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Stonefur leaves ThunderClan leaning on Stormpaw. The apprentice has grown so much in their time, and if he is excited to return to RiverClan, he doesn't show it. Still, Stonefur waits until the ThunderClan patrol following them has retreated to speak.
"We don't have to go back," Stonefur says. "We can stay here. Or leave. Go somewhere else."
"I want to see—" Stormpaw stops, his words drowning in air. No one has seen ears or tail of Mistyfoot and Featherpaw. They both want to see where their sisters' bones lie.
"Okay."
He walks into RiverClan standing freely. The Bonehill is gone, but its ghost has sprawled past what Stonefur remembers it as.
"Stonefur?" Mosspelt's eyes are wide. He forgot he has been dead to them for moons. "Stonefur, you're alive?"
Camp startles, eyes poking out of dens and turned backs shifting to face them.
"Stonefur and Stormpaw," someone says. "Where are they?"
The question isn't directed at him.
"Mudfur took them out," Sunfish says, not breaking eye contact. "They're not far — someone should run."
Stonefur doesn't ask who. He can't bear to hear the wrong answer.
Mistyfoot.
She is not the same as when he left, but then, neither is he. She presses herself into his side, purring, and he rests his chin on her head.
"Misty," he breathes, focusing on how her purr reverberates through him.
"You were dead," she says.
"So were you."
She steps back, studying him. He thinks — he thinks they both look better than they should, all things considered.
Featherpaw stands behind her, making unblinking eye contact with Stormpaw. Stonefur doesn't think she's grown.
"You're alive," Stormpaw says, and Featherpaw's face contorts.
"I'm not that easy to kill," she mutters.
Stormpaw's jaw clenches. Stonefur should have prepared them for this, should have thought ahead.
"Feather, we just hadn't heard."
"I'm going to sleep," Featherpaw says. "I'll see you later."
Mistyfoot waits until Featherpaw has entered a den to speak. "Don't call her that," she says. "And don't..." She trails off. Stonefur watches how she swallows, how she studies her paws but does not so much as knead the ground.
"I'm sorry," she offers. "We didn't know. She's tired." Mistyfoot watches Stormpaw with pity. Stonefur aches to touch her again, to be assured that she is real and alive and not some ghost sent to torment him.
"I thought she'd be happy," Stormpaw says, scowling.
"She is happy," Mistyfoot says. "She just needs some time."
She takes a deep breath, her shoulders moving. She has changed, in more ways than one.
"Mudfur might have nests for you," she offers. "I'm sorry. I'll ask Featherpaw about everything in the morning."
Her ears twitch, and Stonefur takes a step forward. Their foreheads meet.
"It's alright," he says. "We're all here, aren't we?"
“He hurt them,” Stormpaw seethes in Mudfur’s den. “I can’t believe we didn’t go back for them.”
“Stormpaw,” Stonefur says, “we thought — they were dead.”
“We should have known,” Stormpaw shouts. “Shouldn’t have trusted.” He shakes his head. “I need to — I don’t know.”
Mudfur and Stonefur watch him leave.
“She’s with kits,” Stonefur says. “They’re his.” It’s not a question, but he prays Mudfur says no.
"Yes." Mudfur swallows, staring at the stores of herbs. "I think she's a moon along, but it could be more." His ears are folded back, and rage sinks deep into Stonefur that he isn't sure. "Mistyfoot hasn't let me close enough to know."
Mudfur takes a deep breath as Stonefur's anger simmers into something — almost soothing. Like he has burned through all his fury, and is left only with a cold hatred for Tigerstar.
"But," Mudfur says, his tone distant, "what's happened to you?"
Stormpaw apologizes for running.
"It's okay, you know. It's okay to be frustrated, upset, angry. You've been through a lot." He rests his muzzle on Stormpaw's head.
The apprentice's ears flick dismissively. "Not really. Not compared to them."
