Archive of Our Own

Mistpaw pounced at the floppy eared PuffinClan apprentice, claws out. How dare he intrude on CliffClan territory? He didn’t understand what they meant by moved borders, but he understood trespassers. Regardless of politics, he knew what to do with trespassers.

Seabranch hurtled into Mistpaw just before he reached the apprentice, pinning him down. The two patrols dissolved into hisses and tearing jaws. Seabranch yowled something, but Mistpaw was too focused on getting her off. Palescar was immediately on Seabranch, grabbing her scruff and trying to pull her away. Her paw slammed into Mistpaw’s cheek. He growled and kicked her in the belly. Beaverstone chased after the apprentice who was running back to his camp with his tail between his legs. 

As Seabranch and Palescar fought, a tortoiseshell hurried away from the fight. Mistpaw growled. PuffinClan were cowards, it seemed. He thought they would be more honorable than to start a fight and run away.

Mistpaw spun around Charpatch and Ashwhisker, who were fighting Hollyshine. The PuffinClan tortoiseshell was fast, but the rocks that littered the border slowed her down. As she dove behind a rock, Mistpaw jumped over it and landed on her back, teeth buried in her ear.

“Wait!” the tortoiseshell screeched. Mistpaw dug his claws through her chest. The tortoiseshell pushed and squirmed, but Mistpaw was too big for her to knock off. He raked his claws up and down her pelt, blood seeping between his paws. Just like Palescar taught him, he didn’t stop the assault until his opponent gave up. The PuffinClan healer could care for them later. Now it was time to teach that same lesson to the other intruders.

Mistpaw launched over the rock back towards the fight. Ashwhisker and Seabranch had their claws locked into each other as Hollyshine ran to his clanmate’s defense. Mistpaw jumped from rock to boulder until he was clinging to Hollyshine’s back. The warrior spun and threw Mistpaw off. He shook his head, recollecting himself.

“PuffinClan approaching!” Charpatch yowled. Four warriors streaked down the hills, flying towards the fight. Elmpatch was in the lead, looping around the fight. Mistpaw ran at the speedy warrior, but where he expected to collide with fur, he hit hard rock. Elmpatch and Tallfur hissed and spat at Mistpaw’s clanmates, shoving them away from the rocks and into the clearer fields of PuffinClan land.

Mistpaw sprung at Seabranch, who was marveling at the arrival of reinforcements. He landed on Seabranch’s head. The two rolled as Mistpaw’s jaws met Seabranch’s ear. He pulled, ripping the soft flesh away. Seabranch kicked him away, yowling. He scampered underneath Hollyshine’s belly towards Palescar. Teeth bit into his tail, dragging him back. Tallfur scratched at his flank, fury burning in her eyes.

“Here I thought our bond from your apprentice days was strong!” Mistpaw grunted, pulling his tail out and slashing at Tallfur’s face.

“Maybe when we aren’t fighting,” Tallfur scoffed, a touch of humor leaking through her battle rage. As she swung at Mistpaw’s face, Mistpaw dove under her and bit into her back leg. Tallfur fell on Mistpaw’s back and began clawing up fur. Charpatch pulled her off. Palescar was suddenly by Mistpaw’s side.

“Any bad wounds?” he called. Mistpaw shook his head, looking for the next cat to fight, yet to his surprise, everyone was stopping. Charpatch, who had climbed a rock to get an advantage on Tallfur, seemed confused, then horrified.

“What’s going on?” Mistpaw huffed.

“CliffClan, back home!” Charpatch yowled. Hollyshine, who was tangled with Ashwhisker, let go.

“We’re retreating?” Mistpaw hissed as Charpatch dragged Beaverstone towards the tunnel they arrived in. The rest of the patrol followed Charpatch into the dark. Fresh fear scent flowed off PuffinClan.

“Charpatch, what’s going on?” Palescar asked as light drained from the tunnel.

“Beaverstone just killed Whalestar,” Charpatch hissed.

“No,” Ashwhisker gasped.

“Was it his last life?” Palescar stammered.

“How should I know?” Charpatch snapped. The patrol stopped in a small intersection of tunnels, leading to different parts of the territory.

“It was an accident,” Beaverstone huffed. “He was coming up behind me, so I kicked him back.”

“If that was his last life,” Charpatch groaned, “PuffinClan will be out for your blood.”

“It’s their fault for crossing our border,” Mistpaw interrupted.

“The fight was justified,” Ashwhisker panted, blood dripping from his nose. “It’s the aftermath we have to worry about.”

“Don’t worry about our hunt,” Charpatch grunted, ears twitching to find the right tunnel home. “We have bigger waves to swim. This way.” Charpatch continued on, with Beaverstone taking the rear and Mistpaw beside his mentor. His face burned, but it didn’t feel too bad.

“They got my old wounds,” Palescar groaned. The thick scars on his back were open and bleeding. Mistpaw stayed close in case Palescar needed any help.

Charpatch broke through to the surface around Bouldershake before continuing the trek above ground. Fidgetflower and Harriershade were close by, training their apprentices to use rocks and cliff faces to their advantage. Honeypaw spotted the returning patrol first, perched at the top of a cliff. She hurried down as Fidgetflower and Harriershade ran to Charpatch.

“What happened?” Harriershade asked.

“A fight with PuffinClan,” Charpatch huffed. “Most of our wounds are light, though Palescar’s scars were opened. Go back to your training, we’ll be alright.”

“I want to hear what happened,” Fidgetflower insisted. “Honeypaw, Lightpaw, we’re going back to camp!”

“Dad, are you okay?” Honeypaw gasped, finally reaching the bottom of the cliff.

“I’ll be fine,” Ashwhisker promised. His daughters stuck by him. The four cats joined the wounded warriors as the entrance to camp grew closer. Gooseleg stuck her head out, but scrambled back in at the sight of the injured.

“Let Palescar in first,” Fidgetflower muttered, clearing the way for the senior warrior. Mistpaw was right on his tail as he entered camp. Gooseleg, Hailbranch, and Martenpaw were waiting at the base of the entrance as murmurs and questions spread through camp. Lemmingstar and Rippedpool had been near the cave entrance, and turned to look as a gentle fear scent drifted through camp.

“Everyone to the holy den,” Hailbranch ordered. “I’m checking you over, whether or not you feel fine.” The patrol quietly walked into the holy den, a few bloody paw prints staining the stone. Rippedpool ran to Mistpaw, sniffing him over.

“You’re blood soaked,” Rippedpool gasped, grooming his shoulder.

“Most of it is from those PuffinClan fox-hearts, Grandmother,” Mistpaw growled, smiling as Hailbranch shoved him into the holy den. Lemmingstar was behind her deputy soon after. Rippedpool lowered her head so her smaller leader could seem taller.

“You fought PuffinClan?” Lemmingstar huffed, turning to Charpatch.

“I can give my report,” Charpatch said, joining her mother’s side. “I’m not injured.” Hailbranch stuck her tail in front of Charpatch.

“You’re not injured when I say you’re not injured,” Hailbranch snapped, “now take a nest. Lemmingstar, Rippedpool, you’ll have to wait a moment while I assess injuries. Martenpaw, I’m assigning Mistpaw as your patient.”

“What do you mean?” Martenpaw asked as Hailbranch collected cobwebs.

“I mean you’re in charge of making sure Mistpaw doesn’t have Foaming Madness or something of the sort,” Hailbranch huffed, carrying the cobweb to Palescar. Martenpaw seemed to shine with the responsibility. Mistpaw settled into a nest, stretching out as his battle energy began to drain.

“It seems I’m your first patient,” Mistpaw chuckled as Martenpaw began to sniff him for wounds.

“It seems so,” Martenpaw hummed, smiling. “What’s hurting?”

“I’m not in any pain,” Mistpaw assured her, grooming the blood off his paws.

“Hailbranch says it can take a bit for pain to settle in after a battle,” Martenpaw explained. She nosed at a spot on Mistpaw’s belly. “You’ve got a wound right here. I’ll get you some cobweb.” As she slipped to the wall of herbs, Grebeshine and Loudstep trotted into the den. Rippedpool set her tail on Loudstep’s back.

“Is everyone alright?” Grebeshine asked.

“Nothing fatal,” Hailbranch sighed, dressing Palescar’s wounds.

“You should have seen me out there, Mom,” Mistpaw laughed as Martenpaw laid cobwebs over his wound. “There was this tortoiseshell running away from the fight, I defeated her without a scratch!”

“You have plenty of scratches now,” Loudstep muttered.

“That’s because PuffinClan came in with reinforcements,” Mistpaw huffed. His breath caught as the pain of his wound began to seep through.

“Why were you fighting PuffinClan?” Grebeshine asked, getting closer to Mistpaw.

“Hailbranch, I’m groomed, I don’t have wounds,” Charpatch snapped, showing off her pelt. “Now can I please give my report?”

“Fine,” Hailbranch grumbled.

“In my den,” Lemmingstar ordered. She, Charpatch, and Rippedpool trotted out.

“Oh, you’ve got a big bruise too,” Martenpaw muttered, rubbing Mistpaw’s side. Mistpaw flinched as she pressed her paw against it.

“Trying to make it bigger?” he laughed, teeth gritted.

“I’m going to rub arnica on it, so don’t roll around,” Martenpaw huffed, leaping over Mistpaw to get to the herbs. While she chewed the arnica, two brown toms peeked inside the holy den. Mistpaw smiled. It was his brothers, Otterpaw and Briarpaw!

“Don’t rush in,” Grebeshine warned, putting her tail in front of her sons.

“Who did you fight?” Otterpaw asked, ducking under the tail.

“PuffinClan,” Mistpaw explained, puffing out his chest. “They were intruding on our territory, claiming we moved the border.”

“I hope you showed them what happens to intruders!” Briarpaw declared, swiping his paw through the air.

“I tore a warrior’s ear clean off!” Mistpaw hummed as Martenpaw applied the poultice.

“So the blood isn’t yours?” Otterpaw sighed.

“Mostly PuffinClan,” Mistpaw chuckled. Martenpaw pressed into the bruise once more. Mistpaw held back a little yelp.

“Beaverstone, Ashwhisker, you’re clear to leave,” Hailbranch sighed, nodding at the story-keepers. “Martenpaw, are you almost finished with Mistpaw? The sooner he can take his stories out of here, the better.”

“If you take it easy and don't rub the arnica off,” Martenpaw sighed, “I think you can leave.”

“Interested in hearing the tale of the battle?” Mistpaw purred, slowly standing.

“I need to keep helping Hailbranch,” Martenpaw chuckled. “Maybe later?”

“As you wish,” Mistpaw purred, giving a little bow. Martenpaw ducked her head and joined Hailbranch in checking Palescar’s wounds.

“We’ll help clean you off,” Loudstep insisted, leading his son into camp. Fidgetflower, Harriershade, Honeypaw, and Lightpaw were waiting around, glancing at Lemmingstar’s den.

“Where’s Fowlpaw?” Mistpaw asked, exhaustion seeping in with the dull pain.

“He and Spottedfoot are at the half bridges with Buzzardear,” Briarpaw muttered, pacing around Mistpaw. “I want to hear everything.”

“I’m no story-keeper,” Mistpaw chuckled, sitting near the stone wall of the camp, “but I’ll try to be entertaining.”

“StarClan knows when Lemmingstar will call a meeting,” Harriershade muttered, she and Honeypaw joining Mistpaw’s family. Fidgetflower and Lightpaw trotted over to Ashwhisker and Beaverstone, who were grooming the fur from their claws. Even Avocetcloud and Brownleap, whose belly was heavy with kits, stepped out of the nursery to hear the tale.

“Start after you left camp,” Grebeshine suggested. Mistpaw nodded. As he told the story of finding the PuffinClan patrol, Sleettuft and Wigeonfur joined the group. The adults listened with stern silence as he explained everything, though Otterpaw and Briarpaw seemed more entertained than informed. When he mentioned Beaverstone killing Whalestar, the crowd’s eyes turned to the brown story-keeper, who was quietly whispering to Fidgetflower and Lightpaw as Ashwhisker and the newly arrived Goldenshade sat on either side of him. By the time Mistpaw was finished, his throat ached.

“We need to arrange a story-keeper patrol to examine the border,” Sleettuft huffed, turning to Grebeshine. “Since Ashwhisker and Beaverstone were involved, it would be best if it was you and I.”

“And me, right?” Otterpaw added.

“Of course,” Sleettuft assured him. “We can hone your investigation skills.”

“The counselors need to talk to PuffinClan before that,” Loudstep sighed. “If Beaverstone took Whalestar’s last life, there’s going to be long lasting consequences.”

“Whatever Lemmingstar decides,” Grebeshine reminded them. She hooked her tail at the leader’s den. “Charpatch is coming out.” Sure enough, the lanky tortoiseshell trotted out of the den, climbing to the clearing. Everyone forgot Mistpaw was there and focused on Charpatch.

“Be patient, she’ll call a meeting in a moment,” Charpatch huffed.

“Mistpaw, this way,” Briarpaw chirped, pushing Mistpaw further into the clearing. The other warrior apprentice claimed a prime spot in view of Lemmingstar’s and began to groom the blood off Mistpaw’s pelt.

“Martenpaw will have my hide if you groom off her poultice,” Mistpaw pointed out.

“Too bad they didn’t get your ears,” Briarpaw sighed. “Then we could have matched!” He batted at his own nicked right ear.

“I like my ears, thank you very much,” Mistpaw huffed as Lemmingstar and Rippedpool stepped out of the den.

