#fogpetal

[modernlovez]

I should make more of this… I’ll pioneer if I have to

Becoming invested in a basic AU concept so intensely I make a ship for it that I don't think anyone has ever cared about in the history of random pairings

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Nine

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Fernstar?”

The little leader blinked hard, trying to get the blur of sleepiness out of her eyes, and looked up at Viceroyclaw.

“We ought to rest a bit,” she murmured, her wide head close to Fernstar’s to keep their conversation private. “It’s been daylight for a while now, and…”

“I know.” Fernstar sighed and looked behind her. Her collective of Fleet cats, from the powerful patrollers to the scrawny scouts, were boldly following after her, but she could see that they were just as exhausted as she was.

As clearly as her tiredness would allow, she announced, “We’ll stop for a few hours. Let’s get as much sleep as we can before we continue. The trail is still fresh.”

There was a collective sigh of relief. Fernstar stopped a few steps away, where a smooth stone allowed her to climb onto it as a perch. She nodded to everyone, and they all barely took more than a step before curling up where they were, eyes shutting at a record pace. Even Fogpetal only did a quick scan of their surroundings before lying down herself. Viceroyclaw jumped onto the stone with Fernstar, lying close enough that their fur brushed. Fernstar didn’t even acknowledge her guard – drowsiness muffled her thoughts, and she swiftly fell asleep.

When she awoke again, she felt much more alert, but she frowned. Something had scratched at the back of her mind in her sleep, just beyond her hearing, and she wasn’t sure what it was.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Boarpaw was walking past her and paused to rear up a little and meet her at eye level. “You had a bad dream or somethin’?”

Fernstar squinted, focusing, then shook her head. “It’s nothing. Where’s Viceroyclaw?”

“She went huntin’ with Glorypelt and Newtbite. Said they’d be back soon.”

“Good.” Fernstar glanced sideways. The rest of the Fleet were still asleep in the midday sun, which she could see was slowly drying the dew and mud. The warmth sank through her fur and eradicated the last of her shivers. She stretched and yawned. “If you’re tired, you can keep sleeping.”

“Oh, no, ma’am, I’m fine,” Boarpaw said quickly, standing tall. “I was keepin’ watch, ‘case someone came up on us.”

Fernstar gave him a patiently amused smile. “We’re the ones ‘coming up’ on someone.”

Boarpaw looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, voice quieter. “Well, just bein’ sure.”

“Rest a little more, Boarpaw,” Fernstar ordered in about as gentle of a voice as she could. “We’ll be fine.”

Boarpaw shuffled again, opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then nodded sheepishly and walked away, lying down with his fellow Fleet members. Fernstar restrained a chuckle when she heard him start snoring mere moments later.

The wind picked up a little, parting Fernstar’s fur and sending ripples through the grass in the flatland they were resting in. Fernstar watched the shimmering waves, contemplating whether to sleep again herself or to wait for the hunting patrol to return.

Entirely too soon, her thoughts turned to the current mission, and that disappointed hurt clutched at her heart again. Memories of Redheart as an apprentice directing adults in hunts or solving disputes for her juniors almost made Fernstar’s smile return. When Redheart’s mother had died, she’d gone through a change in activity. Not that she hadn’t been a hard worker before, but suddenly she was foregoing sleep to handle problems and somehow transforming the rowdy Clast cats into a respectable family – or about as respectful as they could get while still getting to wrestle for fun. Fernstar hadn’t waited more than a month or two after her naming ceremony before appointing her as the new deputy, and no one had been surprised. There had, of course, been arguments that Redheart was too young, but anyone who’d known her for even a week knew that she was the best choice. Everyone expected her to become leader one day. So had Fernstar.

So what changed?

Try as she might, Fernstar couldn’t figure it out. Going from being a loyal member of the Clan, working up the ranks to eventual leadership, to recruiting cats to leave the Territory with no end goal stated… there wasn’t a connection that she could think of. Redheart had always been sensible and collected, and she had always made it known that she believed in building a better future for the next generation. Abandoning the safest place in the known world (small as the world was) with expecting queens and apprentices in tow was the complete opposite. It just didn’t make sense.

What also didn’t make sense was the sudden turning of the spies. Mistface, at least, Fernstar could understand. He and Greyleaf were in a very tightly bonded family – Mistface had only been recruited because he was the one cat Greyleaf would trust above anyone else, except perhaps their mother. But the others had no reason to ditch their post and follow Redheart wherever she had gone. Laurelclaw was a very meek, peaceful boy, and Beetlefoot was dedicated to his role as a member of the Fleet. Neither of them seemed like the types to run off.

The really odd one was Darkpelt. Fernstar was very familiar with the spy. She was crafty and practical, and took great pleasure in her work. She had been used by the leaders plenty of times, dropping by to give them reports of troublemakers or ambitious deputies to watch out for. Any cat that hired her to find out information would find their time well spent and the price of prey and herbs easy to hand over. She barely ever demanded payment anyway; she just loved being a secret pair of ears.

This sort of cat did not seem to be the sort to foolishly walk off after a wanted molly. Someone in Clast had recalled overhearing her mention that she ‘had a job to do’, but as far as Fernstar was concerned, her mission was completed. All she needed to do was give her report and then wait for the investigation to be done, potentially followed by a trial (which was now almost certain, as much as Fernstar hated to admit it). Darkpelt had never lingered on spying before. She’d release her information to the leaders and leave it at that until she was called back.

What had Redheart said or done that was so compelling that this particular spy wanted to follow her? Was there something she hadn’t told the others, or the leaders?

“Fernstar.”

Fernstar flinched out of her contemplation. Viceroyclaw had managed to get almost in her face without her noticing, front paws on the stone she rested on, a ground squirrel in her jaws.

“I brought you something,” Viceroyclaw mumbled around the prey.

“Oh-“ Fernstar sat up. “Thank you. Did you catch something for yourself?”

Viceroyclaw nodded at something on the ground. She placed the squirrel at Fernstar’s feet before ducking down and retrieving a much smaller mouse.

Fernstar managed to not snort. “I think this squirrel would be better suited for you.”

Viceroyclaw blinked, confused, before glancing down at the squirrel which was a third of Fernstar’s size and murmuring, “Ohhh…” She replaced the squirrel with the mouse and climbed onto the stone, sitting across from her leader and tucking in quietly.

The two ate for a bit, Fernstar observing the other two hunters waking up their friends with lunch. She waited until she had finished her meal and Viceroyclaw was slowing down on hers before speaking.

“I just can’t understand,” she said. “This whole situation is so bizarre.”

Viceroyclaw hummed and looked up with her eyes, an indication that she was listening as she continued chewing.

“It seems to have come out of nowhere,” Fernstar went on, half to herself. “Redheart isn’t like this. And Darkpelt and her team leaving with her…” She looked at her high deputy. “Do you have any ideas why this is happening?”

Viceroyclaw chomped once, twice, swallowed, and cleared her throat. “No. But I don’t really think it matters, the ‘why’. She and Greyleaf did what they did. They should be punished for it.”

Fernstar’s face must have fallen, because Viceroyclaw hurried to add, “Or at least handled. Whatever you and the others decide to do.”

“Right,” Fernstar muttered. She looked back at the Fleet cats, who were all chatting while they ate. They were all so tightly bonded together – some would argue for them being even closer than any of the regular families’ members. She had no doubt that if one of them were in Redheart’s position, at least a few of these cats would follow them into the night. They were loyal that way.

But as far as Fernstar knew, there was no loyalty to anyone in the runaway group except Mistface to Greyleaf, and Greyleaf to him and Redheart. The apprentice, Littlepaw, was supposedly followed by her pseudo-mentor, so there was a connection there, but they didn’t have anything to do with any part of this. What part of a former seer’s dreams encouraged her to just walk off after an almost-certain-to-be criminal? Wouldn’t StarClan have told her to stay away from Redheart, if they still spoke with her?

Would they find other cats? Would they attempt to recruit evacuees again? Who would go with them anywhere?

A light flickered in Fernstar’s head.

She could think of at least one cat. Perhaps one that they were already on the way to collecting.

“Fogpetal!” she called.

The Fleet deputy raised her head up from the remains of her vole and stood up, excusing herself from the conversation she was in. She trotted up to the rock and silently stood at attention.

“Do you know if the Vultures have moved from their position?” Fernstar asked.

Fogpetal shook her head. “They should still be there. They have kits to raise, from what I heard.”

“Good.” Fernstar was surprised by her own sigh of relief. “Then I want two of these cats to make their way over to their camp and guard Greyleaf’s mother. Her name is Nettlecloud – she’s a grey, elderly molly.”

“Oh.” Fogpetal’s eyes widened in realization. “I see. I can have them collect more guards on the way there, if you’d like.”

“That would be good,” Fernstar said. “Send whoever you think is appropriate. Whoever can at least hold back a healer and his Scattered brother.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Fogpetal said, joking.

Fernstar narrowed her eyes. “We may be surprised.”

Fogpetal immediately went serious again, dipped her head in respect, and returned to her party. Fernstar heard her speaking to them and giving orders. In a moment, a grey-brown tom named Thrashercloud and the tortoiseshell Newtbite set off at a loping canter, calling their 'goodbye's and 'good luck's to the others. Fernstar could respect that they didn’t waste any time.

Fogpetal looked back at Fernstar. “Shall we keep moving?”

“Yes.” Fernstar got up. “Before this trail dries up. Everyone ready?”