Stonefur laughs softly. "How do you even measure that? Maybe not compared to them. Maybe. I don't know. But — it doesn't mean you haven't been through a lot."
Stormpaw sighs, and nods, like he doesn't believe Stonefur, but he doesn't want to keep talking about it.
He walks into the river alone.
Stormpaw was still asleep when he left, and Mistyfoot and Featherpaw are speaking quietly.
Cinderpelt told him they found his body in the river. He stands in it now, in the shallowest part, where they take young kits to introduce them to water.
He thinks he died. That's how it feels. He doesn't remember the first half-moon in ThunderClan, doesn't remember the fight, doesn't remember things he should remember.
Stormpaw asked him who mentored him, and Stonefur could not provide a name.
But he remembers how to swim. They couldn't swim in ThunderClan, not with the only water in their territory a shared border with TigerClan. He walks deeper into the river, taking easy strokes where he can no longer touch the ground.
"Stonefur?" Shadepelt's paw hangs into the water, and her eyes are cautious. Her voice is soft, quieter than he remembers. Or maybe it was always like that.
"Hello, Shadepelt," he purrs. She reaches down, touching her nose to his. "Did you want something?"
She tilts her head. "I'm not sure."
"Do you want to swim with me?"
Shadepelt shakes her head. "I don't really..." She takes a breath, and Stonefur hears her wheeze. "You know, we thought you died."
"I've heard." Stonefur pulls himself out of the river to sit beside her. She looks down at the ripples he leaves behind.
"I wanted to give you a proper funeral," she continues. "Wanted to...your nest was gone. Couldn't save that. But we could still build a shrine."
Shadepelt reaches into the water, flicking aimlessly.
"Leopardstar said no. I was going to do it anyway. But your body was gone, when I went to find it."
She looks up, her amber eyes shining. "Tigerstar said I must have done it. I didn't, obviously. But he said..." Shadepelt presses her nose into his shoulder. "He said someone's bones needed to go on the pile."
Shadepelt pulls back, and Stonefur licks her shoulder.
"I didn't die, so. I guess that plan didn't work out."
Stonefur is still deputy, evidently. Leopardstar never chose a new one, and now he’s returned. But this is the last day until they fight for the forest, and RiverClan moves quietly.
For his part, Stonefur hunts. He had gone hunting in ThunderClan, and he was never terrible at hunting land prey, but he was never good at it, either. This is what it means to hunt, to him.
He sits at the river and waits, killing a fish with the ease he remembers. What is new is how he cannot remember what it is called.
Stonefur carries the perch back to RiverClan, bringing it to Mistyfoot. "Have you eaten?"
She flicks her tail, a non-answer. "Featherpaw hasn't. Mudfur wants us to — check in with him. But she should eat first." She licks his shoulder. "But that's a good catch."
Stonefur flicks an ear. "It's just a fish. Are you sure you don't want it?"
Mistyfoot nods. "I'll eat later. I'm not hungry."
He dips his head, padding towards Mudfur.
Mistyfoot and Stormpaw fight in the battle; Featherpaw and Stonefur don't.
She is sullen, cautious around him, and Stonefur wonders if she remembers him as anything more than a ghost story.
"Stormpaw is mad at me," she says.
"He is." There's no point in lying to her. They have barely spoken in the two days they have shared a camp.
"I love him," she says.
"He loves you, too."
Featherpaw jerks her head up. There is a scar down the side of her face, and one of her eyes is clouded. "He doesn't — we're all different, now," she hisses. "We're all new."
Stonefur thinks of how Mistyfoot's belly is hanging lower, and how her scent has changed. "We're made of the same things," he says.
Featherpaw looks at her foot. "I'm not."
Stonefur is silent.
Mistyfoot returns from the battle injured. The scratch across her shoulder is deep enough to need treatment, but not so deep to draw concern. Still, when Featherpaw sees it, she lays next to Mistyfoot as they wait for Mudfur to reach them.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect her," Stormpaw says.