“ May all cats old enough to climb the cliffs gather below me,” Lemmingstar declared. Perchkit stuck her head out of the nursery, eyes shifting from newborn blue to a lovely green. Avocetcloud was quick to scoop her daughter up and bring her back inside. Briarpaw continued grooming Mistpaq as everyone gathered around them. Hailbranch and Martenpaw joined the crowd as well, cobwebs stuck to their claws. Rippedpool sat below her leader. Rollerfall and Lynxshine climbed into camp from the cliff face and quickly took their spots.

“While on a hunting patrol led by Charpatch,” Lemmingstar explained, “our warriors found PuffinClan cats on our side of the border. According to them, the border had been moved sometime last night.”

“Lemmingstar, that can’t be right,” Goldenshade piped up. “The border patrol marked along the stones and scent markers, as we always do.”

“We can examine the validity of their claims if you’ll let me finish, Goldenshade,” Lemmingstar huffed. Goldenshade lowered her head. “Our warriors challenged them and were soon met by reinforcements, led by Whalestar. In the ensuing fight, it seems that Beaverstone killed him.” The reality of Beaverstone’s actions began to settle under Mistpaw’s pelt. Would PuffinClan demand his exile if Whalestar was truly dead? What sort of punishment awaited the killer of a clan leader? The same thoughts seemed to run through Beaverstone’s head as well, as the tom stiffened under the gaze of his clan.

“We have more questions than answers at the moment,” Lemmingstar sighed. “We are not aware of how many lives Whalestar had left, nor if he returned to life following the retreat. We may have drawn first blood, but the code is on our side in defending our territory. Counselors, you should prepare to meet PuffinClan at sunhigh to discuss the battle’s aftermath. Grebeshine, you will join them while Sleettuft and his apprentice leave now to examine the battlefield. If you see PuffinClan story-keepers, allow them to gather their evidence before you. I do not want any skirmishes until we know what happened. We will decide how to proceed once we have more details. Since the patrol did not bring back any prey, Rippedpool will also lead a hunting patrol. You’re dismissed.” Lemmingstar climbed down her perch and slipped towards the nursery, where Avocetcloud had been listening in while wrangling her kits. The clan broke into chatter, quickly filling in their confused seers.

“Yes, hunting,” Briarpaw cheered, before his face slacked. “Ugh, but Buzzardear isn’t back yet! Do you think they’d let me tag along?”

“You can ask,” Mistpaw suggested. He caught a glimpse of Otterpaw and Sleettuft exiting camp. He waved his tail goodbye. 

“You have to tell me what moves you used,” Briarpaw huffed, standing over Mistpaw. “How did those rabbits handle fighting between rocks?”

“Not well,” Mistpaw chuckled, grinning.

“You’re almost up, Fowlpaw, you can do it,” someone cheered from the cave opening. Spottedfoot and Buzzardear stared down the cliff face.

“Don’t rush me!” Fowlpaw huffed. His nearly black face popped over the edge. Briarpaw rolled his eyes, even as he smiled. Fowlpaw pulled himself into camp, panting. His amber eyes were narrowed, claws scratching on the stone.

“You’ll get more comfortable eventually,” Spottedfoot assured him.

“That’s what you said moons ago,” Fowlpaw grumbled. He noticed Mistpaw and Briarpaw in the center of camp, and his already narrow pupils tightened into slivers.

“Here it comes,” Mistpaw sighed as Fowlpaw marched towards him.

“What did you do this time, mouse-brain?” Fowlpaw snapped, spinning around him and sniffing him over. “You reek of PuffinClan.”

“They crossed our border,” Mistpaw insisted.

“Was there a battle?” Buzzardear asked, suddenly at his apprentice’s side.

“Buzzardear, there you are,” Rippedpool called, waving her tail from the center of her small patrol. “Can you and Briarpaw accompany us on the hunting patrol?”

“We didn’t plan for a morning hunting patrol,” Buzzardear hummed.

“I’ll explain what happened,” Briarpaw promised, leading his mentor towards Rippedpool. “I’ll see you later, Mistpaw!” Rippedpool’s patrol began to leave camp as Buzzardear and Briarpaw joined them.

“Hailbranch is keeping you in camp, right?” Fowlpaw huffed, glaring at Mistpaw.

“Palescar was hurt the worst, so I won’t be going anywhere,” Mistpaw muttered.

“Into your nest, right now,” Fowlpaw snapped, pointing at the apprentice’s den. “Take a nap. Rest.”

“Martenpaw doesn’t want me to rub my poultice off,” Mistpaw huffed, smirking. “A nap isn’t a good idea, know-it-all.”

“Oh, you want to argue?” Fowlpaw laughed. “You’re Martenpaw’s patient?” Fowlpaw trotted towards the holy den. “Oh, Martenpaw! Mistpaw refuses to rest!”

“Fowl!” Mistpaw hissed, racing after his youngest brother.

“Your wound wasn’t too deep,” Martenpaw sighed later that day, fiddling with the cobwebs on Mistpaw’s side, “so the bleeding should be finished by now.” The two were the only ones in the apprentice’s den, where Fowlpaw had forced Mistpaw to rest. Martenpaw peeled the cobwebs off Mistpaw’s fur, stained red. The wound wasn’t bleeding anymore. Martenpaw groomed the spot smooth.

“Don’t suppose I can get this poultice off?” Mistpaw groaned, back leg itching the area around the bruise.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Martenpaw explained. “You’ll need to tell me if the wound starts to hurt. Make sure you keep it clean, or it could get infected.”

“You wouldn’t think I’m your first patient the way you handle me,” Mistpaw purred.

“Thank you,” Martenpaw chuckled, licking her chest. “I should really see if Hailbranch needs anything else. You know how Palescar gets infections easily.”

“Tell me about it,” Mistpaw groaned, shifting so he could finally lay on his side. “I’ve lost three days of training thanks to him.”

“Still, I can imagine it would be a source of pride,” Martenpaw said, kicking the ball of used cobweb away. “Palescar’s the oldest warrior in CliffClan. There’s a lot he can teach you.”

“I’m not complaining,” Mistpaw insisted. “Though I wouldn’t mind a little something for the pain. I’m getting sore.”

“I’ll be right back,” Martenpaw promised, grabbing the cobweb and trotting out. Mistpaw laid his head down and stretched, claws moving in and out. He wouldn’t mind a bit of time to sleep. He hadn’t really napped since he was a kit!

“Mistpaw, wake up,” someone grunted. Mistpaw opened his eyes to see his parents standing in front of him. Grebeshine’s ears were pressed back while Loudstep’s eyes were narrow. They’d returned from the sunhigh meeting with PuffinClan! Why did they look like that?

“What, am I bleeding again?” Mistpaw asked, rolling to check his wound. Loudstep put his paw on Mistpaw’s back; not hard, but firm.

“Mistpaw, did you attack Ospreystep?” Loudstep asked, restraining a hiss.

“Is that the tortoiseshell’s name?” Mistpaw muttered, yawning.

“Mistpaw, answer the question,” Grebeshine snapped.

“It was a fight,” Mistpaw said, squirming out from under Loudstep’s paw to sit up. “Why wouldn’t I? What’s wrong?”

“Mistpaw, Ospreystep was a counselor!” Loudstep hissed. An invisible claw ran down Mistpaw’s throat.

“No, no she can’t be,” Mistpaw stammered, shaking his head. “She fought back! Wait, Dad, you said ‘was.’” Mistpaw’s ears lowered. “What do you mean by that?”

“Mistpaw,” Grebeshine whispered, “PuffinClan said she might not survive.”

“All cats old enough to climb the cliffs gather below me!” Lemmingstar yowled outside.

“Goldenshade finished her report,” Loudstep gulped. “Come on.” Grebeshine and Loudstep escorted Mistpaw out of the apprentice’s den. 

Most of the clan was in camp now, waiting for news from the sunhigh meeting. Mistpaw’s littermates sat with their mentors, with Otterpaw and Sleettuft joining Fidgetflower and Honeypaw. Brookspot, Firestripe, and Wigeonfur sat outside the elder’s den. Mistpaw could barely breathe as Goldenshade and Gooseleg glared at him from their spot with Ashwhisker. Martenpaw strolled out of the holy den with a leaf bundle in her mouth. She dropped it at Mistpaw’s feet.

“I got you two poppy seeds for the pain,” Martenpaw explained, unwrapping the leaf. Mistpaw quickly devoured the seeds, attention focused on Lemmingstar. If he didn’t need those seeds earlier, he surely needed them now.

“The counselors have returned from their meeting with PuffinClan,” Lemmingstar declared, staring over the clan with a neutral expression. “There is good news and bad news. Beaverstone did not take Whalestar’s last life.” A rush of relief filled the camp as cats gave quiet praise to StarClan. Beaverstone, who sat beside his brother Buzzardear, smiled. Mistpaw was far from calm, however. “There will still be a trial to determine Beaverstone’s punishment for taking the life of a leader, although the punishment will be far kinder than if it had been his last. Reports from Grebeshine and Sleettuft seem to confirm that some parts of the border do not match the border of yesterday. If anyone in this clan knows anything about this situation, you must speak up.” Eyes shifted between clanmates, waiting for someone to admit to something. Everyone was quiet.

“That is not the only thing we have learned today,” Lemmingstar sighed. Her gaze settled on Mistpaw. “When the patrol returned from the battle, Mistpaw mentioned fighting a tortoiseshell. Evidence has come to light that this tortoiseshell was Ospreystep, a counselor. She may never wake up.” Mistpaw squeezed his eyes shut as the clan erupted in gasps and yowls.

“My brother would never do that!” Briarpaw hissed.

“You murdered a counselor!” Harriershade wailed.

“How was he supposed to know she was a counselor?” Otterpaw snapped. “He doesn’t know everyone in the clans!”

“Mistpaw’s barely wounded, yet Ospreystep may be dead?” Gooseleg pointed out. “How brutal was he?”

“Mistpaw, breathe,” Loudstep whispered into the young tom’s ear. Mistpaw realized he had been breathing fast, even though it felt like he was holding his breath.

“Dad, I didn’t know, I swear,” Mistpaw begged, finally opening his eyes. Through the crowd, Mistpaw saw Fowlpaw, pressed against his mentor. He’d never seen so much hate in someone’s eyes before. StarClan, what was he supposed to do when his entire clan turned on him? They hadn’t behaved this way when Beaverstone killed Whalestar!

“Quiet, all of you, quiet!” Rippedpool yowled, wading into the clan. “Let Lemmingstar speak!” CliffClan slowly quieted down, gaze split between Lemmingstar and Mistpaw, eyes yowling with pity, confusion, or anger.

“Ospreystep may still live,” Lemmingstar huffed, tail thrashing, “yet we all know how serious it is for a counselor to be attacked. The warrior code protects them. Beaverstone and Mistpaw will not be able to leave camp without a story-keeper escort until their trials. The counselors will meet with PuffinClan every sunhigh to solve this conflict. Ashwhisker, you will defend Mistpaw in his trial while Grebeshine will be Beaverstone’s defender. I would like to keep Beaverstone’s trial an internal matter, but PuffinClan will supply the inquisitor for Mistpaw’s trial. It is easy to cast judgement when we only know the basics of the situation, but this is why we have story-keepers. They will uncover the truth. You are dismissed. Beaverstone, in my den, please.” Lemmingstar turned into her den as Beaverstone crossed through the crowd and everyone began to talk.

“I need to leave,” Mistpaw growled, stomping towards the exit.

“Not without me,” Grebeshine warned, sticking by his side. “You heard Lemmingstar.”

“Your poultice—” Martenpaw began, reaching out for Mistpaw.

“StarClan, Martenpaw, the poultice?” Mistpaw hissed, turning on the healer apprentice. “You think I care about the poultice right now?” Tail hitched and thrashing, Mistpaw marched out of camp, trailed by his mother. 

“I’m looking out for you!” Martenpaw snapped as they left.

Once Mistpaw had grass under his paws, he hissed and began to scratch up long strips. Blades of grass caught in the wind and flew away.

“Calm down,” Grebeshine warned.

“You’re telling me to calm down after that?” Mistpaw hissed, hackles raised. “Half of the clan hates me! Didn’t you hear them?”

“I heard your brothers rising to your defense,” Grebeshine reminded him, brushing her tail down his back.

“Not Fowlpaw,” Mistpaw growled, claws digging into the rough soil. “You didn’t see how he looked at me.”

“We’re going to find out what happened,” Grebeshine assured him, nose to his cheek. Mistpaw turned away.

“I was doing my job!” Mistpaw yowled, slamming a paw down.

“Don’t act like a kit,” Grebeshine huffed.

“How else should I act?” Mistpaw spat, stomping away from his mother. “If you have to watch me, just… go over there. Leave me alone.” He thrust his tail in a random direction. His claws slowly raked through the grass as fear gave way to fury.

“Palescar asks me to groom the elders, and do you know what they tell me?” Mistpaw hissed the next morning as Martenpaw carefully prodded his bruise in the holy den. “They say that they don’t need groomed! That they can do it themselves! But Lightpaw goes in there a moment later and they’re happy to see her and complaining of ticks!” Since the sun set below the ocean rather than rose, the camp was dark, with light streaming through the main exit and making the ocean glitter. Mistpaw and Martenpaw were the only ones in the holy den.

“Mistpaw, Ospreystep may be dead,” Martenpaw huffed, poking the bruise one last time. “It’s tough to see something like that as an accident.”

“It was an accident!” Mistpaw snapped. “I’m sorry I didn’t know one cat. Beaverstone killed someone too!”

“Whalestar has nine lives, Ospreystep doesn’t,” Martenpaw grunted.

“So you’re against me too?” Mistpaw muttered.