The Fleet cats immediately followed after their deputy, all confirming that they were good to go. Fernstar didn’t waste any time either – she jumped off of the stone, Viceroyclaw right next to her, and looked at an approaching Boarpaw.

“Can you track a scent?” she asked.

“Oh, of course!” Boarpaw brightened up, looking much more awake. “Me and my mentor, we can do it.”

“Then the two of you will run south, ahead of us, and make sure the trail doesn’t turn anywhere.”

“Right away.” Boarpaw immediately took off at a run, his pale ginger mentor jogging after him with a slightly frazzled smile to Fernstar.

“The rest of you, follow me,” she said to the patrol, and walked forward, ignoring a pang of guilt. “We have hunting to do.”

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Ashwhisper 

Aliases / Nicknames: Grandma, Grammy, Gram-Gram, Witch, Evil Old Hag, Wicked Grandmother 

Gender: she-cat 

Sexuality: heterosexual 

Family: unnamed mother, unnamed father, Crowbreeze (mate), Fogpetal (daughter), Berrykit, Goosekit, Foxkit (grandsons), Doekit, Shadekit (granddaughters) 

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, Cardinalblaze (daughter-in-law) 

Clan: Winterclan 

Rank: elder 

Characteristics: kills to preserve her reputation, kills to teach her daughter a lesson, bigoted, cranky and short-tempered 

Number of Victims: 5 

Number of Murders: 5 

Murder Method: throwing at walls of den 

Known Victims: Berrykit, Goosekit, Foxkit, Doekit, Shadekit 

Victim Profile: her grandchildren 

Cause of Death: head split open, killed by Crowbreeze 

Cautionary Tale: N/A

Story: 

Ashwhisper was a normal, and in her eyes, good cat for most of her life. She had doting parents, a mentor whom she liked (even if she didn't stay close with them after becoming a warrior), a loving and doting mate in Crowbreeze, and the most perfect daughter in the world, Fogpetal. 

Or at least, that was what she thought. As Ashwhisper grew older, she became more and more miffed at how the younger cats in the Clan would act. Getting into relationships with cats of the same gender and changing their StarClan-given genders? What nonsense! What was next, cats getting into relationships with foxes or badgers? 

She couldn't do anything about it, being an elder at this point, but she tried her best to teach the younger cats of the proper ways. Ashwhisper's world came falling down one fateful leaf-fall day, when her precious daughter, Fogpetal, approached her and Crowbreeze, revealing that she had taken a mate. 

Ashwhisper was delighted at first, asking who it was, only to be hit with the awful truth: Fogpetal had become mates with Cardinalblaze, a she-cat! Her beloved daughter was one of them! And even worse, the two she-cats were expecting kits with the help of a donor! 

Crowbreeze had to hold back Ashwhisper from mauling Fogpetal and the curses growing in her belly right then and there, but the once-close relationship between mother and daughter had been irreversibly destroyed. For the rest of her pregnancy, Ashwhisper and Fogpetal maintained an uneasy distance, the latter trying to mend the broken bond and the former utterly refusing.

Things got even worse when Fogpetal's five little brats were born. Cardinalblaze insisted that the kits should at least get to know their grandparents, and it didn't help in the slightest that Crowbreeze absolutely adored the tiny monsters, despite Ashwhisper's attempts to convince him of their awfulness. 

As the five little demons grew older and older, they stuck to Ashwhisper like glue, despite her insistent protests that she wanted nothing to do with them. Eventually, when the kits were about two and a half moons old, Ashwhisper finally snapped. 

The brats had been pestering her about why she hated their mommies so much, and she couldn't take it anymore. One by one, Ashwhisper threw each of the kits at the walls of the elder's den, their skulls cracking and splattering the stone with blood and brain matter. After she was done, she stepped back to admire her handiwork, only to be rudely interrupted by an ear-piercing scream.

It was Fogpetal, staring in horror at the carnage that had just occurred. With tears brimming in her eyes, two words escaped her mouth: "Why, Mother?"

Ashwhisper had screeched that it was what Fogpetal deserved for engaging in such sinful behavior, that none of this would had ever happened if she had fallen in love with and had kits with a tom like a normal she-cat, that her "kits" were abominations and deserved to die. 

Footsteps echoed behind them, and Ashwhisper and Fogpetal whirled around to see Crowbreeze, mouth agape in horror. Ashwhisper demanded that Crowbreeze say something to agree with her. 

The only response she got from her mate, however, was a tackle that launched her into the back of the den, and the crack of her own skull splitting open.

Additional Information:

--Submission by @starfalcon555​

--The only reason why Fogpetal allowed her kits around Ashwhisper was that Cardinalblaze had very supportive parents and wanted both sets of grandparents to be involved in the kits' lives, something she would regret until the day she died.

--Fogpetal and Cardinalblaze probably do have another litter of kits.

--B!

--I!

--T!

--C

--H!

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Seven

(AO3 counterpart here.)

As the clouds moved south, slowly losing their grip on the sky, gradually growing holes exposed the stars and moon. Those reflected in the puddles scattered amidst the grass and occasional patch of flat stone that nature had not yet taken over. It was quiet now, save for the rustle of plant life and the occasional soft drip of a paw leaving water and droplets returning to their pools as the paw lifted up and out.

The petite ginger leader of the Clast, Fernstar, squinted into the dark. Her eyes were fine, but she had the sensation of something dangerous approaching her and her crew as they walked for the Clast settlement. It irked her that she didn’t see anything, but couldn’t shake the feeling off.

“I don’t like it.” The bulky calico, Viceroyclaw, was the one to break the silence. Fernstar’s high deputy was muted, but everyone looked at her all the same. “Something’s wrong.”

“Given that screamin’ we heard…” A dark, grey-brown apprentice just behind her drew in a breath, and his drawl had a lagging anxiety in it. “Ma’am, shouldn’t I go up ahead, see what’s goin’ on?”

The scout-in-training had asked that three times now, and Fernstar returned with her third answer. “I don’t want anyone getting caught in something before we get there.”

They had been a very long ways away from the settlement – just far enough to barely see several mounds of stone – when, through the storm, had come the sounds of battle. Yowls and screeches, riddled with raindrops, shook the entire party, and the patrollers had wanted to run to investigate. Fernstar had stopped them, because fighting of that scale was extremely rare in the Territory and she was not eager to get anyone hurt for an unknown reason. Before long, the noise had died down, but everyone was still unsettled.

Now, they were a minute or two’s walk away from the houses, and Fernstar wanted her whole patrol together in case they needed to make a run for it. Glorypelt had managed to convince her to let him take his apprentice with them on this journey as a test to see if he was ready to earn his name. She was not eager to send the boy into potential danger on his own.

Nothing more was said until they were close enough that two cats leaning against the walls of the houses twitched their ears and looked up at them. One of them got to their feet and nodded to the other, who limped off into the cobweb of stone.

“Thank the stars you’re here,” the cat said when they were within earshot. Fernstar recognized her as Frostclaw, one of the patrollers sent as a relay for the spies. “It all went horrible, Fernstar. It was so sudden…”

“We heard fighting.” Fernstar stopped to dip her head respectfully to the white molly. “Is anyone badly hurt?”

Frostclaw’s eyes squeezed shut with grief. “We lost Striderfoot.”

The Fleet members with Fernstar all gasped or cried out in anger. Only the plain grey molly at Viceroyclaw’s side remained silent. She bowed her head, and Fernstar saw her claws dig into what little earth could be found in the cracks of the stone.

“I’m sorry, Fogpetal, ma’am,” Frostclaw said to this molly. “It all came out of nowhere. Everyone was fighting. It was chaos. And then Striderfoot, she jumped on someone, and her head hit a wall when they fought back…”

 Fogpetal lifted her paw and Frostclaw fell silent. She looked at Fernstar, who gave one curt nod, and stepped forward. “Take me to Shreddednose. The rest of you, stay with Fernstar and Viceroyclaw.”

The Fleet deputy and Frostclaw trotted off and took a right around a corner. Fernstar lead everyone into the settlement.

It was somehow packed full of cats and felt incredibly empty at the same time. There was no laughing or friendly tussling here; cats sat in small clumps of three or four, grooming each other’s wounds or staring ahead mournfully. Some whispered to each other so quietly that Fernstar could not catch what they were saying. It took a long time for anyone to notice the newcomers, and Fernstar was surprised that, even when they did, no one jumped to their feet or greeted them.

“Where is Redheart?” Fernstar called into the clearing.

“Gone,” someone murmured to her left. “She took a bunch of cats and just left.”

Fernstar twisted her neck fast enough to hurt her and she stared at them. “She left?”

The cat lifted a paw and pushed outward. “Walked off with that healer and his brother. Some other cats, too.”

The crew behind Fernstar shuffled and muttered confusion. Fernstar gestured with her tail and they split off in all directions to sniff around and ask questions. Viceroyclaw stuck to her side, as usual.

“The brother of Greyleaf is gone,” Fernstar repeated to the cat. “Who else?”

The cat sighed. “I’unno. An apprentice, that blind molly-“

“Why didn’t you tell me Fernstar was here?!”

Snowshine came skidding around a corner and scrabbled on the stone, rushing to Fernstar and skidding to a stop. She bobbed her head over and over, fur mud-stained and puffed out, looking nothing like the earnest and proper little seer that Fernstar usually knew.

“I’m sorry, Fernstar, I tried to get someone to stop her, I had my suspicions, and I didn’t follow up on them, I should have, I’m sorry-“

Viceroyclaw cleared her throat and Snowshine faltered, tumbling off her rambling with a few half-started words. She fidgeted nervously, looking between the much larger calico and the ginger molly about her size.