"That wasn't your job." But still, Stonefur wonders. If he had fought, would she have been hurt?
Leopardstar watches him.
They have not exchanged words beyond —
"I'm stepping down as deputy."
"You don't have to."
— and Stonefur isn't sure what to say to her now.
They swim together. Featherpaw sighs every time she goes in the water, her posture changing. Stormpaw hasn't approached the river since they got back; Stonefur hasn't asked why.
"Leopardstar is going to make us warriors soon," she says. "D'you think she'll accept a season of extra battle training in lieu of a final assessment?"
Stonefur laughs, and Featherpaw looks surprised. For a moment, he worries he's misread her, but then she laughs. It is a beautiful sound.
“How did you survive?” Mistyfoot asks. “We — the apprentices said you died.”
Stonefur tilts his head. He knows what Stormpaw has told him, and the details don’t stick in his head right. “They found me in the river,” he says. “We don’t know how I got there. But they brought me back, and realized I was breathing.” He takes a deep breath. “And then — Cinderpelt treated me.” That’s all he can really say.
Mistyfoot purrs. She shifts into her side, leaning her head in his paws. “I’m sorry you thought we were dead.”
He pauses and thinks for a moment, licking the back of her neck, in lieu of the top of her head, tucked away from him.
This is the wrong thing to do.
He knows this from the way Mistyfoot tenses, her breath catching. She stands, her eyes darting to Featherpaw. “Misty?” he asks, and she flicks her tail.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I wish you knew — I wish you knew.”
“I wish we knew,” Stonefur agrees. “If we had known, we never would have left you.”
Mistyfoot looks back at him, and he can't untangle where her fear ends and her anger begins. "I used to think about how Tigerstar killed my father and mother and brother. And I thought — he wouldn't hesitate to kill her. If I — messed up."
She sits, her shoulders hunched and head lowered. There is a knot of fur at the base of her neck, where she can't reach. "I'm glad — you survived. If you had come back, he would have killed you."
“We wanted to come back for you,” he says. “I promise. And — Misty, we would have done anything to rescue you.”
“You’re not listening. He would have killed her and you and—" She drops her head on his shoulder. Stonefur braces himself, and she must notice, because she lifts her head. "You're hurt."
He flicks his tail. "I have a lot of bruises." He doesn't need her fretting over him.
Mistyfoot narrows her eyes. "Mudfur has seen you, right?"
Stonefur nods. "Rest and time is all there is to it."
Mistyfoot nods, seeming satisfied. “I should check on Featherpaw,” she says, and leaves without looking back at him.
He is getting better; she is getting worse.
"I think I'm going to die," Feathertail says on the night she becomes a warrior. She has been excused from her vigil, and she didn't argue. Neither did Stormheart. "Don't think what Mudfur is giving me is working."
She lies her head on his shoulder. It is the first time she has touched him; it is the first time she has touched anyone other than Mistyfoot.
"I'm not sure if I mind."
He still hurts.
It is a silent thing, something that lurks in him when he does not expect it. He knows as soon as he wakes that it is a bad day. Stonefur sighs. He fought a clean battle. It should not hurt this bad.
It's only been three moons, he reminds himself. Battle injuries can take years to recover fully.
Still, he hates how his back aches, how he feels like he is fighting for air, how he has lost muscle and he can't gain it back.
Cinderpelt and Mudfur have both told him he'll get better. Maybe not the same — but better.
"I'm going to go swimming," he says. It is an open invitation, but Stormheart shakes his head. Stonefur sighs. "We've got to get you back in the water. You can't have a name like Stormheart and be..." He trails off, the world illuding him. "You can't not swim," he says.
Stormheart laughs. "I will, I will. I promise."
He's been ducking out of promises since they got back.
Stonefur finds Mistyfoot in the morning. She's woken, her tail wrapped neatly around her paws as she stares at the horizon.
"Mistyfoot?"