“I’m saying, have some perspective,” Martenpaw sighed. “I think you’re healed up. Since Palescar is still resting, I don’t have to worry about you getting any more bruises.”

“Hailbranch will be proud,” Mistpaw said, a touch of jealousy leaking into his voice as he stood. “Palescar hasn’t said a thing about it, which might be worse than if he was mad.”

“You should really talk to a counselor,” Martenpaw huffed as she groomed the remains of the poultice out from between her paws.

“If they don’t hate me, they’re busy talking to PuffinClan,” Mistpaw muttered, dismissively flicking his tail. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright, but I’m not your counselor!” Martenpaw shouted as Mistpaw left the holy den. “Find one!” Mistpaw stuffed a hiss down his throat. He couldn’t make things worse for himself by snapping at a future healer.

Rippedpool was outside the apprentice’s den, organizing hunting patrols, border patrols, and training sessions with all the apprentices and their mentors. Sleettuft sat beside Otterpaw, who watched Mistpaw leave the holy den. Some of Mistpaw’s anger eased. At least he had his brother’s support. His mood only improved when Briarpaw smiled at him. Fowlpaw’s eyes never turned away from Rippedpool, however.

“Mistpaw,” someone called from the story-keeper’s den. Ashwhisker waited for him at the den’s edge. Grebeshine was inside, talking to Beaverstone. Mistpaw trotted towards the den

“Do you need something?” Mistpaw sighed.

“I’m the defender for your trial, remember?” Ashwhisker explained. “I need you to tell me everything that happened yesterday.”

“Why didn’t we do this yesterday, then?” Mistpaw huffed, ears tilted back.

“Mistpaw, don’t be rude!” Grebeshine snapped, interrupting Beaverstone’s monologue. “He’s here to help you!”

“Let’s find somewhere private,” Ashwhisker suggested, motioning to a small alcove just above the dens. It was a thin ledge that Mistpaw had seen cats stand on before, so he knew it would be fine. Ashwhisker and Mistpaw dug their claws into the cave wall and climbed to the ledge. Ashwhisker was big enough that he had to stay standing to keep on the ledge, but Mistpaw could sit.

“I don’t get why you have to ask me what happened,” Mistpaw grunted. “You were there. Can’t you say I mistook Ospreystep for a warrior and leave it at that?”

“You can’t lie in a trial,” Ashwhisker sighed, “and I’m not you. I never saw Ospreystep. You’ll be asked to give your side of the story during the trial, so I need to hear it. Everything, alright? No lies.” Mistpaw glared at Ashwhisker, but the gray tabby quickly broke eye contact.

“Fine,” Mistpaw grumbled. “Can I at least start when the fight actually began?”

“Start when we first noticed the patrol,” Ashwhisker said. Mistpaw groaned, but obeyed. He ran through the events; the apprentice, the tortoiseshell, and running back into the fight to protect his clanmates. He wanted Ashwhisker to say something, but he merely stared at the cave walls with a sick expression. Mistpaw wanted to yowl. Could someone avoid judging him for once? Ashwhisker was supposed to help him, for StarClan’s sake.

“Give me some time to think through that,” Ashwhisker muttered when Mistpaw was done, nodding to himself. “Run through the details as much as you can. I’ll speak to you after the Gathering.” 

“You mean once we know if I’m a murderer,” Mistpaw whispered.

“Did you say something?” Ashwhisker gulped.

“I said, can I go?” Mistpaw huffed. Ashwhisker nodded and bounded off the ledge, jumping against the stone roof of the story-keeper’s den and hitting the ground. Mistpaw copied him, muscles praising the chance to move and climb. As he landed, Grebeshine left the story-keeper’s den. She cocked her head to another corner of the camp, and Ashwhisker followed. Mistpaw looked around for something to do. He had to hope Palescar had a task in camp, considering all the available story-keepers were occupied.

“Mistpaw, is that you?” Beaverstone called from inside the story-keeper’s den. The brown tom’s scarred face peered into camp.

“Beaverstone, are you as bored as I am?’ Mistpaw groaned, trudging towards him.

“Step in here,” Beaverstone said, heading back in. “It’s just us.” Mistpaw followed. The inside of the story-keeper’s den, shared with the counselors, was rough, with old scratch marks and specks of moss in the rock walls. The smell of Mistpaw’s parents clung to a pair of nests by his paws. Beaverstone spun in his nest multiple times until he settled down.

“What do you want to do?” Mistpaw asked, pacing around the nests and taking in the foreign den from new angles.

“You clanborn cats, always asking if there’s something to do,” Beaverstone muttered, lazily flicking his tail.

“You’re clanborn too,” Mistpaw huffed.

“You don’t remember?” Beaverstone hummed. “Buzzardear and I started our lives as kittypets, just like your mother, although we didn’t have a choice in leaving our humans. We and our older sister, Lucy, had to flee a fire.”

“I thought my mom was the only cat in CliffClan not born here,” Mistpaw admitted, sitting between the nests.

“You grow up fast on the streets,” Beaverstone remembered. “That’s what you called human territory, where I come from. As soon as you could be without your mother, which was far younger than here, you were on your own. Got into a nasty fight with some rogues. There was one, I won’t forget, I tore into her like waves tear into rock. In my mind, it was her or me.” Beaverstone’s claws scratched at his moss. “It turns out that molly was a queen, only fighting to keep me and my siblings from her kits. I know what it’s like to go too far in a fight, you see. What happened with Whalestar was a similar thing. Sometimes, you get so battle hungry, you don’t see your mistakes until they’re staining your paws.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to explain,” Mistpaw groaned.

“And I understand,” Beaverstone explained, crossing his paws. “If Ospreystep’s dead, you’ll have to live with that regret for the rest of your life. It’s why CliffClan trains their warriors so hard, so they don’t make those mistakes. You’re not alone in your regret.” Regret? Mistpaw realized that regret wasn’t the name of what he felt. He should be feeling regret, shouldn’t he? Instead, he was more angry than regretful. Had he even thought of what he’d done to Ospreystep, or had his thoughts been fully consumed by how his clanmates reacted to him? Something new stirred inside him.

“Thanks, Beaverstone,” Mistpaw muttered, unsure how else to answer.

“I’ll be at your side if you’ll be at mine,” Beaverstone assured him. “If you’re still looking for something to do, the seers usually have something strange you can help with.”

“Better than nothing,” Mistpaw said. “Care to join me when we eat at sunhigh?”

“I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule,” Beaverstone said with a sarcastic smile. Beaverstone closed his eyes as Mistpaw left the den. He thought back to the day before, to the fear he’d felt as the clan learned what he’d done. Had he been scared for Ospreystep’s fate or scared for himself?

The fog that hung around the camp made the figures of the cats surrounding Mistpaw fade and flicker like smoke. The one thing he could make out in the crowd were the eyes. Incredibly detailed, each was narrowed and glimmered with a thousand colors. The camp walls shifted around him, closing in and pushing away, stone turning to grass before it turned back to stone. Mistpaw sat in the center of camp, staring up at the leader’s den. Someone looked down on him. A tortoiseshell?

“Do you even know who I am?” the tortoiseshell hissed.

“Lemmingstar,” Mistpaw said. “No, Mom. No, Ospreystep! You all look the same!”

“No regrets?” Grebeshine asked.

“I was doing what I’ve trained to do!” Mistpaw wailed. He tried to stand, but was stuck sitting.

“We haven’t trained you to murder counselors,” Lemmingstar hissed. “You show no regret for your actions. Our only choice is execution.”

“Otterpaw, Briarpaw!” Mistpaw yowled, looking for his brothers through the fog. “Don’t let her do this!”

“You killed me!” Ospreystep screeched. She dove off the ledge and sunk her teeth into Mistpaw’s throat.

The young apprentice jumped out of his nest, hitting the roof of the apprentice’s den. He stumbled, falling onto his flank and running his paws down his throat. No blood. A nightmare, that was all. 

“Mistpaw, what was that?” Loudstep hurried into the den, paws thumping as he went.

“Dad, is…” Mistpaw gulped, worry and embarrassment running through his face, “is it okay to be scared?”

“Ospreystep woke up,” Loudstep reminded him. “She won’t die. Your punishment won’t be extreme.”

“I don’t think I’m scared of that,” Mistpaw stammered. “I’m supposed to regret attacking Ospreystep, right? That’s what Ashwhisker and Beaverstone said. I don’t know if I do.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Loudstep asked, glancing into the dark camp. Mistpaw must have been asleep for longer than he intended. The clan was at the Gathering already.

“I don’t know,” Mistpaw whined. “I did what I was taught. I don’t think CliffClan should hate me for that!”

“You know what you did was wrong, though,” Loudstep said, sitting in front of Mistpaw.

“I think so?” Mistpaw stammered. “Do you think the clan’s right to hate me? Do I deserve to be executed?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Loudstep insisted. “You’re overreacting.”

“What will Lemmingstar do to me, then?” Mistpaw gulped, flashes of his dream trial playing behind his eyes.

“Whatever happens, you will be a warrior of CliffClan,” Loudstep promised.

“The most hated warrior,” Mistpaw spat, voice catching as he lowered his head. “Fowlpaw hates me, the elders hate me, most of the clan hates me.” Loudstep placed his chin on Mistpaw’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Loudstep sighed. “I’ll help you find a way to change their minds. I wish I could do that myself.”

“Fowlpaw didn’t sleep in here last night,” Mistpaw cried. “He doesn’t want to be near me.”

“I’ll talk to him, father to son,” Loudstep said. “You remember when you got into trouble as kits, and I would say ‘I’m not mad, just—’”

“Just disappointed,” Mistpaw chuckled through the crying. “Fowlpaw hates that.”

“It’s what he’ll deserve for being mean to his littermate,” Loudstep laughed. Mistpaw glanced behind his dad as Otterpaw and Briarpaw stumbled into the den, walking past Mistpaw’s nest near the front. Both fell into their nests, eyes closed and bodies relaxing into sleep. Loudstep lifted his head, but not before pressing his nose into Mistpaw’s cheek. Mistpaw smiled as his father left the den. Pushing back the rest of his cries, few in number though they were, he settled back into the nest. His dreams wouldn’t be good, most likely, but he could at least sleep.

Two days later, Lemmingstar looked upon her clan as Grebeshine stood before her, Beaverstone at her side. Sleettuft sat with Otterpaw nearby. The clan gathered along the side of the camp, watching the trial. Mistpaw sat beside Palescar, whohad officially recovered from his wounds. Mistpaw tried to ignore when some of the clan glanced his way, paying attention to the end of Grebeshine’s speech.

“For if we severely punished all those who took a life in battle,” Grebeshine concluded, “our lives would be a never ending stream of retribution and harm. Therefore, make Beaverstone’s punishment for taking one of Whalestar’s lives as gentle as PuffinClan is willing to accept. That is all.” Grebeshine bowed slightly to Lemmingstar, who nodded in approval.

“Thank you, Grebeshine,” Rippedpool, who sat below Lemmingatar, said. “Sleettuft, are you ready to give your final speech against Beaverstone?”

“May I make a request?” Sleettuft asked. Otterpaw stood, holding his head high. “I would like to give my apprentice the chance to give this speech. It would prove a valuable part of his training in the tradition of story-keeping.”

“I will allow it,” Lemmingstar sighed. “Otterpaw, you may begin when ready.” Grebeshine nodded to her son, smiling even as she upheld her defender position beside Beaverstone. Mistpaw knew he should be proud of Otterpaw for being rewarded with such a major part of Beaverstone’s trial, but not now! Not when Mistpaw’s own trial was slowly closing in and someone else would be in Otterpaw’s position, insulting and demeaning Mistpaw.

“As an apprentice, I haven’t had the honor to participate in many battles,” Otterpaw began. “I haven’t even had my battle exam. But as you remember, Lemmingstar, I was a part of one battle at the start of my apprenticeship. During a border patrol, we were ambushed by SealClan. Some vision from StarClan drove them to it, if I recall.” The story-keepers gently nodded, confirming the rather pointless detail. “It’s an easy battle to remember, because Reedtail drowned that day, held underwater by the powerful paws of Sappelt of SealClan.” By the elder’s den, Wigeonfur grew stiff, lip curled in an angry memory. Reedtail had been his younger brother. 

“Do you remember how you pursued Sappelt until she was isolated for nine days, punished for her brutality?” Otterpaw declared, staring his leader in the eye. “We can’t call for isolation in this case, of course. After all, Whalestar has nine lives! While Beaverstone’s blow killed him, he returned from StarClan. But can you imagine how terrified his clan mates were? Seabranch and Tallfur, Whalestar’s granddaughters, were a part of the battle. It’s clear from the testimonies of those who participated that no one knew how many lives Whalestar had left at that point. It was reasonable to assume, as our warriors did when they returned, that he would not wake up again. Beaverstone may have been one life away from ending the reign of Whalestar and plunging our clan into a war for revenge.” Mistpaw’s pelt burned.

“While we wound others in combat, the code asks us not to take their lives,” Otterpaw continued. “Beaverstone knew there were rocks around that could crack bone if hit right. He was reckless. He must be reminded to take caution in battle with a suitable punishment. That punishment, in the eyes of Sleettuft and myself, is confinement to camp for nine days, one for each life of a leader. It is up to you, Lemmingstar, to determine whether his punishment is so severe, but we ask that you keep this in mind. CliffClan cannot trust a warrior unaware of who is beside him in combat. That is all.” Otterpaw bowed, and scampered back to Sleettuft’s side. The old story-keeper purred softly, touching his chin to Otterpaw’s head.