Fernstar kept her composure, though she felt agitation sinking into her pelt as it came off of Snowshine in waves. “Slow down and start from the beginning.”

“Of course.” Snowshine nodded quickly and took a breath. “Redheart heard you were on your way – I found out about the mission, I should say, and I was going to help, however I could-“

Fernstar blinked slowly.

“Anyway-“ Snowshine cleared her throat. “She tried to get everyone to leave immediately, but the Clast got angry, and I tried to get her to stay, or at least have someone catch her and keep her here until you arrived, but her traveling crew, they attacked and a fight broke out. She ran with Greyleaf, but she came back, I don’t know why. She was saying nonsense about StarClan and told everyone to follow her if they wanted to know ‘the truth’, and your spies all went with her.”

Fernstar felt Viceroyclaw look at her in surprise, waiting for her reaction. She took a moment to absorb the story before responding. “And where are they now?”

“I don’t know.” Snowshine’s fidgets got more intense. “I told everyone to catch her and Greyleaf, but no one did anything. They took an apprentice and a random warrior with them, but all the spies are gone too – Mistface and the others.”

“And she killed Striderfoot?” Viceroyclaw asked quietly.

“No, someone else did, on accident-“ Snowshine’s fur took on a sharper look, even as puffed out as it was. “But she might as well have. She was trying to get everyone to leave the Territory with her, and she said StarClan is- I couldn’t believe- she said it’s a monster! She’s talking pure madness now!” Snowshine leaned forward, eyes wide enough to pop out of her head. “And that stupid healer agreed with her! So they dragged off six cats, including an apprentice, Fernstar, a child!”

“I heard you the first time,” Fernstar said, trying to restrain the edge in her voice. She looked to Viceroyclaw. “Get some more information from the others.”

Viceroyclaw nodded uncomfortably and reluctantly shuffled off across the clearing. Fernstar didn’t usually force her to talk to others, but she knew that Snowshine’s account was drastically colored.

Someone cleared their throat. “If you like…”

Fernstar turned around. A sleek silver tom had slunk up behind her.

“Who are you?” Fernstar narrowed her eyes. 

He smiled in an as transparently charming way as he could. “My name is Starkfeather, my leader. If you like, I can give you information, too.”

 ---

 “What do you make of it?”

Fogpetal and Viceroyclaw stood together with Fernstar in the center of the clearing. The rest of the patrol had returned with similar stories: Redheart rushing to get everyone out, the patrollers trying to arrest her, a battle engaging, a death, the strange speech about StarClan, and Redheart and Greyleaf departing with six other cats. Starkfeather had provided that the apprentice was a former seer-in-training, daughter of a Hillock seer (“horribly poor apprentice, may I say”), and that she had taken a cat named Flyfang with her.

Fernstar lifted her chin a little, eyes unfocused as she considered her options. The two deputies looked at her curiously, and the rest of the patrol were sitting around Striderfoot’s body, paying their respects.

“It sounds like we’ll need to bring the two of them in for questioning,” Fernstar deliberated. “I want to question the spies as well. Perhaps we don’t need to arrest them, but I certainly need to discuss them breaking on their mission.”

Fogpetal tilted her head in thought. “We did have Darkpelt saying she wanted to see it through. Perhaps they’re keeping an eye on Redheart while getting more information.”

“I’d like to think that.” Fernstar straightened up and turned to walk away, beckoning the other mollies with her tail. They followed her to the patrollers, where not just her party, but the relay patrollers sat in a ring. All of them looked up at her slowly when she cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry for Striderfoot’s death,” she said. “But I think I’ll require the assistance of your party, Shreddednose. We’re going to track this group down and bring them to the leaders’ den, and I don’t know how much they’ll resist.”

A golden tom’s ears slid back and his muzzle wrinkled. “I’d be happy to give that rot deputy some return on what she let happen.”

“Count me in,” Frostclaw added. A couple other cats agreed alongside her.

Shreddednose looked down at Striderfoot. “We need to bury her, before we do anything else.”

“Of course,” Fogpetal said gently. “If I remember right, her request was somewhere in the open.”

Fernstar gave Fogpetal an appreciative look. The Fleet were always like a family, and this deputy had taken great care to get to know each member, of which there were many. It was such a tight-knit group that they usually handled each other’s burials, instead of whatever actual family they had come from. Even Phoebestar, their leader, was much closer to them than any of the other leaders were to their families.

“It was,” Shreddednose said, her voice husky. She cleared her throat and spoke more clearly, but the pain in her eyes did not go away. “If we may, Fernstar-“

“Just a moment.” Fernstar moved forward and touched her nose to Striderfoot’s side. “We thank you for your service, Striderfoot, and we mourn your loss. Rest well in StarClan.”

This leader’s blessing seemed to ease the Fleet members, and slowly they shifted around until Striderfoot was hoisted on several of their backs. The group moved off together, Fogpetal taking the lead.

Fernstar watched them go, feeling some hurt of her own. Not just for the loss of an innocent cat – she silently grieved for the loss of a deputy that had so much promise that Fernstar had expected her to take her place as leader one day, and of a brilliant healer that she had personally voted for to serve the leaders and high deputies.

“Phoebestar is going to be furious,” Viceroyclaw murmured in her ear, bringing her back into focus.

“We’ll send Mintseed to tell her,” Fernstar said quietly. “Or at least relay to another messenger. I want at least one with us to keep the other leaders updated.”

Viceroyclaw nodded. “Boarpaw will be happy to find a relay for us. He’s capable. I think he can track us down again.”

Fernstar said nothing. She just turned to face the majority of the cats and raised her voice.

“If Redheart returns,” she called in the clearing, “I want everyone here to keep her in place and send word to me or the other leaders. Greyleaf gets the same treatment. Do not be violent with them. Just ensure they stay put.”

A soft wave of affirmative mutters, even from the unfamiliar cats that Fernstar could guess had come to venture off with Redheart in the first place. She stood as tall as she could and started off after the Fleet cats, successfully containing the guilt and pain in her chest to her chest, and nowhere else.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter Six

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The renegades were up and moving just as the sun was halfway past the horizon in the north. Hunger and not a little sleepiness made all of them quiet and slow, but they trudged on after Darkpelt, who kept them going with cheery encouragements of “keep your feet moving” and “we’re on a good trail, don’t worry”.

Darkpelt had always been exceptionally nimble – Mistface still hadn’t seen her bump into anything on accident – but it was on this mountain that her skills really shined. She weaved around pines in their path, stepped over their protruding roots and ducked into tunnels that the rest would have walked past, completely unaware. She never paused, only slowed her paces a little to taste the air and continue on with a murmur of “that’s right, it was here”.

“I have no idea why you got called -pelt,” Laurelclaw said eventually. “None of us could do this.”

“Advantage of low expectations, my lad,” Darkpelt replied, tail waving over her back. “Only an idiot of a spy would want to be named after their skills. I was actually in the running for -shade or -pad, but the deputy wanted to call me some -tail variant.”

“-pelt sounds better,” Littlepaw piped up. “Darkshade is a little redundant, I think.”

“And, more importantly, cats would know something’s up with me.” Darkpelt turned her head a little to speak in Littlepaw’s direction. “Be a real risk to my job, it would.”

“Mistface did the same thing,” Greyleaf said, and then to his brother, “What were your options again?”

“Lessee…” Mistface tilted his head, thinking. “The -cloud and -throat types, if I remember right. Almost went with -song, but I decided otherwise.”

“Mistsong sounds super pretty.” Littlepaw’s eyes sparkled. Then she frowned and looked back at Mistface. “Why did you choose -face?”

Mistface gave her a smile of amusement. “Same as Darkpelt – didn’t want folks expectin’ anythin’ of me.” He huffed a small breath as he added, “No one’ll ask a pretty face to do some task or another. Liable to think we’re all stupid and lazy.”

“Well, you’re not stupid,” Greyleaf said, “but you are lazy.”

Flyfang snorted. “And you got dragged into being a spy, so you had to work. That must suck.”

“I can say this,” Mistface said. “If Greyleaf here hadn’t been part of it, I would’ve stayed home and slept my life away. This has been exciting enough to almost make it worth it, though.”

He received a laugh from Flyfang and couldn’t help a snort himself at Greyleaf's jolt at the sudden noise. Laurelclaw had a look like he was restraining a chuckle.

“Oop- careful here.” Darkpelt lifted a paw and swiveled her ears. “These tunnels coming up are pretty weak. Don’t bump into the walls, Laurelclaw, or you’ll bury all of us.”

Laurelclaw ducked his head preemptively, chuckle forgotten. “I won’t, I promise.”

“These are quite the stomping grounds to grow up on, Darkpelt,” Flyfang remarked. “How did you not, like, fall to your death or roll down the slope?”

“Oh, I rolled plenty.” Darkpelt half-laughed. “But I learned the hard way, and I got better at finding my feet. I was even better than the purebreds in Versant after a while.”

“There are purebreds in Versant?” Redheart asked. “I thought that everyone there has mixed blood.”

“Some of the older families didn’t breed out,” Darkpelt said. “But my mother was Scattered and my father brought her in to live here.” Her tone became philosophical. “Poor Mom. She was so worried for me, you know. She wanted to raise me in the valley. It was ‘safer there’ or something. Thank the aspects for Pops – he kept me here, and I got trained well in footwork.”

