#i love the idea of fog starclan cats though

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Eleven

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The silence continued into the dawn. No one got much sleep after Littlepaw’s vision. They were all afraid that they would be next.

Laurelclaw tried his best to stay positive, he really did. He pulled up as many hopeful, happy thoughts as he could while standing guard outside of Littlepaw’s den, ready to jump in and shake her out of another nightmare at the drop of a feather. Flyfang had tried to tell him to rest, but there was a silent understanding between the two that neither of them was going to sleep again when Littlepaw was at risk of falling back into whatever horrible space she had been in. Flyfang had conceded and gone into the den to be closer to her half-apprentice. When Laurelclaw glanced in occasionally, she was curled around Littlepaw’s tightly balled-up body, watching her with exhausted fear. He couldn’t blame her.

It wasn’t just that which made him fail to keep a happy image in his head. All of his happy images were of his family, the Plage – his mother, father, goofy deputy and snarky former mentor, among all the others, walking together, sharing jokes, watching the waves of the ocean rear and collapse, stretching their foam as far as it could go up the beach. The sense of companionship and confidence. Security in their strength as they stood together.

All of it suddenly felt so pointless, in the grand scheme of things. So temporary.

Laurelclaw fought against the dread that came with every reminder that his family was not going to a happy afterlife. He failed to keep it down. It soaked into his chest and stomach, sticking against the walls of his insides, making him sick. He shivered with nausea many times throughout the night.

The sun barely made it through the thick canopy above the makeshift camp. Laurelclaw hardly noticed it was daylight until Flyfang emerged from the den and shook out her fur. She wordlessly went off into the woods, tail dragging on the ground after her.

Everyone was awake and outside, sitting uncomfortably in silence, before Flyfang returned, carrying prey. Beetlefoot went with her to retrieve everything else she had caught, but there were still no words exchanged. They all formed a ring again and picked listlessly at their meals, nibbling without tasting.

Laurelclaw was absorbed in his own thoughts, but the tension eventually became too much to ignore. He followed his urge to say something.

“You know…” he started, and winced when everyone looked at him like he had shouted. “Imagining everyone’s reaction to all of this, it’s… it can be a little funny, I think.”

Silence. Every face was baffled. Laurelclaw internally berated himself and tried again.  

“It’s just me thinking about my mom, really,” he said while fighting off shakiness in his voice. “She’d- she would want to go to sleep and find StarClan and fight it to the death herself. She’d leap at the opportunity. But my dad, he’d run. He’d take the entire family with him – the whole Clan, probably – and flee as far as he could go. He was always a little timid like that.”

The silence calmed a little. Laurelclaw could see the others considering their own families.

“I think…” Flyfang’s eyes lifted up towards the treetops, contemplating. “I think the Marish would panic. My sisters, maybe they wouldn’t get it. They’d think it’s some monster from a story, something easy to beat on your way to becoming a hero. It’d be exciting for them.” Her voice lowered a little, tightened. “I’d prefer for them to think of it that way.”

Surprisingly, Beetlefoot spoke next. “I know the Fleet would all follow Redheart’s idea to get the entire Clan out of the Territory, if they could. Though everyone where I was born is… rather traditional. They prefer the aspects. But they still cling to them going to StarClan for their ‘good behavior’ and ‘righteous worship’. If they knew that all their praying and piousness meant nothing, they might just fling themselves into the river. Leap into the mouth of the beast. Get it over with as soon as possible.”

Laurelclaw looked at Beetlefoot, a little startled. It was the most he had ever said about himself. That tiny, weak cynicism in him remarked wryly about how of course it was unhappy and dour, coming from Beetlefoot. He told that part to hush and be nice.

“My mom wouldn’t believe it,” Littlepaw said, a bit muted and flat. She wasn’t looking at anyone. “She’d find every excuse under the sun to reason it away as a mistake or a lie.”

“Hard thing to convince anyone about,” Mistface said.

Laurelclaw couldn’t help some desperation in his voice. “Isn’t there anything we can do? We could warn everyone, right? Spread the word?”