"The birds are singing," she says. "It's newleaf."
It's been newleaf for a while, Stonefur thinks, but he waits, because he thinks it's more than that. He sits next to her, and she leans against him.
"I don't think I expected leafbare to end."
"It went on for a while," Stonefur agrees. "I used to — I wanted RiverClan back by newleaf. I promised myself, and Stormpaw, that if — if it was newleaf, and we were still in ThunderClan, that we could just leave. Find somewhere else."
She makes a muffled sound.
"But it ended. And now we're here."
She purrs.
Mistyfoot and Feathertail sleep in a den made for more than two cats. RiverClan rarely makes dens for a single pair, but still, when Stonefur and Stormheart move in with them, there is exactly the right amount of space.
He wonders who made that decision.
They were always close to their apprentices. With Silverstream dead and Greystripe in ThunderClan, Stonefur and Mistyfoot both felt kinship with them.
Mosspelt raised them, but still, Stonefur thinks Stormheart rests in a space between apprentice and kin.
Apprentice, but only for a moon. Stonefur was in no condition to continue his training in ThunderClan, and he couldn’t have done well in unfamiliar territory.
Kin, but not because of any blood between them. Stonefur knows, still, he would give his life for Stormheart without a second thought.
Stonefur tucks branches and reeds together. He has never excelled at this, at making nests, but it is something he can do for all of them.
Feathertail is awake more and more. Stonefur doesn't remember what happened to him, but he remembers how it felt — how it felt to scramble away from dying, closer and closer to being alive. He remembers how much it hurt.
She talks the most when she is awake, but not fully.
"Think I'm gonna die," she says. "Think I've been dying."
"You're getting better," Stormheart says, watching her cautiously. She flicks her tail.
"I'm getting better now. I got better, lost my ear. But I don't know. That was getting worse, so." She laughs. "Got better from that, lost my claw. Don't think I got better from that."
"You're getting better," Stormheart repeats.
Feathertail sits up, looking at him with an emotion Stonefur can't name, but knows intimately. It is something between rage and shame and fear. "At least when I was worse," she says, "I didn't hurt all the time." She stands. "I'm going to find Mistyfoot."
When she leaves, Stormheart turns back to Stonefur.
"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong." He stands, pacing.
"You're not doing anything wrong," Stonefur says, hoping he sounds reassuring.
"She won't touch me. And it's like — everything I say makes her angry. Like she hates being around me, and she's just looking for an excuse."
He takes a breath. Stonefur wonders if it will be helpful to point out that Feathertail didn't get angry when Blackclaw asked her when she was going to start pulling her weight. That it is probably good that she is angry with him.
"I know I'm supposed to give her space and time and let her — I don't know," Stormheart continues. Stonefur decides it won't be. "She's my sister. And she's hurt and scared and I can't do anything, and I just feel so helpless."
They're sleeping in the same nest, Stonefur thinks. As are Mistyfoot and Feathertail. But at least Stonefur understands this — at least he can say something.
Stonefur stands, resting his tail on Stormheart's back. "I know," he says, looking where Feathertail and Mistyfoot are speaking now. Feathertail looks happy. She also looks exhausted. Mistyfoot stands, nudging her towards their den. Mistyfoot swears she's the same, but it's obvious even from a distance that she isn't.
"I know that's selfish," Stormheart says, licking his shoulder. "It's not about me."
Stonefur sighs. "Maybe it is. But — it's understandable. You love her. You want to — fix things for her. But you can't."
"Are you okay?" Stormheart's eyes are wide, and Stonefur thinks, it's impossible to forget how young he is. Even if his face wasn't still wide, his emotions are unpredictable, untamed, unrelenting.
"I'm fine," Stonefur says. "I promise."
Stormheart looks unsure, and then sullen. "I was so happy she was alive. And then — she just — ran. And it's my fault, I said all the wrong things, but—"
Stonefur cuts him off. "You couldn't have known how she would react, Stormheart." He licks the top of Stormheart's head. "And I don't know for sure, but I'd be surprised if she blames you. I think she just — is struggling to trust anyone."