Littlepaw asked a question, but Mistface didn’t catch it. He had just remembered to check on Beetlefoot, who was close behind him and had been silent the entire walk. His eyes were on the ground and his face was… ‘sullen’ was not the right word. ‘Troubled’, to some degree, but that was too vague. He looked like he hadn’t heard a thing said this morning, drowning in his own thoughts.

Mistface slowed a little to distance himself a little from everyone else and turned his head as well as he could while walking to murmur, “You alright?”

Beetlefoot didn’t respond at first. Slowly, his eyes lifted and he raised his head a little. “What?”

“You’re just awful quiet, is all,” Mistface said, voice still low. “Somethin’ troublin’ you?”

For just a heartbeat, Beetlefoot opened his mouth. Then he stopped, eyes lowering, and closed it again. He shook his head.

“Nothing,” he replied, repeating quietly, “Nothing.”

Mistface was concerned enough to want to prod, but he had a strong feeling that doing so wasn’t going to go anywhere helpful. He sighed through his nose and left it with, “Well, you wanna talk, go ahead.” Then he turned forward again and sped up his pace to catch up to the rest of the group.

It took Beetlefoot a long moment to do the same.

 --

 The rebels aren’t that sneaky after all, Viceroyclaw thought with satisfaction.

The path was invisible from the bottom of the mountain, but small dots and their shadows wobbled along near the top – some dark, some grey, one big white, and one red. They sank out of view, seemingly going into the earth, only to bob back up again a little further north. Viceroyclaw didn’t know if they had seen the patrol following them, but she assumed the tall grass had protected her crew from view.

“Where in the world do they think they’re going?” One of the patrollers, Frostclaw, craned her white neck to squint at the dots. “Don’t they know they’ve got Brae territory up ahead?”

“They must be looking for a way up the mountain,” Glorypelt mused. “That’s the only way to escape us.”

“Either way,” Fogpetal cut in with narrowed eyes, “we’re following them.”

“What if they leave over the crest, ma’am?” Boarpaw looked anxiously at the grey deputy and Viceroyclaw, who were standing together. “Are we followin’ them then?”

Fogpetal turned her gaze on the calico next to her. Viceroyclaw felt every eye turn on her instantly.

She cleared her throat. “If they leave the Territory, they’re out of our paws. Whatever is waiting for them, let them deal with it.”

There was a collective wave of relief that rippled through the group – some cats sighing, others just relaxing.

“Good,” Shreddednose said. “I’m not willing to go up against catamounts for a couple idiots.” She turned her scarred face to Fogpetal. “No way we can get up there from where we are now, though. It’s way too steep.”

“Then we’ll continue on from down here,” Fogpetal said easily. “If they’re heading north, they have to come down eventually.”

The patrol seemed quite happy about this, and Viceroyclaw didn’t blame them. The mountain’s reputation had not been without merit; the soil was loose and the slope was way too steep for even these cats to traverse. Trying to clamber up this rise from the bottom with no knowledge of the secret paths Versant cats took would be idiotic. The rebels were going to exhaust themselves trying to be stealthy, anyway. It was much simpler to stay on flat ground and wait.

The only big struggle, Viceroyclaw realized as they moved throughout the day, was that there were pine trees cropping up now and again to block the view of the rebels, when they weren’t suddenly gone already. It steadily got worse as the scattered trees began bunching together, gradually broadening into a loose forest. The terrain was getting harder to see anything on, as well – rocks jutted out in the gaps between pines and the earth clumped up, becoming darker and denser, carrying a rich, pungent scent. A few times, the patrol lost sight of the rebels and had no choice but to keep moving on the assumption that they were still on track with their targets.

It was late in the afternoon when the patrol reached a split in the forest, starting from the top of the mountain and running evenly down to the foot. Viceroyclaw’s heart jumped with excitement when she saw the rebels again. They were up on a rocky cliffside, still surrounded by trees, but they were much closer now. Viceroyclaw could make out the patches on the apprentice from here.

The problem was that they had clearly seen the patrol too. They stopped where they were, as did the patrol. The two groups were still, staring at each other, some of each party speaking to each other on the next course of action.

“Hold your position,” Viceroyclaw told her cats. She narrowed her eyes as she watched the rebels. “Just wait for them to make a move. We’ll get them.”

 --

 “Ain’t much likin’ our odds, I’ll be honest,” Mistface said.

Redheart, crouched on the ledge they currently stood on, hadn’t taken her eyes off the cluster of cats below them. She said nothing.

“Should- should we turn ourselves in?” Laurelclaw asked. His fur was fluffed out with fear. “We’re sort of stuck.”

“We can get past them,” Flyfang snapped. Laurelclaw flinched. “Sorry. We can, though. We just need to find a way out of here. Darkpelt, do you know where we can go?”

Darkpelt’s teeth clicked, and her ears slid back. “This is about as far as I’ve ever gone in this area. None of this smells very familiar to me.”

Flyfang cursed under her breath. She looked around at each cat, as if expecting one of them to come up with an idea. When no one did, she said exasperatedly, “Look, if they could get to us, they would have already. There has to be some path we can take to lose them.”

“But then we have the Brae to deal with.” Greyleaf fur along his back was raised. “Son of a weasel.”

“What about over the mountain’s top?” Littlepaw asked, doing a poor job of hiding her fear.

“We have no idea what’s up there,” Redheart said. “And I don’t know if there’s a trail for us to climb that way.”

“Well, we have to do something!” Flyfang almost shouted. She was bristling much more than Greyleaf. “We’re not going down there and getting arrested!”

“We ain’t,” Mistface said as soothingly as he could. “Give it a moment. This is unfamiliar ground we’re walkin’ on, so-“

“I can handle it,” Beetlefoot said suddenly.

Everyone looked at him, surprised and puzzled. He stood stiffly, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He was half-glaring, half-contemplating something off the cliffside.

“The path we’d take would bring us close to them,” he said, sounding like he wasn’t really mentally present for what he was saying. “But I can get their attention and lead them into Brae territory. The family will handle them from there, and I’ll lead us to a safe spot.”

There was a heartbeat of silence as everyone exchanged uncertain looks. Mistface took a small step forward.

“They ain’t all gunna follow you,” he said quietly. “They’ll send their fastest after you, I’m sure, but some of them are bound to stay for us.”

“Then I’ll bring the Brae to them,” Beetlefoot said. He finally looked up and met Mistface’s eyes, his bright yellow ones focused again and sparking with determination. “And those that do come after me - good luck catching me."

Redheart stood straight and turned to move closer to Beetlefoot, regarding him with concern. “Those are your own down there. Are you willing to lead them to potential harm?”

Beetlefoot’s eyes narrowed and he turned his attention to the patrol below them. He didn’t say anything, but the barely-restrained anger in his expression told Mistface enough.

“If he knows a way down, he’ll be alright,” he said to Redheart. “I trust he can do it.”

This endorsement seemed to give the rest some hope. Some nodded, and some looked to Redheart, waiting for her direction. Redheart gazed at Beetlefoot with a sort of sympathy-worry mixed face.

“Good luck, then,” she said.

Beetlefoot didn’t respond, just walked to the edge of the cliff facing partly away from the valley. He bunched his body up, ears forward and tail still with focus…

And leaped.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter Two

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Found ‘em.”

Viceroyclaw, high deputy of the Clast, looked up from the den she was sticking her nose into. A grey molly named Shreddednose was padding up to her with a steely look in her copper eyes. Her paws were muddy and her heavily scarred nose was twitching like she’d gotten dust in it.

“They’re all over this place,” she said. “Come on this way.”

Viceroyclaw stood straight and followed her as she turned back for the way she’d come. The barest traces of sunlight speckled the forest floor, which was cool and soft to the point of almost being wet. The air in these oak woods was cold and dense – they had just barely avoided the mist that made its dawn home here, but even now it was unpleasantly moist. By the expressions on the rest of the search patrol’s faces, they weren’t having much more fun than the high deputy was.

The good thing about this air, at least, was that it held tight onto the scents of whatever or whoever had been here before them. As Shreddednose stepped into the loosely-gathered ring of patrollers and scouts, Viceroyclaw could immediately smell the collection of cats they were after.

“Evidently they stayed the night here,” remarked Glorypelt, a pale ginger tom. “I’m surprised we didn’t catch them before they left.”

“The question is ‘where are they going now’.” The deputy of the Fleet, a grey molly named Fogpetal, stood up and met Viceroyclaw halfway through the circle. “Boarpaw caught a trail heading for the marshes…”

“…But that’s the Marish homeland,” Viceroyclaw finished. She frowned. “They wouldn’t be stupid enough to walk through there, would they?”

“Perhaps they just hit the border,” Boarpaw, a dark grey-brown tom, piped up. “I can go and check again.”

“No need.” Viceroyclaw flicked her tail. “We’re following them, wherever they went. Everyone with me. Boarpaw can lead us as far as he tracked.”

The apprentice straightened up, eyes shining with delight at this new responsibility. He immediately started off at a trot, tail waving. Viceroyclaw nodded to his mentor, Glorypelt, and he followed close behind. The rest of the cats crowded around Viceroyclaw and went along after her.

It was a difficult thing, this whole situation. On one side, there was some urgency in finding these cats – the longer they were out and free, the more chances they had to cause a lot of problems. Gathering more cats to escape the Territory, or riling up other families into fighting again… Viceroy wasn’t entirely sure what they were up to, and that was what made them more dangerous.