“I believe I know how to proceed,” Lemmingstar declared. “I will go directly to sentencing. I have heard evidence for and against Beaverstone in regards to his crimes. Beaverstone, is there anything you wish to say before I deliver my sentence?”

“Only that I defended myself from an attacker coming from behind me,” Beaverstone sighed. He met Mistpaw’s eyes. Mistpaw hoped the story-keeper knew how much support he had.

“Warriors of StarClan,” Lemmingstar yowled, voice echoing, “may my words and my actions today honor your sacred code and protect CliffClan. Beaverstone, I find you guilty of taking one of the nine lives of Whalestar, as you have already admitted to causing his death. You will be restricted from Gatherings for the next three moons. This trial is over!” Lemmingstar leapt off the ledge, making Mistpaw flinch. The crowd mingled with Beaverstone and the story-keepers. Mistpaw slipped between his clanmates, heading towards Otterpaw. The brown tabby trotted towards Honeypaw, who sat with her family.

“What did you think of my speech, Honeypaw?” Otterpaw asked.

“I don’t understand how you can insult a clanmate like that and act like nothing happened,” Honeypaw huffed.

“It’s just a trial,” Otterpaw explained. “Beaverstone understands.”

“I could never do that,” Honeypaw grunted.

“What if I taught you a bit about trials?” Otterpaw suggested.

“I should really find Harriershade,” Honeypaw said, slipping around Otterpaw. Otterpaw glanced at Sleettuft, then flicked his tail dismissively and trotted towards Mistpaw.

“What was that, Otterpaw?” Mistpaw groaned.

“Oh, Sleettuft just asked me to talk to Honeypaw about story-keeper stuff,” Otterpaw explained.

“No, the speech!” Mistpaw snapped. “Everyone’s going to remember that when my trial comes up.”

“I wasn’t going to try and fail,” Otterpaw sighed. “Sleettuft’s waving me over. I’ll see you later.” Mistpaw stared as Otterpaw hurried over to Sleettuft. Did he care more about impressing his mentor than helping his brother?

“Mistpaw, I have a bit of good news,” Palescar said, approaching from behind. “I had us placed on a hunting patrol with Ashwhisker, Buzzardear, and—”

“Finally!” Briarpaw cheered, charging towards Mistpaw with Buzzardear trailing after him. “We haven’t gone hunting together since the fight.”

“Where are we going?” Mistpaw asked as Ashwhisker joined the group, breaking off from Goldenshade and Lightpaw.

“Down to the Lower Beach,” Palescar explained. “We want to restock the fresh-kill pile before sunhigh.” No more explanation was required as everyone headed to the cave mouth.

Mistpaw kept his claws out as he descended the cliff. His tail helped him balance against the wind, which bit against the rock. He and Palescar were the first ones to the bottom. Mistpaw jumped onto a shiny piece of human junk. That part of the ocean was deep enough for fish to swim past. Palescar sat beside him, adjusting to keep his shadow off the water.

“We’re going to the tunnels,” Buzzardear called as he and Briarpaw put their paws on stable ground. 

“I thought we would hunt with Mistpaw!” Briarpaw huffed.

“The fish won’t hang around for all of us,” Buzzardear sighed, trotting towards the nearest tunnel entrance. “Now come on.”

“Fine,” Briarpaw grumbled, tail sagging as he followed his mentor. As they left, Ashwhisker waded into the ocean and stood very still, ears pricked for the splashing of fish. Mistpaw glanced between the water and Palescar, searching for movement in both. The stillness solved nothing.

“Good thing Beaverstone isn’t stuck in camp,” Mistpaw remarked. “Now he can actually help solve the border issue.”

“Unless there’s a point to your talking,” Palescar said, focused on a shadow in the water, “you should focus on the hunt.” His paw lunged into the water and flipped a fish onto the ground. With one bite, Palescar dispatched the fish’s life and took it to the shore for when they returned to camp.

“I do have a point,” Mistpaw huffed. “I’m trying to figure out why we have trials when Lemmingstar could have just said she’d ban Beaverstone from Gatherings and not make him wait.”

“Beaverstone deserves to have someone defending him from undue punishment,” Palescar sighed, rejoining Mistpaw.

“So why not tell Lemmingstar everything and let her decide without making a show of it?” Mistpaw snapped. “I’d rather know if I’m going to get exiled now rather than wait with the whole clan judging me.”

“That’s the point,” Palescar huffed. Mistpaw cocked his head, glaring. Palescar dragged his tail through the water as he spoke. “Only a few punishments last a lifetime. Usually they last, at most, nine days. At that point, the codebreaker is welcomed back into the clan with the full honors of their position. By the code, there is no difference to them. What lasts the longest is the opinion of the clan. The codebreaker, if they are found guilty, needs to show their clan that they can be trusted again once their punishment ends. If they regret what they did and prove assumptions wrong, they can truly restore their place in the clan.” Mistpaw smiled, ears perking up. He finally had words for the strange situation he’d floated through over the last few days.

“What should I do?” Mistpaw asked. “I can restrain myself in a fight, if that’s what everyone’s angry about. Is that the problem?”

“Mistpaw, if you can’t realize why the clan doesn’t trust you,” Palescar grumbled, the first signs of his true thoughts peeking through, “then you’ll never be trusted.”

“You’re my mentor, you’re supposed to help,” Mistpaw huffed, trying to keep his claws in. Palescar’s emotions pulled back as quick as they appeared.

“This is a problem only you can solve,” Palescar sighed. “Ashwhisker will help you.”

“How good of a defender is he?” Mistpaw asked. A loud splash drew both of their gazes towards the tom in mention. Saltwater coated his chest as a fish slowly lost its life in Ashwhisker’s jaws.

“He’s a capable hunter,” Palescar noted.

“That’s not what I asked,” Mistpaw gulped.

“The fish is big, but I think I scared off any others,” Ashwhisker sighed, dropping his catch on top of Palescar’s. “Do we want to find Buzzardear and Briarpaw?”

“I think so,” Palescar hummed. “Mistpaw, can you bury the fish, please?” Mistpaw obeyed, but he kept glancing at Ashwhisker as he did so. Ashwhisker was never a tom Mistpaw spent much time around. He had no idea if he could help him.

The patrol returned to camp just before sunrise, with everyone carrying one or two pieces of fresh-kill. Rollerfall and Lynxshine were just beginning to read everyone’s meals for signs. Mistpaw hurried up to them with his mole.

“Can you read this mole so I can give it to the elders?” Mistpaw asked Rollerfall as Lynxshine examined Sleettuft’s bat. Rollerfall nodded and dragged the mole closer. She poked at its fur and sniffed its pelt. With a satisfied nod, she pushed it back to Mistpaw.

“Thank you!” he chirped, grabbing the mole and hurrying to the elder’s den. All three elders were inside, muttering to one another. Mistpaw steadied his nerves.

“I brought you a mole,” Mistpaw declared, setting it beside Firestripe, who was half-asleep. “Don’t worry, Rollerfall checked it for signs.”

“How fresh is it?” Brookspot muttered, sniffing the mole.

“I just brought it back from a hunting patrol,” Mistpaw explained. “It’s as fresh as anything on the fresh-kill pile can be. Trust me.”

“You know that won’t happen for a while,” Firestripe grumbled, shaking the sleep from his head. “Not if you can’t tell who’s who in a fight.”

“I’ll take it if you’re going to be like that,” Brookspot huffed, dragging the mole to his nest. “Thank you, Mistpaw.” Mistpaw nodded and hurried out of the elder’s den. 

Firestripe had said something far more valuable than an insult. He gave Mistpaw a reason. Mistpaw would never attack his clanmates! He knows them, he would notice that. He thought so, at least. How in StarClan was he expected to disprove that when he wouldn’t get the chance to fight? As Mistpaw’s thoughts churned, Spottedfoot, Fowlpaw, and Goldenshade trotted into camp. While Fowlpaw walked past his brother without a glance, Goldenshade walked towards Mistpaw.

“I have some news for you,” Goldenshade explained.

“Is it good?” Mistpaw asked.

“Maybe,” Goldenshade admitted. “Haddockpath has been chosen as the inquisitor for your trial. Do you know her?”

“She’s Brightpaw’s mentor, we’ve talked before,” Mistpaw said.

“She wants to interview you tomorrow,” Goldenshade continued. “She needs your perspective on the battle.”

“Alright,” Mistpaw muttered. Haddockpath had always seemed cold at Gatherings. What would she be like in a trial? 

As Goldenshade joined her mate, Mistpaw was left alone in the middle of camp, staring at the cave roof. No eyes turned to him. He walked into the apprentice’s den, loneliness and fearful anticipation clawing his pelt.

By the time the next sunhigh arrived and Mistpaw left camp with Ashwhisker, Gooseleg, Loudstep, and Goldenshade, he was almost sick from the thoughts racing through his head. At least he didn’t have Fowlpaw breathing down his neck. His brother has been so stubborn about going to the sunhigh meeting, he earned himself self-defense training. Mistpaw chuckled at the thought of Fowlpaw panting and collapsing against a rock as Charpatch drilled him on the simple battle moves his littermates had mastered long ago.

“If you don’t want to answer one of Haddockpath’s questions, you don’t have to,” Ashwhisker explained, walking alongside Mistpaw. “Not yet. She won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable when I’m with you.”

“How bad is this going to be?” Mistpaw asked.

“Haddockpath takes her work seriously,” Ashwhisker sighed.

“If I don’t answer her questions, she’ll just make me answer them at the trial,” Mistpaw huffed. “If she gets to talk to me before then, do you get to talk to Ospreystep?”

“Not today,” Ashwhisker scoffed. “We have no idea how she would react to seeing you. PuffinClan is protecting her.”

“I want to apologize to her,” Mistpaw said, raising his voice just enough so the counselors could overhear. “I made a mistake. I’m going to pay more attention to who I come across in a battle. I’m not repeating this.”

“I should hope not,” Gooseleg muttered.

The patrol stayed on the surface all the way to the PuffinClan border. Mistpaw could see cats pop out from behind the large hill within PuffinClan territory and approach. Snailnose and a gray tom (Graythroat? Cliffstripe? Mistpaw couldn’t tell) walked on either side of Haddockpath and Brightpaw. The border scents were so mingled and strong, Mistpaw couldn’t tell what the clans actually accepted as the temporary border. He stayed close to Ashwhisker as the PuffinClan cats sat near the boulder where the folded ear apprentice (Bumblepaw, Mistpaw remembered) had first been spotted.

“Hello, Mistpaw,” Haddockpath said, looking down at the apprentice. “We’re going to step to the side while the counselors continue border discussions. Brightpaw will be listening in.”

“So will Ashwhisker,” Mistpaw explained, holding his head high. Wait, should he look submissive to Haddockpath? What if confidence was seen as arrogance? Haddockpath wandered to the other side of the boulder, with Brightpaw sitting on top. Mistpaw and Ashwhisker sat across from her. The counselors began their discussion with hushed voices.

“Let’s get right into things,” Haddockpath said. “Why don’t we begin with the full story of the battle?” Mistpaw nodded and began his tale. He had run through it with Ashwhisker so many times, he had his version of events memorized. He’d likely remember the story until he was as old as Whalestar. The problem came with Haddockpath when everything was said.

“You kept referring to the floppy-eared apprentice,” Haddockpath noted, one paw tapping. “You do not know who that was?”

“I’ve never seen him at any Gathering,” Mistpaw admitted. Haddockpath glanced at Brightpaw, silently speaking some unknown language between mentor and apprentice. 

“Is there anyone you need to speak to in CliffClan?” Ashwhisker asked.

“I do not believe so,” Haddockpath said. Ashwhisker stammered for a moment, thoughts disconnected from his mouth.

“Then would it be possible to speak to Ospreystep tomorrow?” Ashwhisker gulped.

“Ospreystep is still healing from her injuries,” Haddockpath explained. “Shimmerblaze does not want her to take any journey beyond the one she must take for the trial.”

“Then allow me to accompany you back to your camp to interview her,” Ashwhisker stammered. “It is unfair to deny the defender access to the victim until the day of the trial.”

“I will ask for permission tomorrow,” Haddockpath sighed. “You will know our clan’s answer if you accompany the counselors to tomorrow's sunhigh meeting.”

“I understand,” Ashwhisker sighed.

“So what else do you want to know?” Mistpaw huffed.

“I have enough information for now,” Haddockpath said curtly. “Thank you for your assistance. Brightpaw, is there anything you want to add?”

“Do you have anything you want Ospreystep to know?” Brightpaw asked, staring at Mistpaw. The speech Mistpaw had run through when he eventually saw Ospreystep, all the apologies and mistakes he would list, slipped away.

“Well,” Mistpaw gulped, “what do you say to someone you…”

“I think that’s enough,” Ashwhisker interrupted. “We will talk tomorrow?” Haddockpath nodded. The group strolled back to the counselors. Gooseleg’s ears were flat as Loudstep groaned.

“If it were up to me, the border would go back to the way it was before all of this,” Loudstep huffed. “The new offer is reinstating the old border, and you’ll be given a large amount of herbs only found on our territory.” It was then that the CliffClan counselors noticed the story-keeper’s return.

“We are ready to return home if you are finished,” Haddockpath muttered to the gray tom Mistpaw still couldn’t identify.

“We will see if Whalestar accepts,” the tom said, nodding to Haddockpath.

“Give Brownleap my greetings!” Snailnose called as the other members of his patrol trotted back up the hill. He hurried to catch up to them.

“Looking at Snailnose, you wouldn’t know anything is wrong,” Loudstep muttered.

“Let’s see if Hailbranch is willing to give up some of her herbs,” Gooseleg sighed, turning back towards the tunnels. Goldenshade brushed against Ashwhisker as the mates and Mistpaw took to the back of the group.