"She trusts you."
"She trusts Mistyfoot." It's not the same thing. Feathertail is still wary about him, and when she's confused and scared, Stonefur only makes things worse. "She's been through a lot." All of them have. Stonefur thinks — a year ago, if he had seen all of them as they are now, he would have thought it a nightmare.
"I know." Stormheart sighs, his head falling onto Stonefur's shoulder. "But I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"I don't think she knows, either." Stonefur purrs softly. "I think — I think you have to let her know you're there. That you're there, when she's ready."
He doesn't think he's talking about Feathertail. He thinks he's talking about Mistyfoot, who refuses to speak about the obvious, who's anger comes out in shockingly forceful moments, who barely lets Feathertail out of her sight.
Still, the advice is broadly applicable.
"Stonefur?" Leopardstar's voice is soft. Unsure, even.
"What do you want?"
"To talk." Leopardstar sits next to him, pulling herself in, like if she makes herself smaller, she will absolve herself of the guilt she carries. (And he knows she carries it. He was barely her deputy for a season, but he has known her his whole life. She will never say it — and because she never will, Mistyfoot will never forgive her — but he sees it in her shoulders.) "We used to be friends."
"That was before." Before what, exactly, he's not sure. Before she ordered him to kill his apprentice, maybe. Or before she let him be killed. He's not sure which ranks higher.
"I know." She takes a deep, unsteady breath. "I suppose...asking if there's an after would be foolish."
Stonefur considers this. He doesn't think anyone was surprised, when Leopardstar chose him as her deputy. And — Mistyfoot might wait forever for an apology that won't come, but Stonefur won't. He has known Leopardstar his whole life. They are both cats of actions, not words. That she is here, now, is an apology in its own way.
"Asking if there is now would be," he decides. "But — that doesn't mean you can never ask."
Leopardstar nods, draws herself together. She looks like herself, again. Regal. Not for the first time, Stonefur thinks that Leopardstar would have made a more striking image on the Bonehill.
"I'm — happy you survived." She stands. "I wouldn't want a RiverClan without you in it."
“Come fishing with me.”
Stormheart blinks, uncertain.
“That’s not a request,” Stonefur says. “Let me clarify. You’re coming fishing with me.”
“I should go on patrol,” Stormheart says.
“You’re coming with me.” Stonefur nudges him, directing them out of camp. “You need to go fishing.”
Stormheart sighs, but doesn’t argue. They walk slowly, finding a part of the river where the water runs slow and wide.
“Do you remember how to do this?”
“I’m a RiverClan warrior,” Stormheart says. “I know how to fish.”
Stonefur narrows his eyes, settling to watch. Stormheart remembers the basics, that much is clear. His shadow doesn’t rest on the water, and he holds his paw hooked, waiting to strike.
Fishing is a patient art. Diving into the pools is active, but fishing is waiting. Stonefur studies the water, watching as minnows pass. He could catch one, but it would disturb the water, and RiverClan doesn’t hunger for prey.
“I missed this,” Stormheart says.
Stonefur purrs.
“You almost died,” Feathertail says. “Did it feel like this?”
Stonefur licks the top of her head. Mistyfoot is pacing beyond the bounds of Feathertail’s reach. She is anxious, near panicked, and the only thing keeping Feathertail from placating her is the sheer exhaustion and pain.
“Yeah,” Stonefur says. “It did.”
“I’m going to live, aren’t I?” she asks. “That’s what this is. It’s me living.”
Feathertail looks at her paw, and then shifts, looking at his throat.
“Tigerstar was really bad at killing cats,” she remarks. “You lived. Shadepelt lived. I’m gonna live.”
It’s the most hopeful she’s sounded since they’ve been reunited. Stonefur purrs. “You are.”
“I think I’m okay with that.”