On the other side, rushing these Fleet cats too hard would wear them out faster, enduring as they were; their morale would sink, and with it their energy. Plus, so far the vagabonds hadn’t encountered any other Clan members. There was one fighter among them – a tom named Laurelclaw, favored by Sealstar – meaning they would be easy to subdue once they were found. Besides that, the high deputy preferred being in the field, away from the heavy and complicated responsibilities of her position with the leaders. Real work, simple work, was out here. This felt like she was doing something she was actually good at.

Viceroyclaw had been chosen as high deputy, she was certain, because she could provide a looming, intimidating figure for her diminutive leader. She wasn’t particularly bright, she knew that, and bureaucratic discussions made her head spin. She was getting older, too, and that wasn’t the ideal second-in-command for someone like Fernstar, who was aging herself. In fact, Redheart had been in line to take Viceroyclaw’s position as soon as she decided to retire.

Redheart.

Viceroyclaw narrowed her eyes.

Fernstar had tried to hide it, but she was heartbroken over her deputy’s betrayal. She’d invested in this young molly, supported her after the untimely death of her mother. She’d spoken with nothing but pride about her potential and bright future as a leader. The other leaders had expected Redheart to join them one day, and they would have welcomed her gladly. She was bright and driven and confident. She managed to bring some sense of order to the Clast. She could have been something great.

How dare she, Viceroyclaw couldn’t help but think. How dare she throw all of that away for whatever this stupid idea of hers was. How dare she disappoint a leader as wonderful as Fernstar.

“Viceroyclaw.”

The calico looked to her right, where Fogpetal was striding alongside her. She had a cold determination in her eyes, and her ears were pointed backwards.

“We need to think of a plan for when we find them,” she said quietly, her face close to Viceroyclaw’s so she couldn’t be overheard. “Something more specific than just ‘arrest them’.”

Viceroyclaw nodded for her to go on, and she did.

“The trouble is that one of our own is with them. He’s one of the fastest cats I’ve ever met in my life. If he chooses to, he can flee alone, and he just might. I don’t know what the rest of these cats are like, but I want to anticipate that they won’t come quietly.”

“One of them is a -claw,” Viceroyclaw said. “I’ve heard he’s a meek one, though. We might get him easy.”

“And yet we might not,” Fogpetal replied. “He may put up a fight. I don’t know how loyal he is to this group.”

“True.”

“So my thoughts…” Fogpetal lowered her voice even further. “I think we should do our best to ambush them in the night, surround them on all sides. If we can collect more patrollers or willing warriors on the way, that’d be all the better.”

“And if your boy runs?” Viceroyclaw murmured.

Fogpetal narrowed her eyes. “We have Fleet cats who we can notify to intercept him. But I’d like to know where he thinks he’s going, first.”

The patrol emerged from the woods, Boarpaw waiting ahead of them. He had stopped and was now looking at Fogpetal with wide, apprehensive eyes.

“Didn’t go any farther than this, ma’am,” he said. “But I think they’re headin’ south.”

Glorypelt had walked past Boarpaw and had his nose to the ground, sniffing. “He might be right. Are we allowed to walk into Marish land?”

“We can walk anywhere,” Viceroyclaw said, more of an edge in her voice than she intended. “Just because they’re territorial doesn’t mean everyone is forbidden from walking these grounds.”

“Ask the Brae about that,” Fogpetal muttered. “Even a messenger isn’t allowed there.”

Viceroyclaw made a face. “Hopefully we don’t have to deal with them.”

Conversation petered out as the patrol followed the scent trail, which brought them to a streak of bent grass - just bent enough to give them a hint of where their escapees had gone. The sopping, muddy smell of the marsh and its mud and grass soon overwhelmed their noses, and with the dark grass being so tall and odorous, even Viceroyclaw had a hard time seeing where she was going, or smelling where she should be going to begin with. She caught a hint of grumbling behind her, but she didn’t respond, only grit her teeth at the bugs buzzing around her ears and pushed forward.

Evidently, she pushed forward in the wrong direction, because when she finally was out in the open, she couldn’t even see the oak forest anymore.

Fogpetal and the patrol came out beside her, all of them looking in different directions. Viceroyclaw shook her head to clear it of gnats and looked at the Fleet deputy.

“We’re certainly in Marish lands now,” she said. “Perhaps if we find-“

“Not again!”

All cats looked towards the voice, which came from an angry-looking ginger-and-white tom storming towards them. He was flanked by two other cats, both bristling.

“Can’t you beasts keep to yours...“ the tom started, and then trailed off. His steps slowed and stopped as he stared with confusion at Viceroyclaw. The other cats suddenly seemed interested in staying behind him.

Viceroyclaw took the opportunity to move in on them and draw herself up to her full height. “Viceroyclaw, high deputy of the Clast.” She tilted her head in Fogpetal’s direction. “I’m with the Fleet. We’re searching for a few cats, and we’ve lost their trail.”

“Oh, boy.” One of the other cats, a tortoiseshell, looked anxiously at the ginger tom. “Then…”

“You missed them,” said the third, dark brown. “We just had an encounter with a group of eight cats earlier. One of them was our own, once.”

“We thought she’d come back for her sisters,” the ginger tom explained. “But they all left suddenly.”

Fogpetal stepped forward, tail lifted in alert. “Which direction did they go?”

“East, as far as we watched,” the dark brown tom said. “Stars only know why.” He squinted suspiciously at the two deputies. “What business have they here?”

“They’re to be apprehended,” Viceroyclaw said. “If you see them again, immediately send a notice. Let everyone know the cats you saw are under arrest as soon as they’re found.”

The ginger-and-white tom looked delighted. “We’ll have our eyes peeled and sharp for them, don’t you worry.”

“Teach that little punk a thing or two about good behavior, when you find her,” the dark brown tom growled. “She had her brute of a friend intimidate and bully our deputy.”

Viceroyclaw blinked and shared a glance with Fogpetal.

“Perhaps he won’t be so easy to arrest after all,” Fogpetal mused, almost under her breath. She turned again to the Marish trio. “Be wary of them, if they do come by. They have dangerous ideas.”

“I’m sure they do,” the ginger-and-white tom said. The fact that he didn’t bother to ask what the thoughts were and just agreed blindly, Viceroyclaw thought, said enough about the Mairsh in general.  

“We’re heading east, then,” she said. “Let’s move out.”

“There’s a clean path that way,” the tortoiseshell said, pointing with a paw towards a patch of land with flattened grass. “Hurry and get them, will you?”

Viceroyclaw narrowed her eyes at her, but she said nothing. She simply waved her tail farewell and led the patrol the way they were directed.

“East…” Fogpetal had her chin lowered a little, speaking thoughtfully. “All that’s east is the mountain. They can’t be thinking of escaping over the peaks, can they?”

“It’s a possibility,” Viceroyclaw said, hopping a small stream. “We ought to head that way, just in case. I can’t smell them at all around here.”

“That may be our best bet.” Fogpetal looked back at her patrol, talking to them now. “This is going to be a long haul, I can feel it. Anyone who wants to leave now can, but only if you’re going to spread the word while you head out.”

“I’m not leaving,” said Shreddednose. She was mirrored by most of the other cats. Those who didn’t speak firmly shook their heads.

“Very good, then.” Fogpetal nodded approvingly. “You’re true warriors. Let’s pick up the pace, then, and head for the slopes.” She looked to Viceroyclaw. “Is that alright with you?”

“If we can intercept them, that’s all the better.” Viceroyclaw sped up into a jogging trot. “Just keep at a steady pace. We can’t afford to be exhausted when we find them.”

Fogpetal dipped her head respectfully and matched the high deputy’s pace, the other Fleet cats jogging along after her.

Viceroyclaw looked skyward; it was late in the afternoon now. The sped-up pace was a good change, then. Who knew how far ahead the rebels were?

They won’t be far ahead for long, she thought. And when I get my paws on Redheart, she’s going to be sorry.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Twelve

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The sun was almost at its highest point, pale clouds mottling the sky white and blue, when Fernstar’s patrol came to a grove of trees.

“This’ll be a restin’ place for them,” Boarpaw said, chest puffed out with pride. He and his mentor, Glorypelt, had come back from their far-ahead scouting with the news that the scents of Redheart and a ‘mess of folk’ were clogging their noses in a place with drying ground and bent grass. The patrol had just reached it – they had walked slowly to allow the scouts to ensure their path was the right one, since the wind was starting to blow away the trail.

Now Fernstar nodded gratefully to Boarpaw and Glorypelt, smiling. “You’ve done good work. Thank you. Take a moment to rest while we investigate.”

Scouts, of course, never liked to rest, but Glorypelt guided his apprentice away from the main cluster of scents and let the rest of the Fleet cats sniff around, taking pathways this way and that, following what still remained in the soft, drying earth.

It was a little frustrating, Fernstar had to admit; the grass had not been bent severely enough to give a concrete trail, meaning they had to go on what the wind and sun hadn’t blown away or baked out of the ground. What was more frustrating was the knowledge that Viceroyclaw had brought up, now scratching at Fernstar’s head.

She couldn’t be gone from the leaders’ den forever. It had been several days now, and it would be several days more before she’d return. She would have to give up this hunt and leave it to the Fleet.

But there were questions she wanted answers to, questions that grew in number with every passing hour. Most of them were about Redheart, of course, but there was something Greyleaf had said when the story was reported to Fernstar that was intensely troubling her.

“Because I’ve seen it too,” he’d said.

What did that mean? Why did he believe in this story about StarClan that Redheart had started to tell when it was so transparently untrue?