“How did it go?” Goldenshade asked.

“Haddockpath barely asked any questions,” Ashwhisker muttered, ears twitching as they entered the tunnels.

“I assume that isn’t a good thing,” Goldenshade sighed.

“If she doesn’t have any questions, she knows exactly what to do when she speaks to Mistpaw at the trial,” Ashwhisker gulped. “She has a plan, and I don’t.”

“You don’t have a plan?” Mistpaw hissed, hackles rising. Goldenshade gently batted her mate’s shoulder, glaring at him.

“I only have CliffClan testimony and wounds, I haven’t even seen Ospreystep,” Ashwhisker explained.

“She’s going to get me exiled!” Mistpaw groaned. “Why did Lemmingstar assign you as my defender?”

“Because you didn’t have any other options,” Ashwhisker grumbled.

“Ashwhisker, enough,” Goldenshade snapped. “You’ll both do well. Haddockpath isn’t the only cat who’ll determine the trial’s outcome. Show the clan that whatever she wants for Mistpaw is overkill and everything will go back to normal.”

“My brother hates me and CliffClan thinks I’m going to kill them in battle, how can anything go back to normal?” Mistpaw groaned, back claws scratching the tunnel floor as he walked.

“Who told you that?” Goldenshade gasped, slipping to the other side of Ashwhisker so she was also walking beside Mistpaw.

“Firestripe hinted at it,” Mistpaw grumbled.

“My father may be old, but he’ll hold a grudge until he goes to StarClan,” Goldenshade sighed, gently rolling her eyes. “Do your duty, and sooner or later, you’ll earn back the clan’s respect. If it helps, after all your hard work around camp, you’ve earned my respect back. Don’t think no one noticed how you helped Brownleap this morning. The poor thing looks so tired.”

“She asked for some prey, and I knew she liked birds, so I grabbed a bird for her,” Mistpaw muttered. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” Goldenshade insisted. “There’s a belief in PuffinClan that it isn’t model warriors that StarClan most welcomes, but those who take the time for little kindnesses. I happen to believe that as well.”

“Don’t let Lemmingstar hear that,” Loudstep said, half joking. “She’ll think you’ve turned traitor.”

The patrol emerged by the camp’s main entrance a short time later, shaking off the dirt that had crumbled onto their pelts. As Mistpaw entered the camp, a long wail echoed against the cave walls. For a moment, Mistpaw thought they were being attacked, and even unsheathed his claws. But then he remembered that tone, that particular scent that flooded the camp when Goldenshade kitted half a year before, the one that clung to the air after the clan returned from the Gathering last moon.

“Brownleap’s having her kits!” Goldenshade gasped, smiling.

“I hope it’s not too early,” Gooseleg muttered, trotting towards Palescar and Fidgetflower, who were checking Lightpaw’s work on nest building.

“How come we don’t get to see?” a little voice whined. Avocetcloud and her kits, who had found their voices not long ago, sat near the bottom of the entrance, the three mollies tossed over their mother’s tail and paws. Perchkit had her front paws on Avocetcloud’s shoulder, flipping her ear inside out and back again.

“Because you’ll only stress Brownleap,” Avocetcloud sighed.

“But what if I stay really quiet and sit in the corner?” Perchkit asked. “I wanna see where kits come from!”

“They’re StarClan’s little gifts,” Avocetcloud muttered, chin plopping onto the ground.

“So StarClan is in the nursery giving Brownleap kits?” Perchkit asked. “I wanna see StarClan!”

“You’re not seeing StarClan any time soon,” Avocetcloud snapped, grabbing Perchkit’s scruff and plopping her by her chest. “Now stop playing with my ear!”

“Mother, I want to sit with Father!” Pochardkit huffed, no longer chewing on her paw. Mistpaw tried not to laugh. What kit talked like that?

“Your father is busy with Lightpaw,” Avocetcloud groaned. “You need to stay where you won’t bother the healers.”

“She absolutely can sit with Father!” Fidgetflower cheered from across camp. “Come on over, Pochard!” Pochardkit squealed and charged across camp.

“Watch out for big cats!” Avocetcloud called. Milkkit, who had been content on her mother’s tail, trotted after her sister. “No, Milkkit, not you, come back!” Milkkit ignored her mother and caught up to Pochardkit just in time for the two of them to barrel into Fidgetflower. Someone else barreled through camp too. Briarpaw charged out of the apprentice’s den once Mistpaw got close. 

“You wanna be the first to meet Brownleap’s kits?” Briarpaw chuckled.

“What are you planning?” Mistpaw asked, unable to hold back a smile.

“Our old spot,” Briarpaw explained. “Unless you’re too worried about your reputation nowadays to risk a bit of trouble.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Mistpaw huffed, batting Briarpaw’s torn ear. “Come on.” Mistpaw and Briarpaw scurried between the apprentice’s den and the nursery, where Brownleap let out another wail. There was a small cave between the two dens, just big enough for the two apprentices to hop inside. It looped around the nursery and opened up on the other side, but that was right in view of the warrior’s den.

“I’m getting another stick,” Hailbranch huffed, voice muffled through the rock. “Martenpaw, you can do this.” Hailbranch hurried out of the den as Brownleap moaned.

“One big push, Brownleap!” Martenpaw cheered.

“He should be here!” Brownleap cried. Mistpaw glanced at his brother, but Briarpaw just made an “I dunno” sound.

“You’re strong, I believe in you!” Martenpaw laughed. “Push!” Brownleap groaned once more. “I see them! Almost!”

“Gross,” Briarpaw whispered.

“You’re the one who wanted to listen!” Mistpaw snapped.

“A tom!” Martenpaw gasped. “Darken the fur, and he’d look just like you!”

“Give him here,” Brownleap panted. A moment later, a mew broke through the stone.

“The next one’s coming up fast!” Martenpaw stammered.

“I’ll take the kit, take the stick!” Hailbranch huffed. “He needs to begin suckling.”

“Oh, here’s the next one!” Martenpaw gasped.

“Remind me to never become a healer,” Briarpaw shuddered. Another loud mew bounced out of the nursery.

“She’s a fighter!” Martenpaw declared. “A sandy molly.”

“I love them,” Brownleap cried.

“From the look of things, that’s the last kit,” Hailbranch purred. “Good job, Brownleap. Martenpaw, you’ll watch over them while I inform the clan?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Martenpaw chirped.

“Oh, I already have names,” Brownleap gasped. “I want Lemmingstar to declare them as soon as she can!”

“Well don’t keep up in suspense,” Hailbranch chuckled.

“The tom’s name is Dovekit,” Brownleap explained, “after my favorite bird. The molly is Shellkit.”

“I never knew you to be a fan of sea shells,” Hailbranch hummed.

“I think they’re perfect names,” Martenpaw chirped.

“We could be their mentors, Misty,” Briarpaw chuckled, playfully bumping into Mistpaw.

“Yeah,” Mistpaw muttered. If he ever regained anyone’s respect. He set his jaw and turned out of the little cave.

Hailbranch was talking to Rippedpool and Lemmingstar by the leader’s den, each molly brimming with pride. Fidgetflower and his siblings had left Lightpaw to perfect her nest design as they entertained Fidgetflower’s daughters with a game of moss ball. Lightpaw’s claws kept getting stuck in the moss, tearing up part of her work.

“Do you want some help?” Mistpaw asked, sitting beside Lightpaw.

“I’ve only put fresh moss in nests,” Lightpaw groaned. “I haven’t made a complete nest myself.”

“I don’t know why Fidgetflower has you making a nest in the middle of camp,” Mistpaw scoffed. “It’s way easier to pile moss inside the den and say it’s good. But if you need a nest designed to move around camp, you need more than moss to support it. Hailbranch tends to have spare nest materials in the holy den. Let’s go look.”

“Thanks,” Lightpaw sighed, following Mistpaw as he trotted towards the holy den.

“I’m here to help,” Mistpaw chirped.

With tomorrow’s trial looming over him, Mistpaw was running out of helpful duties around camp. He had helped Otterpaw practice corpse examination by pretending to have his throat torn out. He had taken Honeypaw and Lightpaw’s jobs each time they had to clean the elders’ ticks, grooming each one while holding down comments. He even organized the fresh-kill pile so the older prey could get eaten and not turn into crowfood. 

There was only one place left to go. It had been so busy, Mistpaw never had the chance to visit. There was bound to be something to do there.

“Can I come in?” Mistpaw called into the nursery.

“Go ahead, Mistpaw,” Brownleap sighed. Mistpaw entered the nursery with his head lowered. Pochardkit, Perchkit, and Milkkit were sleeping in a big pile in Avocetcloud’s nest, though their mother was nowhere to be seen. Brownleap was still nursing her newborns. It was the calmest Brownleap had been in a moon.

“Can I get closer?” Mistpaw gulped.

“I want everyone to see them,” Brownleap purred. Mistpaw crouched by Brownleap’s belly and sniffed the little kits. Dovekit did indeed look like his mother, his swirls mimicking Brownleap’s, save for the lighter pelt. Shellkit, meanwhile, was a lovely shade of light brown, bordering on cream. For such a tiny cat, her ears were huge!

“What do you want them to be?” Mistpaw asked.

“I’d love it if they became counselors,” Brownleap admitted.

“Mom?” Perchkit yawned, opening her eyes.

“No, Perchkit, Avocetcloud isn’t here right now,” Brownleap explained. “She’s out on a walk with your father.”

“I want my mom!” Perchkit huffed, falling off the top of the sleeping pile of kittens. Her sisters stirred awake too.

“Milkkit, get off!” Pochardkit whined. “You’re squishing me!”

“Mistpaw, can you entertain them?” Brownleap groaned, laying her head down. “I can’t leave Dovekit and Shellkit.”

“You three know what the best trait of a CliffClan cat is, don’t you?” Mistpaw asked, turning to the three kits.

“I thought every cat was different,” Perchkit huffed, head cocked.

“But everyone in CliffClan is stealthy,” Mistpaw explained. He dropped into a crouch. “We can all sneak through the tunnels like shadows. The darkness is our friend!”

“Darkness?” Milkkit squealed loudly. Perchkit groaned and dug her head into the nest.

“Don’t yell in our ears!” Pochardkit whined.

“I don’t like darkness!” Milkkit huffed. “I can’t hear in the dark!”

“You mean see,” Mistpaw pointed out. “You don’t need your eyes in the dark, you have your paws!” Mistpaw tapped the ground in front of the kits. “Feel that? That’s a pawstep.”

“I can’t feel it,” Pochardkit grumbled.

“I can feel your paw!” Milkkit gasped, jumping in front of Mistpaw. “I’m not touching you!”

“The rocks are our friends too!” Mistpaw laughed, waving his tail at the stone den. “What you feel, that’s a vibration. So long as your paws are on the ground, you don’t need to see or hear anything in the tunnels. You can feel enemies above you.” 

“Milkkit, did you hear that?” Perchkit gasped, pouncing on her big sister. “You can hear through your paws!”

“I can?” Milkkit squealed. “Teach me how!”

“Well, you need to be quiet, so you can feel everything,” Mistpaw whispered, glancing back at Brownleap. The new mother had fallen asleep.

“But if we’re quiet, Milkkit can’t hear us!” Perchkit pointed out.

“She’s right next to me,” Mistpaw chuckled. “She can hear me.” 

“When Mother’s asleep,” Pochardkit explained, claws absentmindedly scratching the nest, “and, and we wanna stay awake and talk, Milkkit can’t hear us. She sleeps really long and you have to push her to wake her up.”

“Hey, what are you saying?” Milkkit pouted. “Talk loud!”

“Milkkit, we’re talking normally,” Mistpaw muttered, getting down to the kit’s level.

“Stop whispering!” Milkkit whined, stamping her front paws.

“What are you doing to them?” a voice yowled behind Mistpaw. He and Brownleap jumped, eyes turning to the entrance where Avocetcloud stormed inside, teeth bared.

“Avocetcloud, he’s just talking,” Brownleap stammered, but Avocetcloud ignored her. She bolted between Mistpaw and her kits with flat ears and raised hackles.

“Don’t touch my kits, counselor-killer!” Avocetcloud hissed. Mistpaw scrambled out of the nursery as Avocetcloud pulled her daughters in close. Fidgetflower watched the whole scene from outside the den, confusion and embarrassment clear on his face.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Mistpaw snapped, glaring back at the nursery.

“She’s very protective of our mollies,” Fidgetflower stammered, trotting into the nursery. “Sorry, Mistpaw!” Mistpaw’s pelt shook, anger bubbling under his skin. His clan thought he would harm kits?

“Mistpaw, come on!” Palescar called, standing by the holy den. “You’re late!” StarClan, he forgot about the lesson Palescar had set up with Hailbranch for that afternoon. He raced past his mentor, barely letting out an apology as he stumbled into the herb scented den.

“You’ll trample the herbs!” Hailbranch snapped as Mistpaw skidded to a stop next to a surprised Martenpaw.

“Sorry,” Mistpaw panted. “I was trying to help in the nursery. Uh, what is this lesson about again?”

“Do you know how many times clan cats have been wounded and left to fend for themselves?” Hailbranch sighed. “How many cats are hurt during a punishment of isolation but cannot seek a healer? The amount of cats traveling on a quest from StarClan who did not bring a healer along? It has happened more times than I would care to admit. That’s why you need to know the basic use of herbs and medicine.” Hailbranch motioned to the small collection of plants set into neat piles in front of the apprentices.

