#murepaw pov

[sedge-and-sanctuary]

Moon Twelve - Highdark

Sedgeclan has no Deputy!

Murekit, Pinekit, Saltkit, and Timberkit are made apprentices. Coniferstar tells the story of the clan's founding.

Murekit takes a deep breath, holding carefully still as Wormturn rasps her tongue- again- between his ears.

His littermates- already groomed- are fidgeting a hare-leap away, their pelts sleeker and neater than Murekit’s ever seen them.

Pinekit looks sideways at Timberkit and- slowly- reaches out one paw to swat the back of her head. Wormturn doesn’t even stop grooming Murekit. “Pinekit, if you muss your sister’s pelt–”

He stops, guiltily. Saltkit and Timberkit dissolve into giggling.

The ‘day’, deepest in the heart of winter, is pitch-dark. The sun has not risen for days and days now, and will not rise again for quite some time.

Silhouetted- dark, against the darker sky- is Coniferstar. He stands on the Splitstone, waiting. The jagged, flat-topped boulder is kissed by moonlight, where it spills into the centre of their camp.

He opens his mouth, at last, and calls out, voice high and clear: “Cats of Sedgeclan! Any who have paws to carry them, and ears to listen– gather ‘round!”

Wormturn pulls away from Murekit, at last. He pauses, to smooth the last tuft of unruly fur flat, with his own paw.

He can’t afford to make a bad impression, at the ceremony.

Quickly, Sedgeclan gathers. There aren’t many of them, and everyone’s been expecting it. Harebolt and Snowstreak pad up to sit by Wormturn, chatting with her in low voices.

Murekitturn sits neatly by his siblings, tucking his tail around his paws.

He’s trying not to meet Coniferstar’s eyes directly, worried the older tom will be able to read his desperation in his thoughts. Notice me, pick me, look at me, look at me, won’t you look at me?

He glances over at his siblings instead; big, pale Timberkit. Speckled, nervous-looking Saltkit. 

And Pinekit– his only brother. Ginger, like Murekit is, but darker, and more sturdily built; the second biggest, after Timberkit. Everytime Murekit looks at him now, he tries to drink in every detail. One day, he’ll be exiled. And Murekit will never see him again; the faint tabby striping on his tail, and legs. The mischievous twitching of his whiskers, when he’s going to pounce on one of their sisters. The warmth of his pelt, when they all curl up together in the sun, and drift off into sleep.

Unless–

Murekit looks back up to Coniferstar. Look at me. Look at me.

And he does. Just– briefly, Coniferstar glances down. Murekit freezes, the leader’s eyes boring into him; pale, and flat, and calm. His expression is unreadable.

And then he looks  up to sweep the clan. The chattering between the adults falls silent. “Today is a day that we should mark. The very first young, of our clan, receiving their apprentice names.”

Murekit lifts his chin, hoping the fur hasn’t sprung back out of place, where a messy tuft tends to stick out beside his shoulder. Pinekit jostles him, nudging his side with a grin.

Coniferstar says; “It feels only right that this should come at a holy time– during the darkest days, when the warmth of sun cannot tempt us to indolence, and the prey is hard– and mouths hungrier than ours stalk the tundra.”

The wind whistles around the camp. Saltkit huddles closer to her siblings, eyes huge and worried.

“But why is this a holy time? These days when we all wish we were curled up inside our dens, sheltering against the cold?” Coniferstar looks across his clan; studies each of them, in turn. “I will tell you, now. The story of our clan. And usher in, with this tale of the path, a new beginning– carried in these brave, young paws.”

He nods down at the group of kits. Murekit meets his eyes, unwilling to seem nervous. Is that a flicker of approval, in his leader’s face?

“In the clan of my birth,” Coniferstar says, “the land was easy. We didn’t have to fight for prey, or warmth; more cats grew old than didn’t, and warriors whiled away their idle days in play, and relaxation.”

It doesn’t sound so bad to Murekit. He glances at his littermates, remembering the hungry days before the clan. Seeing Pinekit and Saltkit withering away, little by little, as starvation gnawed at them. Hearing the desperation in Wormturn’s voice, as she promised them they’d be alright, even as her milk dried up, and her fur fell out, in patches. He tries not to let any longing show on his face, at the description of Coniferstar’s rich territory, the easy hunting.

Coniferstar carries on, meeting every cat’s eyes in turn, so it feels like he’s talking directly to each of them. “But the clan turned away from our ancestors; what use did cats have for Starclan, when the earthly world provided such bounty? They grew selfish, and lazy– without respect for starclan, they abandoned the warrior code, and lived like low, base animals. Even in that plenty, kits and elders starved. A warrior might catch a mouse for sport, and leave it rotting in the sun, while a queen, in the nursery, cried out for the meanest morsel.”

There is a noise, behind Murekit; a little breath. Wormturn– he’s not sure how he knows, only he would recognise his mother, no matter what. Is she remembering the hungry moons, as well? Thinking of a queen starving, with no one there to help?

“And so– as Featherclan had turned their backs on Starclan, Starclan turned their backs on it. They visited me, in my dreams, and delivered me a prophecy. I was newly-named, then, and hoped for a way to save my clan… but it was beyond saving. Instead– I would leave my clan, and go on to build something new.”