Unless…

No. Fernstar shook her head. This was clearly something wrong with the two of them. She had seen StarClan’s power herself, during her leadership ceremony.

Cats circled around her, sniffing, as her mind wandered back to the days when she was younger and stronger. Back when she had fought hard for her position as deputy, had been appointed as high deputy, and waited only two or three years before the previous Clast leader had died and she was taken to the Lighthouse by a seer. She had fallen asleep to the crashes of the ocean’s waves just past the cliff the Lighthouse was set on, and when she’d opened her eyes a trail of stars was in front of her. She’d walked on it, too awed to say anything, coming up to a fawn-colored tom who represented the Clast leaders’ ceremony – Mulleinberry, he’d said his name was. He had gifted her with lives of ambition to serve the Clan and a drive to keep everyone safe and happy.

She’d like to think she'd kept good on the promise those gifts implied.

“Fernstar?”

She refocused. Fogpetal and Viceroyclaw were standing in front of her, looking at the little leader with concern and a bit of nervousness.

Fernstar slanted her head a little, indicating that she was listening, and Fogpetal spoke first.

“Viceroyclaw spoke to you earlier about you perhaps going back north,” she said carefully. “I understand that you being absent from the leaders can cause some trouble.”

Fernstar blinked slowly and stayed silent.

“If you like,” Fogpetal continued, undeterred, “we can continue the tracking from here, and you can return home.”

“I’ll stay with them,” Viceroyclaw offered, certainly more nervous than Fogpetal. “And I can send reports back to you. If- if that’s what you think is best.”

Fernstar knew very well that Viceroyclaw had made that suggestion because the alternative – acting as leader on Fernstar’s behalf – terrified her. A smaller, quieter group with a set mission that she didn’t have to invent and improvise on all the time was easier on her.

Fernstar took a moment to think. Not more than a moment. She could decide things quickly.

“Very well,” she said. “That may be best. I trust that you’ll do your duty to the best of your abilities, you two.”

The mollies bowed their heads respectfully.

“I can travel alone,” Fernstar continued. “Keep everyone you can with you. If you meet with any strangers, let them know who you’re searching for. The word will spread on its own after that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said together.

Fernstar didn’t waste time. The clouds were thickening on the horizon, and she didn’t care to be caught in the rain if she could help it. With a wave goodbye and a thanks to everyone, she set off as if she hadn’t a thought in the world beyond her duties. But one did pick at her.

“Because I’ve seen it too.”

What did they see?

 ---

 Watching what little of the sky he could see, sitting alone, Greyleaf hated.

It would surprise many cats, if not everyone, to take a look into his mind and see how much hate coursed through his veins. How it soaked into his muscles and the very, very little fat he had on him. How every hair on his body wanted to be bristled at all times, how he wanted to bite and claw and scream to get it out. Fear had been his foremost thought the second he was born into a cold world, wet and blind and deaf. But ever since that fateful meeting with the Runagate, since his first sight of Redheart… slowly but surely, that fear started to burn instead of freeze him. It strained at his eyes, coloring everything with the knowledge he had now with red. It grew teeth that cried to tear apart StarClan and everyone who saw him with pity and contempt, who had no idea of the truth.

Mistface wouldn’t believe him if he said all this, probably. Mama certainly wouldn’t. Maybe no one would. Greyleaf had quickly become very good at containing himself starting from apprenticeship.

It was just a survival instinct at this point. Redheart had responded to StarClan’s truth with grief and determination. A plan that kept her alive. Greyleaf had no plan. He just had hate to protect him. And it’d done a good job so far.

But it couldn’t protect everyone else.

It couldn’t protect Nettlecloud.

“Hey.”

Greyleaf jolted and turned sharply to his right. Flyfang, standing behind him, jumped a little herself in alarm. Far behind her, Mistface and Redheart were whispering with Darkpelt, like conspirers. Laurelclaw, Littlepaw and Beetlefoot sat together, with Laurelclaw huddling like he wasn’t far outsizing the two of them no matter how he was postured. The air was tense, but it wasn’t frightened. It wasn’t hateful.

Greyleaf realized belatedly that he hadn’t said anything to Flyfang, so he cleared his throat. “Hi.”

Flyfang relaxed a little and tilted her head. “You doing alright?”

Greyleaf didn’t know how to answer that. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His jaw twitched and he looked down, away.

“You’ve just been by yourself for quite a while, is all.” Flyfang stepped closer with great caution. “Mistface was going to check on you, but Darkpelt wanted him and Redheart for some conversation or another. I don’t know why she didn’t ask for you, you and Redheart work together and all, but…”

Something must have shown on his face, because Flyfang trailed off. She instead closed the distance and sat down next to him, tail tapping nervously. Greyleaf returned his gaze to the thin sunlight, grateful for the shadows of the forest.

“I thought you looked a little stressed,” Flyfang said after a moment. “I know that’s normal for you, but…”

Greyleaf did not care to tell her what he had been stewing over the past few minutes. He just went with what was always on his mind, even just in the back. “I’m worried about my Mama.”

Flyfang’s face softened. Saddened a little, too. “Beetlefoot mentioned she wasn’t doing well the last time he saw her.”

Greyleaf saw no reason to be gentle. “She’s about to die. Cancer.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pain and grief and helpless rage in his chest. “She might be dead now, for all I know.”

Flyfang didn’t say it, but they thought the same thing.

And StarClan might have her.

“I shouldn’t talk,” Greyleaf said suddenly. “Your mother’s been there for a while.”

Flyfang nodded, her voice strained. “She has. Unless she was quick enough to run.”

“We rarely are,” Greyleaf muttered.

The two were quiet for a moment, before Flyfang fully turned to him.

“I have a request,” she said.

Greyleaf looked at her sidelong.

“If you and Redheart and everyone decide to leave…” She shifted a little, anxious. “I’d like to get my sisters before we go. They’re not far from here.”

Greyleaf blinked. “You’d travel with us?”

“I mean, yeah.” Flyfang gave him a mildly humorous look. “You all know the truth and I’ve made friends with a couple of you. And I trust you and Redheart. You’re both smart.”

At this, Greyleaf did half-smile. “Against all odds.”

“And you’re tough,” Flyfang added. “Like, just knowing about this, having no idea what to do, it almost makes me crazy. I have no idea how you two are sane knowing this your whole lives.”

Greyleaf’s smile faded just a little, but it didn’t go away. “I’m barely hanging on at this point, honestly. It’s been a lot of edging along a narrow cliffside, hoping not to fall, for my whole life.”

“Especially with your nightmares.” Flyfang shook her head, voice admiring. “I didn’t think anything of you at all when I first met you at the Clast. Healer, weak, nervous, all that. Did not expect you to be as hardcore as you are. Redheart, I could get, but not you.”

The idea of being ‘hardcore’ made an amused huff escape from Greyleaf. “I don’t know about that.”

“Dude, if any of us had suffered this for so long, I think we’d all go nuts.” Flyfang smiled broadly at him, oddly looking impressed. “And you’ve been at this since you were a kit. I think that qualifies as hardcore.”

Greyleaf’s eyes lowered to the ground, but his smile felt more genuine. “…Thanks, then.”

“No problem.” Flyfang leaned her head forward a little to look him in the eyes. “Are you a little happier?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Then my work is done.” Flyfang gave a self-satisfactory nod. “I just got worried about where your head was, and I thought you might need a bit of cheering up.”

Greyleaf looked at her, eyes narrowed in a more friendly way than anything else. “You’re not bad at it. Do you cheer up your sisters a lot?”

“Plenty enough.” Flyfang puffed out a sigh. “The Marish are terrible for a kit’s mental health, I’ll tell you. Mosquitopaw and Gnatpaw must be desperate to get out by now.” Her voice quieted a little. “And they have no idea of the real reason why they should.”

Greyleaf wanted to return the favor of positivity, but just as he opened his mouth, Redheart called, “If everyone can gather around!”

The two grey cats looked at each other in surprise, but stood up and joined the others, where they all sat down, watching the conspirators curiously. Mistface had a calmly pleased and, oddly, almost eager look on his face, and Redheart’s eyes were no longer exhausted. Darkpelt’s usual wide eyes and big smile were present where they should be, but there was a sparkle in them that Greyleaf couldn’t define.

“We have a proposition,” Darkpelt said. “And we’d like to share it with you.”

[calitraditionalism]

Steorra: For All We Hold Dear - Allegiances

Relevant Allegiances

(Cats that show up in this arc, minor character section subject to future edits)

Main Cast:

Mistface - Pale blue-grey tom with green eyes and long fur. Scattered warrior.

Greyleaf - Grey tabby tom with green eyes and long fur. Scattered healer.

Nettlecloud - Pale blue-grey molly with green eyes and long fur. Scattered warrior.

Beetlefoot - Dark brown tom with yellow eyes. Fleet messenger, from Brae.

Littlepaw - Tiny fawn calico molly with blue eyes. Hillock apprentice.

Laurelclaw - Large white tom with yellow eyes and a torn ear. Plage warrior.

Flyfang - Dark grey ticked tabby molly with green eyes. Marish warrior.

Darkpelt - Lean black tabby molly with blind yellow eyes. Versant warrior.

Redheart - Tall red ticked tabby molly with orange eyes. Clast deputy.

Leaders:

Fernstar - Tiny ginger tabby molly with green eyes. Clast leader.

Lightningstar - Golden tabby cat with orange eyes. Hillock leader.

Pebblestar - Tall grey tom with yellow-green eyes. Scattered leader.

