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Featherpaw does not wake up in the prison.
Her legs shake. This can't end well, not if she—
"It's just us," Mistyfoot says softly. "We're in Mudfur's den." She licks Featherpaw's head. "But he's not here."
Featherpaw scans the den. Light shines through the entrance, casting everything in a warm glow.
"Can you take a deep breath for me?" Mistyfoot asks. "Slow and easy."
Featherpaw tries. It isn't easy. Everything feels shaky and unsure. "Why are we here?"
Mistyfoot pauses. "You don't remember?"
Featherpaw lowers her head, her bad eye closing against Mistyfoot's shoulder. Mistyfoot purrs, her tail wrapping around Featherpaw.
"Tigerstar is dead," she says. "We're — out."
The next time Featherpaw wakes up, she remembers.
"Mudfur wants you to soak in the river," she says. "It'll help — clean things out." Featherpaw stands, and Mistyfoot purrs softly.
The sun is shining down on them. That feels right.
"You can lean on me," Mistyfoot says. She licks Featherpaw's head. "Mudfur just wants to go where the river is deep enough for it to cover you."
Featherpaw thinks cats are calling to them, but Mistyfoot ignores them. She's not looking at Featherpaw, but her ears swivel.
She stops them just next to to a den. "This is ours, minnow." Mistyfoot purrs, licking the top of Featherpaw's head.
"I'm tired."
"I know. We'll see Mudfur and then you can sleep."
When they reach the edge of camp, she studies the river. The water flows freely. Babbling. The sound surrounds RiverClan, but it's never been this loud.
"Can you jump it?"
"Yeah."
Mistyfoot narrows her eyes. It's a short jump, one she clears easily. Featherpaw tries to follow.
Her front paws hit the ground, but her hind legs hit the water. Mistyfoot grabs Featherpaw's scruff, and she scrambles up, panting. Mistyfoot looks at her, worried.
"I'm fine," Featherpaw says. "Just — haven't made the jump before. Misjudged."
Mistyfoot's eyes narrow. "You've made it before," she says.
Featherpaw shifts, pressing herself back against Mistyfoot's side. "Can we just — go?"
Mudfur is waiting for them by the water. “Sorry I left without you,” he says, flicking his tail towards a pile of herbs, “but I wanted to do some collecting.”
Mistyfoot licks her head. “You just want us to — swim, right?”
“Just Featherpaw, if that’s alright. The water is cold, and I don’t think we need to risk any illness.”
Mistyfoot’s tail swings, but she doesn’t argue.
Featherpaw dips a paw in the water. It is cold, but cold isn’t the worst thing. The water here is shallow enough to stand, and she lets it run over her for the first time.
Not really.
She learned to swim as a kit. It has been a part of her since she could think.
But it feels different.
"Featherpaw!" Mistyfoot shouts. Her voice is strained, and Featherpaw feels teeth in her scruff. Mistyfoot's tongue rasps against her, pulling her pelt backwards.
"I'm alright," she says, rising to her feet. The ground feels unsteady. "'M fine."
Mistyfoot purrs, like comfort and fear. She licks Featherpaw's head.
"Can I examine you?" Mudfur asks. Featherpaw's whiskers twitch. Mistyfoot bristles. Mudfur steps towards them. He brings his muzzle to Featherpaw's shoulder. "Can you tell me what you remember?"
"We walked here," she says, pressing deeper into Mistyfoot as Mudfur pushes her fur around. "I got in the water. Mistyfoot called for me."
"That's — enough," Mistyfoot says. "We should go back. She needs to eat."
Mudfur opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Dawnpaw pushes through the grass.
“Mudfur — You should…” Dawnpaw pants. “In camp.”
Mudfur glances from Dawnpaw to Featherpaw to Mistyfoot.
“They’re back,” Dawnpaw says.
Mudfur flicks his tail. “Okay, we’re coming.”
Featherpaw is thankful that Mistyfoot pulled her onto this side of the stream, because she doesn't think she could make it across. Mistyfoot's tail brushes over her back, and she shivers. Mudfur passes a mouthful of something to Dawnpaw, and Featherpaw tries to ignore the wind.