“If you’re sent into isolation,” Palescar muttered, taking a seat in the den, “this could save your life.” Mistpaw grimaced. His only memory of isolation was as a kit, when Sleettuft was punished for attacking a clanmate. When he returned after nine days, his coat was thin and ragged and he begged for company. Isolation was a small taste of exile.

“At least exile isn’t being considered?” Martenpaw chuckled.

“Martenpaw, not helpful,” Hailbranch huffed. “I doubt Lemmingstar will take such a harsh position. If it’s any consolation, Mistpaw, you have the support of the cats of the holy den.”

“You aren’t angry at me?” Mistpaw asked.

“No, I am,” Hailbranch clarified, tail tucked over her paws. “Or I was. You broke the code in a rather severe way, but I understand how the heat of battle clouds your senses. I was a story-keeper before I was a healer, after all.”

“You were?” Martenpaw and Mistpaw stammered in unison.

“I thought I told you, but that’s a story for later,” Hailbranch muttered, flicking an ear. “Now who is ready for the basics of healing?”

“How fun,” Mistpaw grumbled. He couldn’t help but laugh when Martenpaw glared at him, though.

Mistpaw doubted he could sleep that night, but he knew he needed his energy for the trial. Palescar had let him retire to his nest early for that very purpose. But by the time the harsh shine of the setting sun slipped under the ocean, Mistpaw was still awake, still staring into camp. Had he done enough to heal his relationship with the clan? He knew he hadn’t, because there was still one cat he needed to talk to. Mistpaw just hoped he got the chance.

It seemed StarClan decided to grant him that favor, because the first cat to enter the apprentice’s den was Fowlpaw. He went straight to his nest, spinning a few times before he was comfortable. Mistpaw sat up. His tail tapped the ground, the only sound in the quiet den.

“It’s Honeypaw’s first night on guard duty,” Mistpaw remarked. “She’s going to hate it.” As expected, Fowlpaw ignored him. Mistpaw knew the indirect approach wouldn’t work, but he had to try. “We sleep in the same den, you can’t avoid me forever.”

“Try me,” Fowlpaw growled, not looking back.

“We’re littermates!” Mistpaw groaned. “We have to support each other.”

“Not when you haven’t learned your lesson!” Fowlpaw snapped, finally sitting up.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Mistpaw huffed.

“Oh, do you know how long I’ve wanted to say this?” Fowlpaw laughed, shaking his head. “Spottedfoot said ‘No Fowlpaw, you need to give him his space, he needs to figure this out by himself’, but clearly, you’re too stupid to realize it. Mistpaw, you’re not a good person!”

“Please, I’m a warrior!” Mistpaw scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Warriors fight other cats to protect our clan.”

“There is no one in this world that can ever convince me that the only way to solve our problems is to maim and kill,” Fowlpaw growled, claws out. “That’s why it’s in the code! And you, you nearly killed a counselor, someone protected from combat, someone who barely hurt you, considering you can back with barely a scratch while Ospreystep almost died!”

“I made a mistake, Fowlpaw!” Mistpaw groaned, heart racing. “I’m going to be careful who I’m fighting from now on.”

“There, that’s the problem!” Fowlpaw snapped, tail pointed at Mistpaw. “You don’t care that you nearly took someone’s life. You just care that the clan’s mad at you.”

“You’re insane!” Mistpaw hissed. “Of course I feel guilty!”

“No, look inside yourself,” Fowlpaw grumbled, getting closer to Mistpaw. “Name what you’re feeling, where it comes from. No amount of helpful chores or willingness to work shows that you actually feel guilty for ruining Ospreystep’s life. You’re not guilty, you’re embarrassed. If you can’t own up to yourself, how in the Eternal Tide can I consider you a brother?” Fowlpaw spun to the exit, tail slapping Mistpaw’s face. “I hope you’re exiled, Mistpaw!” Fowlpaw ran out of the den and out of sight.

“Who needs you?” Mistpaw hissed, plopping back into his nest. He didn’t need Fowlpaw. He’d have to watch as he got a light punishment during his trial and return to his full duties, and he would have one less brother in CliffClan.

“Ashwhisker, cut it out!” Mistpaw huffed, batting Ashwhisker’s tongue off his head. “You’re not my mom!”

“This tuft won’t smooth out,” Ashwhisker grumbled. “You can’t look like you ran through a bramble bush when Haddockpath arrives.”

“I already look like a drowned rat,” Mistpaw scoffed, bounding away from Ashwhisker. 

It seemed everyone in the clan gathered for the trial. The elders were out of their den, with Hailbranch taking the time to help Firestripe stretch his aching hips. Charpatch and Avocetcloud were near Wigeonfur, with Fidgetflower leaning into his mate and the kits enjoying time with their grandfather. Lemmingstar was already in position in front of her den, with Rippedpool below her to keep the peace. Mistpaw’s family was close by, with Fowlpaw the only one not muttering. Honeypaw and Lightpaw kept bouncing between Sleettuft and Goldenshade, who had settled on different sides of camp.

“How much longer?” Mistpaw groaned.

“Gooseleg and Beaverstone have been gone for a while, they should come back at any moment,” Ashwhisker explained. “Remember, don’t say or do anything to make you seem more guilty to Lemmingstar. Just sit by me and speak when spoken to.”

“Do you think we can win?” Mistpaw gulped.

“As much as we can when you’ve already confessed,” Ashwhisker sighed.

“They’re here!” Buzzardear called, ears turned to the entrance. Sure enough, a few moments later, Haddockpath entered the CliffClan camp, flanked by Gooseleg and Beaverstone. Brightpaw was right behind her mentor, taking in the camp. Snailnose and Hollyshine walked on either side of the true center of attention. Some could not hold back a gasp as they saw Ospreystep for the first time since the fight.

Her wounds had closed up by then, although a few cobwebs still clung to her chest to hold down poultices. Her scars were so visible because the fur around her chest had been ripped out in some areas. The wounds aged her by dozens of moons. Her chest was a field of long claw marks, deeper than even Palescar’s famous wounds.

“How did she not die?” Ashwhisker muttered.

“Tell me you won’t say that during the trial,” Mistpaw groaned. Haddockpath and Brightpaw sat with Ospreystep near the center of the camp, on Lemmingstar’s right. Hollyshine sat behind them, glancing around the camp. Snailnose went up to Loudstep and the rest of Mistpaw’s family.

“Are you a witness?” Loudstep asked.

“I came along for trial mediation,” Snailnose explained, “though I was wondering if I could give Brownleap my congratulations before the trial begins. I heard her kits were born.”

“If we’re quick and I go with you,” Loudstep huffed. Snailnose smiled, and followed Loudstep towards the nursery. 

Ashwhisker nudged Mistpaw forward. The pair walked past the PuffinClan delegation and sat on Lemmingstar’s left, a few tail-lengths from Haddockpath. Mistpaw glanced around Ashwhisker at Ospreystep. She was watching him.

“Don’t look at her, alright?” Ashwhisker whispered. Mistpaw nodded, and looked up at Lemmingstar.

“Now that Haddockpath and her witnesses are here,” Lemmingstar sighed, standing, “I don’t see why we cannot begin. Ospreystep, should you require the attention of a healer at any point during your visit to CliffClan, Hailbranch will assist you.”

“Thank you, Lemmingstar,” Ospreystep said, bowing her head.

“No other interruptions, from any clan,” Rippedpool huffed, glaring through the camp.

“Members of CliffClan,” Lemmingstar declared. “We are gathered today to bear judgement upon Mistpaw. He is accused of attacking Ospreystep, a PuffinClan counselor, in battle, nearly taking her life and sending her to an early retirement. We seek to determine the details surrounding this attack and how much of the incident should be blamed on Mistpaw. Haddockpath, are you ready to present proof of this cat’s crimes to the clan?”

“I am,” Haddockpath said, nodding.

“Ashwhisker,” Lemmingstar continued. “Are you prepared to protect your clanmate from judgement?”

“I am, Lemmingstar,” Ashwhisker stammered. Lemmingstar turned to Mistpaw. He forced himself to keep eye contact.

“Mistpaw,” Lemmingstar sighed, “are you ready to defend yourself and accept punishment, whatever that may be?”

“I am,” Mistpaw huffed.

“Then let the trial begin!” Lemmingstar announced. “Before we hear from witnesses, I will allow both sides to give a short speech outlining their case and suggested punishment. Ashwhisker, you will be first.” Ashwhisker stood, shaking out his back leg. Mistpaw tried not to glance at everyone’s reactions.

“Mistpaw is a nine moon old apprentice,” Ashwhisker explained, pacing back and forth in front of Mistpaw.

“Ten moons!” Mistpaw hissed.

“Correction, ten moons,” Ashwhisker stammered. From the corner of his eye, Mistpaw caught Sleettuft gently thunking his head against the rock wall, groaning. “Ten or nine moons, he is a young cat, an apprentice who has not yet taken his battle exam. Still, when he was called upon to fight for his clan, he rose to the challenge. Until the revelation about attacking Ospreystep, he had been praised for his skill during the battle. I witnessed it myself. Mistpaw has never participated in a border fight before this moment. He had only fought rogues and wandering predators, never another clan. How can we expect a young cat to know every cat on the battlefield, when he has been taught to defend his clan with his life? Why ruin an apprentice’s reputation with terrible punishment when he made a mistake?”

“He nearly killed a counselor,” Haddockpath grumbled, glaring at Ashwhisker.

“Let him finish,” Rippedpool snapped. “It isn’t your turn.”

“While no one is arguing about whether or not Mistpaw attacked Ospreystep,” Ashwhisker gulped, voice cracking on Mistpaw’s name, “there is a question as to what happened. It is my hope to prove that Mistpaw followed his training by chasing a runaway enemy whom he did not recognize and whose motives he could not predict. For attacking a counselor, our suggested punishment is for Mistpaw to hunt for Ospreystep until the next Gathering, or until Ospreystep deems his punishment over.” With a quick bow, Ashwhisker sat back beside Mistpaw.

“That was terrible!” Mistpaw hissed as Haddockpath stood.

“Not my best job, I’ll admit,” Ashwhisker muttered. Instead of speaking to Lemmingstar, Haddockpath turned to face CliffClan, tail drifting across the ground.

“Let’s be honest for a moment,” Haddockpath sighed. “PuffinClan is being a bit intense at the moment.”

“What is she doing?” Mistpaw whispered as a few surprised mutters rippled through the cave.

“Quiet!” Rippedpool called.

“If it were up to me,” Haddockpath explained, walking along the edge of the crowd, “I would set the border back to its original spot and end our daily meetings. That’s what your counselors want. There are cats in PuffinClan who agree with you! The problem is, as a result of our battle, the clan’s most honored counselor nearly died and has been forced to retire before her time. You have Mistpaw to thank for his bloodthirsty nature. What apprentice simply doing his duty would deliver such wounds upon a fleeing counselor who did not have the training to fight back? It seems to me, in Mistpaw’s fury over the border situation, he unleashed his anger upon the nearest cat. This is an anger that must be checked through swift punishment before lives truly are lost, in more than PuffinClan.” Mistpaw felt sick.

“Hunting for Ospreystep is acceptable, but I think there is an added way to cool Mistpaw’s anger,” Haddockpath continued. “Let him get a taste of exile through isolation. Nine days treated like a rogue will give him a glimpse into his future should he continue his violent behavior. A strong enough punishment may be the thing we need for Whalestar to agree to the old border. Thank you.” More mutters fluttered from CliffClan mouths like bats.

“She threw her own clan off a cliff!” Mistpaw hissed as Haddockpath returned to her spot.

“She’s not appealing to the leader of PuffinClan,” Ashwhisker muttered. “She’s appealing to CliffClan. She just gave Lemmingstar a very good reason to pick isolation.”

“I’m sorry I insulted your speech, just please don’t let that happen!” Mistpaw huffed. Ashwhisker brushed his tail down Mistpaw’s back.

“Haddockpath,” Lemmingstar called. “You shall pick the first witness.”

“Ospreystep will speak first,” Haddockpath declared, the tortoiseshell in question rising to her paws.

“There’s a small ledge below me,” Lemmingstar pointed out. “Witnesses stand there during trials.”

“Before that, Lemmingstar,” Haddockpath sighed, “I would like Hailbranch to examine Ospreystep’s wounds, so that the extent of her injuries can come from a trusted mouth.”

“Acceptable,” Lemmingstar hummed. “Hailbranch, have you finished with Firestripe?”

“I’ll be right there,” Hailbranch said, patting Firestripe’s hip. She strolled over to Ospreystep, who sat tall and quiet. Hailbranch nodded and sniffed around her wounds.

“If you’ll be so kind as to share your thoughts,” Lemmingstar sighed.

“The wounds have healed well,” Hailbranch noted. “They are sensitive though. Ospreystep, take a deep breath for me.” Ospreystep obeyed, closing her eyes. She suddenly fell into a huge coughing fit, nearly hacking up a hairball. Hailbranch was unfazed. “As I suspected. The chest wounds seem to have gotten her lungs. She can’t breathe too hard, or this happens. It’s no surprise she had to retire. She couldn’t travel far without a coughing fit. Considering her age, she was lucky to survive.”

“Thank you, Hailbranch,” Haddockpath said. Hailbranch returned to the crowd as Ospreystep climbed onto the small ledge a tail-length above the floor. 

“Ashwhisker, please take your spot for opposing questions,” Rippedpool sighed. Ashwhisker got closer to Ospreystep, the placement of all three cats mirroring the trial overall.

“Take us through what happened, Ospreystep,” Haddockpath asked.