Sealstar - Large dark brown tom with yellow eyes. Plage leader.

Aphidstar - Small white tom with golden tabby patches and blue eyes. Marish leader.

Cedarstar - Tortoiseshell molly with orange eyes. Brae leader.

Thornstar - Brown tabby tom with green eyes. Versant leader.

Phoebestar - Black molly with green eyes. Fleet leader.

Minor Characters:

Viceroyclaw - Muscular calico molly with yellow eyes. Clast high deputy.

Fogpetal: Plain grey molly with yellow eyes. Deputy patroller, from Clast.

Shreddednose - Grey molly with scarring on the bridge of her nose and copper eyes. Patroller, from Clast.

Brushdust - Golden tabby tom with green eyes. Scattered patroller.

Frostclaw - White molly with green eyes. Patroller, from Marish.

Grapejump - Black-and-white molly with blue eyes. Scattered patroller.

Mintseed - Spotted gray molly with pale green eyes. Scattered messenger.

Boarpaw: Dark grey-brown tabby tom with orange eyes. Scattered scout.

Glorypelt: Pale ginger tabby tom with brown eyes. Scout, from Hillock.

Newtbite - Tortoiseshell molly with yellow eyes. Patroller, from Plage.

Torntail - Calico molly with half of her tail missing and blue eyes.

Bearface - Scattered. Tall, handsome black tom with green eyes. Scattered patroller.

Thrashercloud - Grey-brown tabby tom with yellow-green eyes. Patroller, from Brae.

Firpaw - Grey tabby tom with yellow eyes.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter Seven

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Beetlefoot landed precisely where he meant to: hidden from view atop the cliff was a soft mound of soil, the result of a lot of work on the part of the Brae to make their area easier to access. The perspective from above was confusing thanks to the shadows present most of the day, making it look like there was nothing there at all.

Beetlefoot wasted no time. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he whipped sideways and pelted it into the open, down through the dip in the mountain’s face where melted snow ran down in a stream during early springtime.

As he expected, there were shouts of anger. The Fleet’s deputy yelled his name.

“Beetlefoot!” Fogpetal barked. “Come down here immediately! That’s an order!”

Beetlefoot barely slowed his pace enough to taunt them with a clamber upwards onto the slope again. He paused for a moment, pretending to look around for places to go.

“Go after him,” he heard Fogpetal growl. When he looked down, Frostclaw and the golden tom Brushdust were sprinting straight for him.

Perfect.

Beetlefoot ran into the dense woods, keeping an even speed to give himself room for error if he tripped or needed to jump, but not too much to discourage the other Fleet cats from following him. Time had not erased his memories of this place; he crossed a stream and cleared a few logs without paying much attention.

“Beetlefoot!” Frostclaw yowled. “Why are you betraying us?! For nothing?!”

“Come back!” Brushdust added, just as angry. “You need to help your family, Beetlefoot! What’s wrong with you?!”

What’s wrong with me, Beetlefoot snarled in his mind, almost furious enough to stop, turn around and attack Brushdust. What’s wrong with me. Always me. Never you. You didn’t care about me before, but now that I’m inconveniencing you…

Focus. He needed to focus. Berate them later.

He grit his teeth and fired up his legs until they were mere blurs, paws hardly touching the ground. The Fleet cats behind him were breathing hard, struggling to keep up with him. He kept his pace tightly controlled – he needed their scents to stretch a little further into the woods before he lost them.

Fogpetal had said it before, and though Beetlefoot hadn’t ever heard her, he knew it to be true as she did: he really was the fastest cat in the Fleet, and he was delighted to show it off. Even Brushdust, who was named for his speed as much as Beetlefoot was, couldn’t keep up. Their breaths got more ragged, and they were slowly lagging behind. They were out of energy and their quarry was only going faster. Beetlefoot waited until he had passed the tallest tree in the woods to start sprinting as fast as he could. Within moments, the sounds of Brushdust and Frostclaw faded away. He didn’t have to look back to know they had given up and stopped.

That was fine. The important part was that they had left their scents on a path in the center of Brae territory.

Beetlefoot slowed down into a jog when he could no longer hear either of his chasers. He needed to preserve some energy for the next stage in the plan.

He continued on, breathing harder and harder to prepare, before coming up to a huge, piled-up swath of brambles and berry bushes. The scent of cats came through the hidden entrance, a tangle of thorny vines that looked much harder to pass through than it was. He hesitated for a moment before bracing himself and scrambling through the entrance like his tail was on fire. He flopped onto his stomach on the loamy earth for the effect.

When he looked up, panting, a sea of brown and tortoiseshell and ginger faces were focused on him. Every hair on every back was standing straight up, and every muzzle was wrinkled with alarm and anger. Nothing had changed since he’d been gone, at least.

“Deerfur!” Beetlefoot shouted between false gasps. “Where’s Deerfur?”

A fluffy brown molly pushed through the crowd, ears pinned against her head. “What do you think you’re doing here?!”

Beetlefoot ignored her, just calling again, “Deerfur!”

Growling mutters rippled through the crowd, until an aging brown tabby parted the cats and approached with a high head and dignified steps.

“You need to have a very good reason for why you’re here again, Beetlepaw,” he said, venom in every word.

Beetlefoot didn’t bother correcting him. Instead, he looked up with wide eyes, panting, “I was – nearby – and there’s cats – a whole patrol – on the border – they chased me – came to warn you…”

He had no idea what would happen if the family didn’t believe him. All he could do was try and persuade them harder. Beyond that, he was stuck.

Luckily, the Brae all looked at each other with shock, in total belief. The elder deputy narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, sniffing the air around Beetlefoot like he was a rotting jay.

“You reek of outsiders,” he said.

“Got – too close to them,” Beetlefoot gasped. He shook his head and let his breathing even out a little, adding, “They were near Versant grounds. On the border. Some came into - the woods - when I ran to warn you.”

Deerfur squinted at Beetlefoot, as if trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth or not. The fluffy molly was glaring at the two toms, tail lashing.

Finally, Deerfur said, “How many?”

“Nine or ten,” Beetlefoot responded. He slowly got to his feet. “They looked strong. And they’re aggressive.”

Deerfur looked behind him at the rest of Brae. “Every warrior with me. We’ll correct them.” He turned back to Beetlefoot. “Lead us to them, and then leave our woods. You’re not welcome here.”

“I’m aware.” Beetlefoot turned and quickly scooted back under the brambles. He waited for the rest of the blend of brown and ginger to exit before setting off at a run again, this time slower. The Brae followed him in total silence, and he could feel their eyes like claws scoring his back. He refused to look back, just breathed heavily and kept going. He couldn’t help a smidge of satisfaction when they reached the big pine and he heard hisses at the scent of Fleet cats.

They reached the edge of the woods and Beetlefoot paused as soon as he caught sight of Fogpetal’s patrol. There was a yowl and a wave of cats swept around him, yelling curses.

“You have a lot of nerve,” Deerfur said at nearly a shout, which clearly took effort on his part after that run. “You and your sorry Fleet rats are to leave immediately.”

Fogpetal looked shocked (and not a little nervous). She took a step forward, starting, “Greetings. We’re just here for-“

“Get OUT!” the fluffy molly screeched. “NOW!”

Mothers never change, Beetlefoot thought.

More screeches and scoldings rose from the Brae cats. Fogpetal tried to speak again, but she was shouted down. Viceroyclaw flexed her claws and strode forward, only for three cats to meet her challenge and unsheathe their claws, growling.

Beetlefoot wasted no more time in watching. He snuck to the cliff where the others were waiting, completely unnoticed by the Brae. They watched him as he came around to the side of the cliff he had jumped from and motioned silently for them. One by one, they landed beside him, some glancing in shock at the commotion down the slope. When everyone was down, he turned and ran up the mountain and into the forest, a good distance from where he had come out.

With some satisfaction, he noted that no one was following. The Brae were occupying the hunters, and there looked to be a fight soon.

Good.

“What did you do?” Laurelclaw whispered once everyone was in the forest and had slowed to a loping canter. “How did you get the Brae out here?”

“Anyone stepping near their border is cause for action,” Beetlefoot said, not looking back. The satisfaction had turned grim and his chest was tight with resentment.

“But they should’ve attacked you,” Littlepaw said. “Even I know the Brae are terrible to outsiders.”

“I was born here,” Beetlefoot said curtly, and focused hard on the ground ahead of him.

The silence behind him was heavy and awkward. He knew they all wanted to ask questions. Or pass judgement. Whatever. The two options were equally bad.

“Well,” Darkpelt said eventually, “It’s a shame we didn’t discuss that more before. We could have been gossiping about our families this whole time. Or been at each other’s throats. I don’t know how it is for you.”

Beetlefoot forced himself to relax a little. “The Brae are as awful as you’ve heard. I would just be complaining about them.”

“Still ripe gossip,” Darkpelt said lightly.

“Well, you and I both have terrible families,” Flyfang offered with a slight chuckle that was clearly meant to ease the mood and failed. “We could have been complaining together.”

Beetlefoot didn’t respond, and neither did anyone else. He kept his pace at a careful speed that he hoped the rest wouldn’t struggle on.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Greyleaf finally asked.

Beetlefoot was relieved to break the silence again. “There’s a waterfall nearby, just outside of the border. We can stop there and rest. And hunt, hopefully.”

Flyfang sighed with relief. “Thank the aspects. I’m starving.”

“We all are,” Mistface replied. “Oughta hurry, though, if the Brae are plannin’ on comin’ back for us.”