He closes his eyes, and then intones, solemnly:

“A cat of tender years will go / Beyond the place that trees can grow / To find a land that’s hard and cold / And gather up brave cats, and bold /  To those that linger in the dark / The Stars will grant their brightest spark / And life will spring, for worthy ones /  Untainted by the clans of sun.”

There is a silence, in the wake of this strange poem. Cats glance at one another. 

Forced to sit still too long, Pinekit fidgests, and Murekit wants to clobber him. Don’t you know how important it is that Coniferstar thinks well of you? You of all cats?

Their leader opens his eyes. They glow white-silver, in the moonlight, something nearly unnatural. 

Murekit finds that he believes it, after all. About Starclan, and the rest. That something…. else really has touched their leader.

“And what do you think that means– Harebolt?”

Murekit turns, surprised. Coniferstar doesn’t spare much attention for Harebolt, usually– not since Wormturn really started learning her herbs.

Harebolt looks as surprised as Murekit is; her ears lie back, briefly, then relax. “It’s about you, obviously.” Her tail twitches; is she irritated? “And it’s telling you to come find us.”

Coniferstar nods, one ear flicking in amusement. “Quite right. Starclan guided me to all of you. To new cats, who can build a new clan– if we are willing to endure this harsh tundra. Do you understand?”

He’s still looking at Harebolt; but there’s no warmth at all, in his eyes. Murekit’s pelt prickles– glad, for once, that the leader isn’t paying attention to him instead. 

Harebolt nods. “To those that linger in the dark. I get it.” Her tone is flat, echoing the prophetic words.

Snowstreak’s voice, when she cuts in, is not. “That’s why this time is special.” She looks up at Coniferstar, eyes glowing. “Right? Because– um.”

Coniferstar blinks, warmly, as Snowstreak falters. “Right you are. Because this time- this harsh time- is so little like the clans of the south. If we endure this– we prove we are more worthy cats, than they were. You have heard me say, from every frost, a thaw. This is what I mean. If we endure this hardship long enough– I believe that Starclan will grant us a great bounty. We must only prove we are capable of receiving it, without running astray.”

He glances up at the dark sky. “And that begins with these young cats.” When he turns down again, his manner is warm, familiar. “You have all waited very patiently. Now–”

He studies the kits, for a moment. Murekit’s skin burns, beneath his pelt. He resists the urge to squirm, and fidget, like Pinekit had been doing– though even Murekit’s troublesome brother is still, under their leader’s eye.

“Pinekit,” Coniferstar says. Murekit’s throat is dry. “And Saltkit. You have both reached the age of six moons. Clan law dictates it is time for you to take on the duties of an apprentice. From this day, until you have earned your warrior names, you will be known as Pinepaw, and Saltpaw. Your paws now walk the path of Sedgeclan cats, in full. I trust you will place them carefully.”

The two young cats step forward. Saltkit- no, Saltpaw- is shivering with nerves, and big Pinepaw presses his side to hers, offering wordless support. Murekit’s heart squeezes with affection for his brother. He could be an idiot– but no one would ever accuse him of being a bad brother.

Coniferstar blinks warmly at them– and then looks to the grown cats, behind them. “Snowstreak. You are ready to take on an apprentice. You have endured great hardship, and shown yourself to be a loyal and courageous cat. I believe you understand what it truly means, to be a warrior of Sedgeclan. You will be mentor to Pinepaw and Saltpaw– I expect you to pass on your wisdom.”

Snowstreak steps forward, too, her white-and-ginger fur fluffed up with pleasure. “I will!”

“Then touch noses with your apprentices, and let us all greet them by their new names.”

Snowstreak bends to touch her nose first to Pinepaw’s, and then- with a murmured word that Murekit doesn’t quite make out- to Saltpaw’s, too.

“Saltpaw!” Coniferstar calls. “Pinepaw!”

The clan, after an awkward few repetitions, joins in, and a ragged cheer goes up. Coniferstar’s tail twitches- just the once- as they struggle to arrange themselves into a proper chant. Murekit wonders if he’s remembering his old clan– the ceremonies must have been a lot smoother, with cats who knew their roles by heart.

Even though it’s kind of embarrassing, Murekit keeps chanting until everyone else has stopped, so his fading “Saltpaw! Pine…paw…” is the last to echo in the camp. Coniferstar– is that a look of approval, on the dark tabby’s face? It’s hard to tell, quite, in the dark.

Whatever it is, it vanishes as he begins to speak again. “Now. Murekit. Timberkit. I haven’t forgotten about you. It is time for you, as well, to be made apprentices. From this day forth, until you have earned your warrior names, you will be known as Murepaw, and Timberpaw. And I myself will mentor you.”

Murepaw- the name sends a thrill through him- finds his head spinning as Coniferstar springs from the splitstone to touch noses with him. He can pick out his clanmates’ voices as they chant his name.

“Murepaw! Timberpaw! Murepaw! Timberpaw!”

Their voices are a little less hesitant, this time.

In the middle of the racket, Murepaw meets Coniferstar’s eyes. “I’ll do my best,” he says, solemnly. “I’ll be a true warrior of Sedgeclan.”

Coniferstar purrs. “I know you will.”

He has to. If he doesn’t make a good impression– who else will convince Coniferstar that Pinepaw’s worth keeping around?

They part, after that, and Wormturn rushes over to congratulate her kits, and thank Coniferstar and Snowstreak for taking them on. The litter reunites, bumping their heads together and chattering excitedly– 

Only Harebolt lingers, on the outskirts. Watching them– alone.