“I’ll start when the PuffinClan patrol encountered CliffClan,” Ospreystep began. “We attempted to find a peaceful solution, but tensions on both sides were high. Before I know, Seabranch and Mistpaw are fighting, and it turns into a battle. To protect myself, I start to run away. I decided to stay behind a rock until the battle was over. Suddenly, Mistpaw jumps over the rock and begins to attack me. I tried to get him to stop, but he dug his claws into my chest. He’s a strong tom with far more battle training than I, so I couldn’t get him off of me. I could barely breathe.”

“What exactly did you say to Mistpaw?” Ashwhisker asked.

“Something along the lines of ‘Stop’ or ‘Wait,’ I can’t remember exactly,” Ospreystep sighed.

“It was ‘Wait,’” Mistpaw whispered.

“What happened when Mistpaw stopped attacking you?” Haddockpath prompted.

“I tried to get the attention of my clanmates,” Ospreystep explained, “but they were focused on the battle. I couldn’t yell for them, because I could barely breathe. I coughed blood. My main fear was that I would never see my son’s warrior ceremony. I’m his only family. I was certain I was going to die. I’m afraid my memory fades from there, until I woke up in the PuffinClan holy den.”

“Had you not been injured,” Haddockpath asked, “when do you think you would have retired?”

“At a minimum, I would have waited until Bumblepaw was a warrior,” Ospreystep sighed. “But I’ve never dreamed of being an elder. I had hoped to support my clan until my last breath. I don’t like the idea of others doing what I should be able to do myself.” Ospreystep coughed softly, turning away from the story-keepers. Mistpaw stole a glance at Lemmingstar. She didn’t look happy.

“Ospreystep, if you could think back to the start of the fight,” Ashwhisker asked. “Did you know everyone in the CliffClan patrol?”

“Yes!” Ospreystep said. “I’m friends with almost all the counselors in the clans. I’ve kept in touch with their lives and their families. There was Charpatch, you, Palescar, Beaverstone, and of course, Mistpaw.”

“So you knew us, but have you had conversations with any of us before then?” Ashwhisker hummed.

“I knew you,” Ospreystep listed, “we’ve talked plenty of times with Goldenshade once you became mates. Gooseleg introduced me to her brother when they were apprentices, and I met Beaverstone and his brother when they joined the clans.”

“So you haven’t talked to Mistpaw before?” Ashwhisker pointed out, glancing at Mistpaw.

“I don't remember formally introducing myself,” Ospreystep realized. “I knew him largely through Loudstep’s stories. I’ve only been to one Gathering since he became an apprentice.” Haddockpath flicked her tail as the whispers of the crowd throbbed and quieted with another glare from Rippedpool.

“You don’t remember?” Haddockpath clarified.

“All the Gatherings blur together,” Ospreystep admitted.

“When you met the patrol,” Ashwhisker asked, “did you ever declare yourself to be a counselor?”

“You know I didn’t, you were there,” Ospreystep said.

“Please answer the question, Ospreystep,” Rippedpool huffed.

“I never said I was a counselor because I thought everyone knew that,” Ospreystep sighed.

“If you have never met Mistpaw, and you didn’t declare that you were a counselor before the battle,” Ashwhisker said loudly, voice echoing, “then we cannot say that Mistpaw knew that you were a counselor! Therefore, he was following his training.”

“Mistpaw still chased someone fleeing from combat and nearly took a life,” Haddockpath grunted. 

“An overzealous warrior, not a malicious codebreaker,” Ashwhisker clarified.

“Is there anything else you would like to tell the clan?” Lemmingstar asked, peering over the ledge.

“I’m finished,” Ospreystep sighed. “Does your camp have a source of water I could use? My throat gets sore after talking for so long.”

“There’s a small cave that collects water,” Hailbranch explained. “I’ll show you.” Ospreystep jumped off the ledge and followed Hailbranch to the small alcove by the warrior’s den, which led to a pool of rainwater. Ashwhisker met Mistpaw’s eyes and nodded. Mistpaw smiled. Maybe he wouldn’t be isolated.

“Haddockpath, I will allow you to bring your second witness before the clan,” Lemmingstar decreed.

“That witness is Hollyshine, ma’am,” Haddockpath explained.

Hollyshine’s statement was about the battle itself, how Mistpaw was the first to launch an attack. Haddockpath asked plenty of questions there, highlighting Mistpaw’s role in triggering the fight. Ashwhisker saved his questions for his first witness, which was, surprisingly, Charpatch. While her version of the battle was just like Hollyshine’s, there was an added detail; how she noticed Bumblepaw unsheathe his claws just before Mistpaw attacked. How could Mistpaw be at fault when he saw a clear sign that PuffinClan was about to attack?

“Thank you, Charpatch,” Lemmingstar purred, nodding as her daughter rejoined the crowd. “Ashwhisker, who else would you like to call to speak?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Lemmingstar,” Haddockpath stammered, one paw on the cliff face. “Before Ashwhisker continues to present his case for Mistpaw, I would like to pause this trial and resume tomorrow morning. The information presented here has inspired me to seek a particular witness.”

“That is highly unusual, Haddockpath,” Lemmingstar hummed as a few outraged and annoyed murmurs rippled through the clan.

“It is a common practice in PuffinClan trials,” Haddockpath admitted. “I was unaware CliffClan did not do the same.”

“You’ve piqued my interest,” Lemmingstar muttered. “I will allow you to prepare this new witness. Be warned, though. The quality of their testimony will be highly judged and should you not have one by tomorrow morning, the trial will continue as normal.”

“I understand,” Haddockpath said, bowing.

“We will reconvene tomorrow morning,” Lemmingstar declared. “Rippedpool, with me.”

“This is ridiculous!” Spottedfoot yowled. “If Haddockpath wanted this witness here, she should have brought them!” A few other cats raised their voices.

“This is Lemmingstar’s decision!” Rippedpool spat, climbing up to Lemmingstar’s den. “You shall respect it! Buzzardear, Briarpaw, please escort our guests back to the border.” Frustrated murmurs pierced the camp as the leader and deputy disappeared into the leader’s den and Buzzardear and Briarpaw joined the PuffinClan cats by the entrance.

“You’re doing well!” Briarpaw cheered as he joined his mentor. Everyone broke into discussion as the visitors left camp. Ashwhisker rejoined Mistpaw in the center of camp

“This can’t be good,” Mistpaw gulped.

“We’ll just make your testimony stronger,” Ashwhisker muttered. “I’ll try to think about what she has planned. I won’t fail you.” Ashwhisker hurried into the warrior’s den before Mistpaw could say anything. Dread settled in his gut.

“Not what I was expecting,” Palescar hummed behind him, “but this does mean you can join the hunting patrol I’m leading.” Spottedfoot, Beaverstone, and Fowlpaw gathered behind Palescar. Beaverstone smiled at Mistpaw while Spottedfoot glared at the entrance, with Fowlpaw refusing to look Mistpaw’s way.

“I think I really need that,” Mistpaw sighed. “Can we go to the coast?”

“That’s what I was planning,” Palescar said. He led the toms to the mouth of the camp. Fowlpaw was right behind Palescar, his foothold on the cliff face shaking each time he descended. Mistpaw went down with Beaverstone. The older tom’s paws didn’t have the same hoof-like size of a CliffClan-born cat, so Mistpaw occasionally had to help him steady.

With everyone at the Lower Beach, Palescar avoided the mess of human debris, instead going for the cliffs that lined the coast. The high tide made the cliffs little more than ledges above the churning sea. Even at the Lower Beach, the water reached the cliff face, the sign of high tide’s peak. At least it meant easy fishing!

“Fowlpaw, your fishing technique needs improvement,” Spottedfoot sighed, stopping by a thick bush. “Go with Mistpaw and see if he can help you. We’ll be over here.”

“You’re far better at fishing than he is,” Fowlpaw scoffed. “Why can’t you teach me?”

“Us mentors haven’t had much time together without you two around,” Spottedfoot scoffed. “Now go fish.”

“Spottedfoot…” Fowlpaw groaned as Mistpaw shook his head and made his way to what would have been a grand look-out point during low tide, but was now merely a claw into the ocean.

“Go. Fish,” Spottedfoot huffed. Fowlpaw groaned, and his pawsteps trudged behind Mistpaw. Fowlpaw sat on the other side of the point. Mistpaw wondered if the order was one of those excuses counselors came up with to help their clanmates, but he knew better than to say anything. His claws scratched the grass as he waited for a fish.

“I’m hoping my speech tomorrow may change your mind,” Mistpaw muttered.

“Ospreystep only solidified by position,” Fowlpaw snapped. “You were cruel and heartless, and still are.”

“Ospreystep only proved you wrong!” Mistpaw huffed, slightly mimicking Fowlpaw’s nasally voice. “Now that I saw what I did to her? If I wasn’t guilty before, which I was, I am now. I’m sorry I’m not a touchy-feely counselor like you. You’re doing a terrible job at that, by the way, considering how you’ve treated me.” Fowlpaw flipped a fish out of the water. It flew out of his claws and slapped Mistpaw in the face before flopping back into the ocean. Mistpaw growled. He should have tackled his brother, right there!

“You want me to forgive you?” Fowlpaw hissed. “Then don’t talk to me!” The last few words were drowned out by the rush of the waves. Mistpaw looked just in time to see a large wave fly over the shore and dangle overhead like a monster.

“Hold on!” Mistpaw yowled. The wave crashed into his chest just as he dug his claws into the ground. His back foot slipped into the water, but he held on. Salt stung his eyes, but he’d had the good sense to close his mouth before it hit.

The water receded as quickly as it arrived, pulling up grass and dirt in its wake. Mistpaw was completely soaked, his gray fur matted and tangled. He coughed and shook himself out as best he could. Too bad the wave didn’t bother to leave a fish behind. He was about to make a joke about it, some feeble attempt to break Fowlpaw’s shell, when he realized Fowlpaw wasn’t there anymore. The spot where Fowlpaw had thrown a fish into the air was now empty.

Mistpaw’s stupid little brother. His stubborn brother who never could climb a cliff properly because he never figured out how to steady himself against the elements.

“Fowlpaw!” Mistpaw screamed. He raced to his brother’s former spot and jumped into the ocean.

Now, CliffClan cats didn’t know how to swim for the most part. There were, however, a few lessons devoted to surviving if nature or enemies dragged you under the sea. Those were lessons that Mistpaw doubted Fowlpaw paid attention to, but he had. Somewhat. He had mostly played in the stream with his brothers, but it was better than nothing.

The ocean currents hadn't carried Fowlpaw too deep, but he wasn’t moving. He floated along the tides like driftwood, fur flowing about. Bubbles drifted from his mouth. Mistpaw kicked and clawed, but he was at the mercy of the waves. He could never return to camp if he left his brother to drown. He dove lower, the light fading as his brother was carried deeper down.

The current shoved Mistpaw into the rocky shore. His side stung. A jagged rock cut his leg. Mistpaw growled, a current of bubbles flying away. His chest was burning. If he went up, he’d never get to Fowlpaw. He went deeper.

Mistpaw dug his jaws into Fowlpaw’s scruff. He dragged his little brother up, trying to let the water do the work. Their weight dragged them along. Was Mistpaw getting close to the surface? He was starting to get woozy. 

A silvery figure swam overhead. Mistpaw shoved Fowlpaw towards them. They grabbed Fowlpaw’s scruff and dragged him above the water, just moments before Mistpaw broke through. He gasped and coughed, digging into the soaked ground.

“I have you!” Beaverstone yowled. He grabbed Mistpaw’s scruff and pulled him onto land just as Palescar stumbled up with Fowlpaw in his jaws.

“He’s not,” Mistpaw gagged, “he’s not breathing.”

“Spottedfoot ran for the healers as soon as you went under,” Beaverstone explained. Sure enough, the brown spotted tom was darting towards them, with Hailbranch and Martenpaw hurrying behind.

“The wave swept him off,” Mistpaw explained, shivering.

“Beaverstone, don’t stand there, warm him!” Hailbranch ordered. She and Martenpaw were at Fowlpaw’s side. He looked like a soaked hairball. “Martenpaw, watch closely.” Hailbranch put her front paws on Fowlpaw’s chest. She slammed her paws down, hard. She repeated the violent process as Beaverstone groomed Mistpaw and hopelessness seeped deeper than the water.

“Please,” Mistpaw begged. Martenpaw copied her mentor with a swift hit to Fowlpaw’s chest. Water gushed out of his mouth as Fowlpaw groaned and gagged, shivering.

“Thank StarClan,” Palescar sighed as Martenpaw began to lick Fowlpaw’s fur the wrong way. Spottedfoot joined her, purring into Fowlpaw’s neck.

“Where am I?” Fowlpaw shivered.

“We have Mistpaw’s quick thinking to thank for today,” Beaverstone declared, pausing to touch Mistpaw’s shoulder in respect. “He helped you out of the water when you got knocked off.”

“Are you okay?” Mistpaw asked, a relieved smile growing.

“I…” Fowlpaw muttered.

“I believe he hit his head on the way down,” Hailbranch muttered, prodding the back of Fowlpaw’s skull. “Everyone back to camp. Martenpaw, hurry ahead and make sure the nests are dry.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Martenpaw chirped. She took the lead as Palescar and Spottedfoot helped Fowlpaw up. Mistpaw stayed close to Beaverstone. He met Fowlpaw’s eyes. His brother wasn’t angry. What he was was less clear.

“Mistpaw, hurry,” someone whispered. “Wake up.” 

Mistpaw laid in a now damp nest in the holy den, bruises and wounds treated with cobwebs and poultices. Fowlpaw slept close by, the cobwebs on his head looking like a patch of white fur. Ashwhisker stood over Mistpaw, freshly groomed.