Redheart sighed, more in a world-weary way than in annoyance with him (thankfully). “I’ve wanted to run around the Territory and tell everyone the truth so many times, Laurelclaw. But the Runagate’s been doing that for generations now, and they’ve barely gotten anywhere. We’re not the first ones to know about StarClan. We probably won’t be the last.”

“I don’t know how much we could do, anyway,” Greyleaf said. His claws were deeply sunk into the soft ground. “Who would believe a deputy on the run, and who would believe a healer, of all cats?”

“But Littlepaw-“ started Laurelclaw, but Redheart shook her head.

“She’s not a seer anymore,” she said. “And so many of our actual seers are fooled, StarClan can easily lie to them and call us insane. Littlepaw got lucky with the Runagate visiting her and StarClan trying to talk to her again, it seems.”

“��Lucky’ is a real subjective word,” Mistface remarked. “Ain’t sure how lucky it is to see what y’all see.”

“About as lucky as bearing witness to a murder when no one else was around, I suppose,” Beetlefoot said darkly.

“You aren’t wrong.” Greyleaf looked down at his paws and carefully retracted his claws, grimacing. “It’s a stroke of incredible fortune that any of you believed us to begin with. I mean…” He looked to his brother. “You didn’t at first, right? Even you?”

Mistface gave him a non-smile. “Thought you might’ve been crazy for a minute, yes.”

“And he’s my brother.” Greyleaf turned back to everyone else. “The thing is that, yeah, you all believed us, but you’re a smaller group with at least relatively open minds, and it still took a second to win you over. Telling a much larger crowd, or a couple of strangers you’ve never spoken to before, that’s going to be a lot harder to convince.”

“That’s the trouble with all of us,” Darkpelt said suddenly. “I’ve noticed it in my line of work. Cats like to follow along with the crowd because it makes us feel more secure, like somehow more cats means more logical thinking and correct choices. And we cling to any line of security we can get. If you were told a horrible truth, and someone in your group said ‘that’s nonsense!’, you’d be inclined to believe them. It’s safer for your sanity.”

“Then how did we all believe it?” Flyfang, despite her words, did not sound argumentative. She looked more puzzled than anything.

Darkpelt shifted to tuck her front paws underneath her chest and she shut her eyes. Her tone became contemplative. “For me, at least, it just makes sense. I’ve always believed that nothing is impossible, given how real StarClan seemed all my life. And the connections between Redheart and Greyleaf, especially the nightmares, made me far too curious to just pass them off as insane and leave it at that.” She opened her eyes and turned her head in Flyfang’s direction. “Like I said the other day, they have a completely bonkers story that no one would expect to be believed, except a nutter. But a nutter wouldn’t also have the story make sense if one stops to think about the logistics of it.”

“And you believed based on that?” Mistface asked, eyes half-closed as he regarded her doubtfully. 

“Better reason than just a blood connection,” Darkpelt said, with a jaunty nod at him. “You’d believe Greyleaf if he told you he was Derecho in physical form.”

Mistface, surprisingly, did not react with his usual flat irritation. Rather, he looked amused. “It’d make more sense for him to be Gelid, with everything about Gelid’s inevitability, relating to what we know now.”

“You’d make a better Gelid than me,” Greyleaf said.

“Or Brume,” Beetlefoot muttered. “Slow and fluffy as you are.”

Mistface gave a breathy laugh, and with that the air of the ring loosened and relaxed. Appetites returned, everyone now eating properly and with a little more enjoyment of their food. It was quiet again for a while, until Beetlefoot spoke up, almost quiet enough that Laurelclaw didn't hear him.

“You know, Brume and Gelid used to be the same aspect,” he murmured.

Littlepaw perked up immediately. “I thought I heard something like that when I was a kit. Who were they?”

Speaking a little louder and, rather nicely, almost friendlier, Beetlefoot looked at Littlepaw. “They were called Rime. He was the aspect of ice and fog, once. He split into two a long time ago. The Brae still pray to him, though, as if he hasn’t been halved.”

