing, after all, for Whitestorm to take the blame and credit for killing a rogue leader when they had meant nothing to each other. Now, however, Whitestorm clearly believed he was responsible for killing his own blood, even unintentionally. Even though Brokentail had been a terrible cat, one that truly deserved death, it wasn’t fair for Whitestorm to carry such guilt when the one truly responsible was right there.

“It was not you that killed him.” His heart lifted as Yellowfang spoke, relieved that she had decided to come clean after all. “It was his own actions that got him killed. If he had not attacked you, he would not have died.”

“That may be true, but-” Fireheart’s spirits sank as Whitestorm looked down at his paws. Yellowfang was taking the easy way out, refusing to relieve Whitestorm of his guilt when it was clear that the mere thought was tearing him in two. He could only guess she was afraid that he would reject her for refusing to tell the truth; part of him longed to urge her to reveal what had really happened, but doing so would reveal that he had known all along that she had poisoned her son. He had sworn to himself that he would never bring it up - and so he stayed quiet, even though it pained him greatly.

Then the white warrior’s shoulders slumped and he let out a sob. “All this time…” He took a few slow, stuttering breaths, trying to calm himself. Finally, he looked back up at Yellowfang, his golden eyes filled with a sudden clarity. “One of the only memories I have of my mother is when she was leaving the nursery late one morning. I begged to go with her, and I asked her why she couldn’t stay with me.” Tears came to his eyes at the memory of Snowstorm, lost to him before he was even an apprentice. “She told me that she was going to see my father, and it was too far for me to walk. She promised me when I was big and strong enough, she would take me to see him.”

“Deep down, I always knew he was not a Thunderclan warrior.” Whitestorm admitted, his claws digging into the earth below him as if he was afraid it would fall away from him at any moment. “I had always hoped it was a loner, or- or a kittypet, maybe, like Frostfur… Someone unfamiliar with Clan life, someone I would never meet.” He looked over at Fireheart, his eyes shimmering with salty tears. “Are you really certain? Brokentail is my father?”

He didn’t know what to say - part of him wanted to comfort Whitestorm, but he didn’t want the tom to think he was lying, either. “Brokentail never said the name of his mate or his kit, and of course I’ve never spoken to Snowstorm.” He finally mewed as neutrally as he could. “But too many of the details match up for it to be mere coincidence. When I was talking with Bluestar about Snowstorm’s death, she specifically said her sister ran off to the Thunderpath again, like she made a habit of doing that. When I pressed her about it, she went quiet, like she didn’t want me to think about it too deeply.”

“Bluestar?” Whitestorm’s eyes suddenly blazed with hurt and fury. “You don’t think she knew who my father was?”

Fireheart blinked, suddenly recalling how Bluestar had said Snowstorm had never told her who Whitestorm’s father was. Obviously she had kept her nephew in the dark completely - but now he suddenly had to consider whether she had known all along. He thought back through his interactions with her, knowing he had to choose his words carefully. Whitestorm already felt betrayed enough knowing that his mother had chosen such a sinister mate - even if Bluestar had known, it didn’t seem fair to cause a rift in her relation with her only Thunderclan family over this.

“She never said anything to me directly.” Fireheart said at last, hoping to at least partially ease Whitestorm’s fears. “Whenever it came to Brokentail, she never seemed torn or hesitant regarding him. She’s our leader, of course, and she’s often hard to read, but I think she would have had at least a heartbeat’s hesitation when it came to discussing his fate if she knew he was your father. I think she suspected that your father was Shadowclan, or may have outright known, but I don’t think she knew which cat specifically.”

“There were several handsome young toms around Brokentail’s age in Shadowclan at that time.” Yellowfang added in, though he couldn’t tell if she was trying to be helpful or not. “Spiderfoot, Mousefang, Deerstrike, plus Clawface and Stumpytail. Maybe not Spiderfoot, since you don’t have his paws, but the rest of them could’ve been suspect.”

Whitestorm nodded slowly, taking in what the other two were saying. His breathing began to steady at last as he considered their words. “I see.” He finally murmured at last, barely loud enough for them to catch. “I see.”

“Whitestorm, I- I am sorry I didn’t tell you.” Yellowfang stepped forward gingerly, her copper eyes locked on her grandson as he slowly gained his composure. “I thought you would be better off if you didn’t know. But then you asked me, and I-” She cut herself off, clearly searching for the right words. “All this time, I have regretted my choice. I wish I had never taken Brokenkit back to camp. I wish I had had the courage to stay on my path, instead of trying to have the best of both lives. I thought Brokentail had brought the Clans nothing but grief, pain, and death.”

“But then… But then Fireheart told me about you. My grandson.” Even despite the tension in the air, Fireheart could hear the whimsical joy in her voice. “Despite all the suffering he caused, he left the world one gift - one beautiful, precious gift. A warrior that is wise, and strong, and kind - everything that Brokentail could never be.” She let out a hollow laugh that sounded a bit more like a sob. “It’s selfish of me, I know. I broke the code. I don’t deserve to even look at you, but I- You are everything that I wanted in a son. That is why I wanted to spend every moment I could giving you the love that I could never give my son.” She stared at him, her mouth working as she tried to find more words to explain, but there were none. “I don’t ask for forgiveness, but I- I hope you understand.”

Whitestorm was silent for a long moment, staring off into the distance as Yellowfang watched him pleadingly. At last he looked back in her direction, though he still didn’t meet her eyes. “I understand.” He mewed at last, though the words sounded forced. “I really do. But I… I think I need some time to think right now.”

“Please-” Yellowfang lunged forward, but Fireheart was there to stop her before she could reach her grandson. “Please don’t go! I’m sorry- I didn’t want to hurt you-!”

Whitestorm took a couple tottering steps away as he got to his feet. “I know.” he replied simply. “I know you didn’t. I understand what you’re saying, and I am not mad at you, but I- I need some time alone.” His voice sounded strained and monotone, as though the senior warrior didn’t really mean what he was saying.

“Let him go, Yellowfang.” Fireheart murmured, softly enough that only she could hear. “Remember how you reacted when I told you he was your grandson? You needed time to think then, and you weren’t mad at Whitestorm or me, were you?”

For another few heartbeats, the old healer strained against his shoulder, and he worried she hadn’t listened to him. Then she slumped back, suddenly defeated. “I- you’re right.” She replied just as quietly. “I- I’ll see you back at camp?” Yellowfang offered as Whitestorm began walking off. 

His only answer was a flick of his tail as he disappeared into the bushes.

The silence seemed to echo in the woods, filling Fireheart’s ears. At last Yellowfang turned to the ginger deputy, her face wrought with pain. “Oh, Fireheart… I messed that all up, didn’t I?”

He wished he could reassure her, but they both knew he couldn’t speak for Whitestorm now. “You did the best you could.” He replied at last, though he could hear how weak that sounded. “That may not be enough, but I think Whitestorm will recognize that. And I know he will hold to his word. Things may never be the same between the two of you, but it’s still better than never speaking to him again.”

His words did seemingly little to comfort Yellowfang as she turned away with a heavy sigh. “We better get back to camp. Dewpaw will be wondering where I am.” Her dark gray paws seemed to drag against the ground as she began leading the way back to camp. Fireheart followed her, his own heart suddenly a knot. He’d only been trying to help, but now he was afraid he had made everything worse. He’d been so sure he could handle this, but he’d messed up, just like he seemed to mess up everything else. How could he hope to handle an entire Clan when he couldn’t even get a grandmother and grandson to be on friendly terms?