“Something wrong?” Mistpaw yawned, trying to blink the sleep away.

“Look outside,” Ashwhisker huffed, stepping aside. Mistpaw rubbed his eyes. The clan was gathered around the walls of the cave. A silver molly sat in the center of the group.

“Haddockpath’s here?” Mistpaw stammered, jumping. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Hailbranch wouldn’t let me!” Ashwhisker stammered. “She said you needed to rest.” Mistpaw groomed his fur as fast as he could, trying to shake out the fuzz.

“How do I look?” Mistpaw asked.

“It’ll have to do,” Ashwhisker gulped. “Come on.” Ashwhisker prodded Mistpaw out of the den. All eyes turned towards him. A gray and ginger tortoiseshell sat beside Haddockpath. Nettlestone, Mistpaw believed. She was Haddockpath’s surprise witness? What did she know?

“I think we all want this over,” Lemmingstar sighed from her spot above. “If Ashwhisker and Mistpaw are ready, I’ll skip formalities and get directly into the trial. When we left off, Ashwhisker was about to call his next witness.”

“Yes,” Ashwhisker repeated. “I’m asking Mistpaw to share his version of events.” Mistpaw stopped by the small ledge and climbed onto it, looking over his clan. Haddockpath stepped closer, taking up her spot. Even though he was still exhausted from his swim the day before, he sat straight.

“Where do you want me to begin?” Mistpaw asked.

“Start when you found the PuffinClan patrol,” Haddockpath suggested.

“From what I knew,” Mistpaw began, running through the speech he rehearsed, “PuffinClan had crossed our border and refused to return to their territory. We argued, trying to get PuffinClan to leave. The apprentice that was with them, Bumblepaw, I saw him unsheathe his claws. I decided to attack before he could.”

“You clearly saw him do so?” Haddockpath scoffed.

“I think so,” Mistpaw gulped.

“When I first spoke with you, you did not know Bumblepaw’s name,” Haddockpath pointed out, “yet now you remember his unsheathed paws. How can we believe that you saw it yourself and did not add it to your testimony after hearing that detail from Charpatch?”

“Does it matter?” Mistpaw groaned.

“Indeed it does,” Haddockpath said. “If that is the reason you shall give for starting the battle, then I do not believe Lemmingstar can consider that part of your statement viable.”

“Let’s just continue, please?” Ashwhisker sighed.

The rest of Mistpaw’s statement continued on in a similar fashion. Where before, Haddockpath had been silent, she now stabbed Mistpaw with question after question. By the time he got to the part of the story where he learned who Ospreystep was, he felt like he was still being tossed about underwater.

“Before we let you go,” Haddockpath asked near the end, “do you still hold it to be true that you didn't know Ospreystep’s identity before the battle?”

“Yes,” Mistpaw sighed. Haddockpath smiled.

“I’m finished with my questions if you are, Ashwhisker,” Haddockpath declared.

“I am,” Ashwhisker said, hesitating.

“Unless Ashwhisker has any other witnesses he would like to call,” Lemmingstar sighed as Mistpaw hopped off the ledge, “I am very curious to hear what Haddockpath’s new witness has to say.”

“I really don’t like this,” Mistpaw grumbled as Nettlestone took her spot on the ledge. Ashwhisker merely glanced back at him with an equally confused and worried expression.

“Thank you for joining me, Nettlestone,” Haddockpath said. “I was hoping you could tell CliffClan what you told me in regards to the Gathering two moons ago.”

“I’d be glad to,” Nettlestone declared, nodding.

“Now, so everyone knows,” Haddockpath sighed, “can you tell us what you specialize in as a story-keeper?”

“I’ve dedicated my focus to recording the events of Gatherings,” Nettlestone explained. “I try to go to all of them and pay close attention to the major news. I was at the Gathering two moons ago. Bumblepaw was announced as an apprentice, and Needlecall had a huge litter of kits. It was a very peaceful event, so everyone was talking to one another.”

“Did you see Mistpaw at that Gathering?” Haddockpath asked.

“Yes,” Nettlestone said. “He was talking to Ospreystep.” Everyone broke into surprised gasps and hisses of indignation. Ashwhisker flattened his ears.

“That’s a lie!” Mistpaw yowled, standing. “I never met Ospreystep!”

“Why did we allow her to speak at all?” Hailbranch snapped from the holy den. Others took up her cry.

“Everyone, enough!” Rippedpool growled, trotting around the camp. “Quiet! This is a trial! Quiet!”

“Haddockpath, the ice is thin,” Lemmingstar muttered. “I’ll allow the witness to continue, but I need more details before I can consider the statement valid.”

“Please describe what Mistaw and Ospreystep were talking about, Nettlestone,” Haddockpath said, barely phased by the anger.

“Well it was after the leaders spoke,” Nettlestone explained. “I heard Ospreystep mention her relationship to Bumblepaw and how she was proud of him. I couldn’t hear Mistpaw’s reply, but I think he was talking about fighting, since he swiped his paw in the air. The two laughed, and they rejoined their clans.”

“Lemmingstar, while I understand why you may not believe Nettlestone,” Haddockpath said, stepping back to look at the leader, “please consider the implications of her words being true. It would mean that Mistpaw did indeed know who Ospreystep was, yet continued to attack and maim her. I understand that as a warrior, you and Nettlestone often sat together during Gatherings.” Lemmingstar’s careful expression cracked a bit as she blinked.

“While I cannot continue inter clan friendships while I lead CliffClan,” Lemmingstar muttered, “I do hope Nettlestone and I can rekindle that friendship in StarClan, that much is true.”

“Isn’t it also true that as a young warrior, you were accused of a cross-clan romance gone wrong with Storkthroat of PuffinClan, Nettlestone’s own sister, and it was in part thanks to her testimony that you were found not guilty?” Haddockpath asked. The younger cats gasped and looked to their mentors and parents for confirmation. Mistpaw nearly coughed up a hairball. Lemmingstar, in love with a PuffinClan cat?

“You’d be wise not to bring that up,” Lemmingstar growled.

“I only mention it to prove my point,” Haddockpath explained, “that Nettlestone’s word is trustworthy. While I don’t accuse Mistpaw or Ospreystep of lying, this brief moment still holds Mistpaw accountable.” Lemmingstar watched her clan carefully. She wasn’t considering it, was she?

“Is that everything you have to say, Nettlestone?” Lemmingstar asked.

“Yes, Lemmingstar,” Nettlestone said, nodding politely.

Mistpaw tuned out to the closing statements. He was sick of hearing the details repeated over and over. Ashwhisker would probably do better than he had earlier. There was something in the back of Mistpaw’s memory, a joke at a Gathering about someone needing to train hard to beat him in a fight. Had he made that joke to Ospreystep? It had been a passing remark to someone in the crowd, they didn’t share life stories. Did Lemmingstar think he was lying?

“I will need a moment to decide what punishment best fits Mistpaw,” Lemmingstar suddenly declared, snapping Mistpaw out of his head. “I won’t be long.” Lemmingstar entered her den as Mistpaw’s family surrounded him.

“Lemmingstar would be a fool to listen to Nettlestone,” Loudstep huffed.

“Dad, I don’t remember that,” Mistpaw insisted.

“It’s too late now,” Otterpaw groaned.

“If you get isolated, I’m going with you,” Briarpaw grunted.

“I wish I could tell what Lemmingstar’s thinking,” Grebeshine muttered, peering up at the den.

“No matter what happens, CliffClan will accept you,” Loudstep promised, tail brushing against Mistpaw’s poultice. Someone stepped out of the holy den. Though he seemed frazzled, Fowlpaw stumbled up to his family. He didn’t look at Mistpaw or sit beside him, but he was part of the group. Mistpaw smiled.

“Glad you could join us,” Briarpaw scoffed, headbutting Fowlpaw’s shoulder.

“She’s coming out,” Grebeshine said. Lemmingstar stepped out of her den and looked over the clan, which quickly quieted. Ashwhisker and Haddockpath retook their spots.

“I have heard the evidence for and against Mistpaw in regards to his crimes,” Lemmingstar declared. “I have made my decision. Mistpaw, is there anything you would like to say before I carry out my sentence?”

“Yes!” Mistpaw said loudly, standing. For the first time in days, he ignored how he stood, how he presented himself. He simply spoke. “When I saw the PuffinClan patrol over our border, there was a part of me that got excited. I wanted to fight and defend CliffClan! I wanted to be a warrior! I attacked whoever I saw, and the cat I saw was Ospreystep. I want to apologize to her, though she might not accept it. Anyone who knows me knows that I am an idiot. I mean, I’m extremely stupid. This is a new level of dumb, even for me. I want this punishment to make me smarter. If hurting someone produces horrors like these, I will never take a life. I’m going to defend my clan, but I’m not going to take a life to do so. I never want to get so close, ever again.”

“Woo!” Briarpaw cheered. Half the clan shushed him. It got a smile out of Haddockpath, of all cats.

“Well spoken,” Lemmingstar said, nodding. “Warriors of StarClan, may my words and my actions today honor your sacred code and protect CliffClan. Mistpaw, I find you guilty of attacking a counselor, as you admitted to the act long ago. Taking into account all the witnesses we have seen these past two days, you will hunt for Ospreystep until the next Gathering.” Mistpaw’s family cheered. Mistpaw rubbed against his mother. Ashwhisker beamed. Lemmingstar raised her tail for quiet.

“Before that,” Lemmingstar sighed, “you must first fully understand the pain you put Ospreystep through. You shall be publically clawed, with your hunting beginning once you are recovered.” Mistpaw’s head went light.

“Lemmingstar, no!” Grebeshine begged as CliffClan rose in confusion and a touch of outrage. “He’s just a kit!”

“I must protest, he nearly drowned yesterday!” Hailbranch huffed.

“This is my decision,” Lemmingstar huffed with a thrash of her tail. “Haddockpath, thank you for your service. I will have Fidgetflower and Lightpaw escort you and Nettlestone back to PuffinClan.” As Lemmingstar joined her chatty clan, Nettlestone met Fidgetflower and Lightpaw at the base of the entrance. Haddockpath paused in front of Mistpaw.

“A battle well fought,” Haddockpath said, nodding. She hurried to join Nettlestone as the group left camp.

“This is cruel,” Grebeshine growled. “No one has been publically clawed in CliffClan in generations.”

“I can do it, Mom,” Mistpaw promised, surprisingly calm. “I want to get this over with.”

“You better not get cooler scars than mine,” Briarpaw scoffed as Loudstep and Grebeshine hesitantly pulled away from their son.

“Almost every warrior in the clan has a cooler scar than your ear,” Otterpaw muttered, pushing his brother into the crowd. Fowlpaw lingered beside Mistpaw for a moment, before following the others. Lemmingstar stood in front of Mistpaw with a grim expression. Rippedpool sat with closed eyes nearby. Hailbranch and Martenpaw shared the same furious looks.

“I will claw you down all four legs,” Lemmingstar whispered. “When I’m done, you will have to sit and endure the pain silently. I will tell you when you can go to the holy den. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mistpaw muttered. “I’m a warrior. I can handle this.” Lemmingstar nodded.

“I will make this fast,” she sighed. Mistpaw stared straight ahead as Lemmingstar moved to his side. She unsheathed her claws. She slashed down Mistpaw’s back leg. The pain nearly sent Mistpaw stumbling forward, but the slash to his front leg knocked him back to his senses. Lemmingstar lept over him and repeated the process on his other legs. The blood dripped down his pelt, turning gray fur black. 

Lemmingstar walked away with bloody paws while Mistpaw held back a moan. He wouldn’t make a sound until his punishment was over. He glanced at his clanmates. Everyone was watching him. Some seemed cold, and Avocetcloud almost seemed content. But Beaverstone nodded, eyes shining with pride and respect. Goldenshade and Ashwhisker smiled at him. His clan didn’t hate him!

Milkkit peeked out from behind her mother. Unlike her littermates, who hid their eyes from the blood, Milkkit watched Mistpaw with the same sort of awe he once had as a kit, watching warriors return from their hunt. Mistpaw smiled (though it was more like gritting his teeth from pain) and tapped his paw against the ground a few times. Milkkit smiled back and slammed her paws down, sending vibrations big enough for Mistpaw to feel across camp.

“Milkkit, quiet,” Avocetcloud muttered, picking up the noisy kit and placing her between her paws.

“You can go to the holy den now, Mistpaw,” Lemmingstar declared.

“Oh thank StarClan,” Mistpaw groaned, hunching over as Martenpaw hurried to his side.

“This just wastes our supplies,” she grumbled, nosing Mistpaw to his feet. Though it hurt to walk, Mistpaw limped into the holy den, where he collapsed into the closest nest.

“Why are we low on cobweb?” Hailbranch muttered as she and Martenpaw set to work, untangling the large ball of web to press against his throbbing wounds. Martenpaw rolled a couple poppy seeds towards Mistpaw, which he happily ate. Fowlpaw poked his head into the den as the healers rushed about. Mistpaw grinned at him, which only made Fowlpaw groan.

“You’re bleeding and you can still give me that stupid smile,” Fowlpaw grumbled.

“Part of my charm,” Mistpaw groaned, scratching at his nest.

“Well, like you said earlier, you are stupid,” Fowlpaw huffed. His shoulders relaxed as he sat beside Mistpaw. “But I guess I can’t violently hate you after you saved my life.” Mistpaw’s smile, and therefore Fowlpaw’s ire, grew. “No, don’t smile, I haven’t fully forgiven you, you’re still reckless and violent. But I’m willing to talk to you.”

“Oh, that’s the best painkiller,” Mistpaw purred, closing his eyes.