“That doesn’t make much sense,” Flyfang said. “How could he still exist and be two different aspects at the same time?”

“Nothing the Brae do makes sense.” Beetlefoot shook his head. “They’re reclusive idiots.”

“Sounds like the Marish,” Flyfang said, almost nostalgically. “I had to peal out of there when they had their backs turned. They don’t want anyone leaving or coming in.”

Mistface swallowed a mouse tail. “Y’all got more problems in your families than they’re worth, if you ask me.”

“Your brother is on the run because he’s immune to a monster's visions,” Flyfang said, giving him a sarcastic head tilt. “Don’t you talk on family.”

“He’s kind of right, though,” Laurelclaw offered. “I love the Plage, but they can be a lot to handle. They all keep pushing me to be a patroller in the Fleet.”

Littlepaw lifted a paw to hide a smile. “They’ve met you, right?”

“I say the same thing.” Laurelclaw sighed a bit dramatically, for humor’s sake. “I’m just good at taking hits, that’s all.”

“You would not be a good patroller,” said Beetlefoot. “They’re all eager for a fight.” He paused, considering. “Though you cut an intimidating enough figure. You do have a chip in your ear.”

Laurelclaw lowered his head, a little embarrassed. “That was just an accident in my assessment.”

Littlepaw could not hide her smile now. “Have you been in a single real fight at all?”

“…No.” Laurelclaw’s ears (including the chipped one) started to burn, but Littlepaw’s laugh - quiet and small, but genuine - cooled them down again. Flyfang shook her head in mock disappointment. Even Redheart smiled.

There was a lull in the conversation again, but it was nice now – Laurelclaw could see everyone’s relief at the lightening of the mood as they exchanged friendly glances or started grooming their fur. Mistface and Greyleaf were talking in low voices to each other, and Greyleaf seemed calm for once.

“AH!”

A collective jump and the crew all looked at Darkpelt. She had shot up into a sitting position, her eyes huge even compared to her normal wide-eyed blind stare. Her tail stood straight up, fur sticking out like a fox’s.

“Something wrong?” Flyfang ventured when nothing was said.

“StarClan’s visions.” Darkpelt’s head twisted this way and that, like she was seeing something they couldn’t. “Greyleaf has been immune to them his whole life, and Littlepaw can see through the veil. ‘Through the veil’.” Her head turned in Redheart’s direction. “That’s what the Runagate told you. That was the specific wording.”

Redheart haltingly answered, confused. “It was, yes.”

“Littlepaw, Greyleaf, neither of you believe anymore, if you ever did.” Darkpelt looked between them. “As soon as you knew the truth, StarClan couldn’t work its magic on you.”

Littlepaw’s face fell. She seemed to be recalling the memory of her nightmare. “Yes. The field I always see was dead, and then it fell apart.”

“Is there a point to this?” Beetlefoot's head was craned a bit forward and his eyes were narrowed like Darkpelt’s were whenever she was concentrating.

“I don’t know yet.” Darkpelt lowered herself down again. “But it’s important. I can feel that. We have the veil and the knowledge of immunity. That’s all based on belief.” She squinted hard. “Belief. That’s going to be a factor. Keep that in your heads, everyone. We’re going to need to think.”

Laurelclaw didn’t know what to say. Thinking was not his strong suite to begin with, but this incredibly vague command to 'keep belief in his head' was already beyond him.

“Um…” He tilted his head, forgetting for a moment that Darkpelt couldn’t see him. “What does that factor into?”

“Haven’t the faintest,” Darkpelt said. “We’ll just have to wrack our noggins and see. Think hard, everyone. Think harder than you’ve ever thought in your lives. Our home and Clan depend on it.”

Redheart regarded Darkpelt with some puzzlement, but eventually she gave a small sigh. “We can do that. I hope this is going somewhere.”

“It is.” For the first time since they’d left the Clast, Darkpelt smiled broadly. “I promise.”