Everyone seemed game for that, so Beetlefoot started to run. He knew they was exhausted – he finally was, too – but the threat of being caught gave them just enough energy to cross through the dark and peat-thick woods at a quicker pace.

Still, it felt like they were in the growing shadows of the forest for an eternity before the waterfall’s roar could be heard in the distance. They all slowed unanimously into a trot, relieved. It took until the moon was about to escape being scraped by the pine trees’ crowns before they reached their target.

The waterfall was quite loud, which would be useful to cover their voices. The dark water reflected the moonlight even brighter than the growing dew on the plants around the river that white waves crashed down into. A fine mist rising from the falls made everything pearly and iridescent, rays of moonlight glimmering in lines to dapple the ground. The air smelled rich and fresh.

Beetlefoot led the rest of the renegades to a small cavern behind the waterfall, noticing everyone’s relief when he kept moving through the deafening echoes of the cavern and emerged on the other side to a grassy clearing. He had no intention of sleeping within the waterfall’s cover either. Being just outside was good enough.

“This is quite nice,” Redheart remarked as everyone investigated the clearing’s edges. “Do the Brae come by this way?”

“As far as they know, no one else is aware of that pathway.” Beetlefoot unconsciously spoke as if he was giving a report. “It’s rare to see any other cats here. We should be safe to rest.”

“And hunt.” Flyfang stretched and motioned with her tail. “Laurelclaw, come help me fish. There’s got to be something good in water like this."

Laurelclaw nodded, but meekly said, “I’m not that great of a hunter, just as a warning.”

“But you’ve dealt with currents stronger than anything this river's got,” Flyfang said, “so we should be fine.”

“Thank you,” Redheart said with a tired huff of air. “I wouldn’t be much use hunting right now.”

Satisfied that the clearing was safe, the rest of the cats found spots to nest in and collapsed into reclining positions. Flyfang and Laurelclaw returned and left multiple times with fish, eventually coming back for real once they had their own meals. Everyone had barely restrained themselves from eating before the two settled down with them, and once they did, there was no conversation for as long as they scarfed down their meal. Flyfang had been right - the water's bounty was quite delicious.

Oddly, even with full stomachs, the air was somewhat tense. Beetlefoot couldn’t pick out why it was or where it was coming from until Flyfang spoke up.

“So, I’m wondering,” she said. “We’re getting closer to the Lighthouse, but I haven’t heard anyone explain exactly how we’re killing StarClan.”

The silence that followed was incredibly uneasy. Beetlefoot hadn’t actually considered that problem either.

“Mistface, you said we have to ‘get creative’, right?” Flyfang looked to the fluffy tom. “But what does that mean? What do we do?”

Mistface was the only cat who didn’t look bothered by this question. He shifted onto his side, his head resting on his shoulders, eyes drifting up to the night sky.

“It’s partly land, he said,” Greyleaf offered. “And psychic. It’ll require mental power, at least.”

“And what do we use that mental power for?” Littlepaw asked. “Not- I don’t mean to be rude, or anything. I’m genuinely curious. How do we use our minds to destroy a monster like that?”

Redheart leaned her head into the circle a little, speaking quietly. “It may sound a little silly, but if we were to perhaps use our imaginations, we could conjure something up to destroy it.”

“Like what?” Laurelclaw said. “Do we- do we imagine it breaking apart, or-?”

“Don’t think that’s the way, rightly,” Mistface finally drawled. “But Redheart’s got it. Mental power from eight cats, mortal as we may be, can power somethin’ destructive. We likely can’t change StarClan itself, but we can make ourselves a little weapon to use against it.”

Beetlefoot was at a complete loss of ideas. He internally scolded himself for not being creative enough to find a solution to a problem like this when he had earlier easily tricked the Brae into doing what he wanted.

“Oh!” Littlepaw’s head jerked up. “Right! It’s land! I know what destroys land without being part of the land itself.”

“What’ve you got, kiddo?” Flyfang looked to her apprentice hopefully.

“Fire.” Littlepaw’s fur fluffed out. “Like Calcine – his fire can destroy anything.”

“Not bad.” Mistface gave her an approving nod. “That’ll be the plan, then – channel your thoughts into somethin’ representin’ your mental power, that bein’ fire…”

“And we can burn it away?” Laurelclaw asked, ears perked.

“That’s about it,” Mistface replied. “If the thing really does rely on psychic mumbo-jumbo as much as it does, turning that around on it'll likely kill it.”

Beetlefoot spoke without thinking and immediately scolded himself. “That’s not a guarantee.”

“No,” Redheart said, “but it’s an educated plan. We should all think hard while we’re on the move of other solutions, in case that fails.”

It could overpower us, Beetlefoot wanted to say, but he stopped himself from continuing to dourly ruin a good mood. Everyone seemed happy with this plan, their postures relaxed and faces calmly eager. He just lowered his chin onto his paws and studied the ground silently.

He dearly hoped, more for the sake of his fellows than anything, that this plan would work.

[calitraditionalism]

Steorra: Brought to Light - Allegiances

Relevant Allegiances

(Cats that show up in this arc, minor character section subject to future edits)

Main Cast:

Mistface - Pale blue-grey tom with green eyes and long fur. Scattered warrior.

Greyleaf - Grey tabby tom with green eyes and long fur. Scattered healer.

Nettlecloud - Pale blue-grey molly with green eyes and long fur. Scattered warrior.

Beetlefoot - Dark brown tom with yellow eyes. Fleet messenger, from Brae.

Littlepaw - Tiny fawn calico molly with blue eyes. Hillock apprentice.

Laurelclaw - Large white tom with yellow eyes and a torn ear. Plage warrior.

Flyfang - Dark grey ticked tabby molly with green eyes. Marish warrior.

Darkpelt - Lean black tabby molly with blind yellow eyes. Versant warrior.

Redheart - Tall red ticked tabby molly with orange eyes. Clast deputy.

Leaders:

Fernstar - Tiny ginger tabby molly with green eyes. Clast leader.

Lightningstar - Golden tabby cat with orange eyes. Hillock leader.

Pebblestar - Tall grey tom with yellow-green eyes. Scattered leader.

Sealstar - Large dark brown tom with yellow eyes. Plage leader.

Aphidstar - Small white tom with golden tabby patches and blue eyes. Marish leader.

Cedarstar - Tortoiseshell molly with orange eyes. Brae leader.

Thornstar - Brown tabby tom with green eyes. Versant leader.

Phoebestar - Black molly with green eyes. Fleet leader.

Minor Characters:

Snowshine - Pretty little white molly with yellow eyes. Clast seer.

Brightblaze - Red-and-white tom with blue eyes. Scattered warrior.

Shreddednose - Grey molly with scarring on the bridge of her nose and copper eyes. Patroller, from Clast.

Thrashercloud - Grey-brown tabby tom with yellow-green eyes. Patroller, from Brae.

Brushdust - Golden tabby tom with green eyes. Scattered patroller.

Frostclaw - White molly with green eyes. Patroller, from Marish.

Grapejump - Black-and-white molly with blue eyes. Scattered patroller.

Striderfoot - Lanky black molly. Scattered messenger.

Viceroyclaw - Muscular calico molly with yellow eyes. Clast high deputy.

Mintseed: Spotted gray molly with pale green eyes. Scattered messenger.

Boarpaw: Dark grey-brown tabby tom with orange eyes. Scattered scout.

Glorypelt: Pale ginger tabby tom with brown eyes. Scout, from Hillock.

Newtbite: Tortoiseshell molly with yellow eyes. Patroller, from Plage.

Bearface: Scattered. Tall, handsome black tom with green eyes. Scattered patroller.

Fogpetal: Plain grey molly with yellow eyes. Deputy patroller, from Clast.

[calitraditionalism]

Oh I like the new perspective from Fernstar we’re getting. Fernstar seems pretty nice in her internal thoughts at least. She’s sensible and doesn’t condemn quickly. Could she be a future ally for the main group, I wonder. I also really like the other cats surrounding her. Boarpaw is just adorable (and smart! Keeping watch is always a good idea!) and his prefix is one of my all time favorites. I also quite like Vicoryclaw. She seems to not particularly care for Redheart (is there past animosity between the two or do they not know each other ? Or is it just Vicoryclaws personality contrasting Fernstars ?) but she also has a strong bond with Fernstar. Accepting and trusting in her leader, maybe even a bit protective. I’m intrigued, I hope they both appear more.

Side note, I love how much the naming system adds to the world. I’m a big fan of traditional „suffixes have meaning“ system anyway, but it shines so much in this story. Like Fogpetal underestimating Mistface because he’s just a -face (even though we know he chose that suffix on purpose to keep expectations low). Instantly knowing at least one character trait of every cat introduced. And of course speculating about an apprentices suffix. What would Littlepaw be called ? Perhaps something for her love of stories ? If she ever gets a suffix anyway, that is. Or Boarpaw, he’s standing out with his tracking and his intellect, he’ll probably have a few suffixes to pick from.

I just love the extra layer of worldbuilding and information about the characters and I don’t think I’ve said it before, so I added it here. <3

You were quick with this one! Excellent!

Thank you for the kind words, especially about the suffixes. I'm quite fond of traditionalism for that exact reason - you get a sense of a character just by their name. As for Littlepaw's name... well, we'll get there at some point. Just know that I think it's quite cute.

Fernstar has really grown on me as I've been writing her, honestly. I didn't think much about her before I got to her perspective, but now I'm quite happy to be telling her part of the story. We'll have to see where she and her opinions go from here!