It’s a slow walk back. They aren’t far from camp — far enough that Dawnpaw must have strained to sprint here, but only a short walk. It doesn’t feel like a short walk.
It’s the longest she’s walked in moons.
“Do you want me to carry you over the river?”
Featherpaw eyes the boundary of camp. They left on the narrow side, the one that can be jumped in all but the rainiest newleafs. But she’s so tired. Dawnpaw looks like a cross between anxious and excited, but Featherpaw thinks when they get back, she’s just going to go sleep.
Mistyfoot didn’t tell her where their den came from. It’s too large to have been made overnight, but Featherpaw slept through most of the morning.
“Yeah,” she says, finally. Failing the jump would be worse than being held. And her legs are starting to shake.
Mistyfoot takes Featherpaw’s scruff carefully. Featherpaw hates this, but at least Mistyfoot is gentle.
“They’re back!” Mosspelt shouts. Featherpaw hasn’t spoken to her. In fairness, she’s been sleeping.
“That’s — Stonefur,” Mistyfoot says. She doesn’t run, but she walks faster than Featherpaw can really keep up with. Stonefur is dead.
But still, Featherpaw pads after Mistyfoot. She does start to run, and Featherpaw hears, “Misty,” in a voice she had nearly forgotten.
“You were dead,” Mistyfoot says. Featherpaw has reached her side again, and she thinks — it is strange to feel Mistyfoot purr for someone else.
Stormpaw stands to one side of his mentor. He doesn’t look like the brother who left RiverClan. She’s not sure who he looks like.
“You’re alive,” he says, and even his voice has changed, deeper than it was.
Featherpaw stares at him. “I’m not that easy to kill.”
She wishes she was.
Stormpaw blinks, looking taken aback. Featherpaw can’t bring herself to care.
“Feather,” he starts, and she feels her pelt stiffen, because he really has changed, “we just hadn’t heard.”
Mistyfoot’s tail flicks over Featherpaw, a quiet comfort and goodbye.
She steps back from her mentor’s side. She thinks she remembers where their den is. It’s close to the center of camp, and Featherpaw hasn’t decided how she feels about that.
Stormpaw is still watching her, his claws kneading the ground.
“I’m going to sleep,” she says. It is an escape. She prays he does not press the matter. “I’ll talk to you later.”
And then she runs.
It is a new experience. To be the one ending things.
She can hear Mistyfoot make excuses, but Featherpaw doesn’t pay attention until she is in a den — their den, one with a real nest, even if everything still smells new — and by the time she is, she’s so exhausted she nearly collapsed.
“Are you alright?” Mistyfoot asks.
Featherpaw can still smell Stonefur on her. It is better, she decides, than the alternative.
“Hey, minnow,” Mistyfoot says, touching her nose to Featherpaw’s. “Come here.”
Featherpaw shifts, and Mistyfoot lays down beside her. She licks Featherpaw’s head, purring. “You did good today. I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t you — want to be with Stonefur?” That feels like the polite thing to say. Or the right thing.
Mistyfoot hesitates before responding. “There’s tomorrow for that,” she says. “And the next day, and the next day. I can be with him later.”
“Am I supposed to want to be with Stormpaw?”
“You,” Mistyfoot says, “are supposed to want whatever you want.”
“I want to sleep,” Featherpaw says.
“Then let’s sleep.”
“You can’t eat yet. I’m sorry,” Mudfur says.
“I’m hungry.”
“I know.” He blinks at her apologetically. “But we need to take it slowly.”
“This is worse,” Featherpaw says, as quietly as she can.
Mudfur sighs.
“Featherpaw?” Mistyfoot blinks softly at her. “You know about — the battle night, right?”
She nods. She doesn’t; she does. She knows now that Mistyfoot has told her.
“I’m going to — fight in it,” Mistyfoot says. She brushes her temple against Featherpaw’s head. “I’ll be back soon.”
It’s not like waiting for Mistyfoot to come back is anything new.
Mosspelt blinks at Featherpaw. She says nothing to her mother, doesn't know what to say or how to say it or where to start.
"Leopardstar wants to make me deputy. Stonefur is stepping down, and she wants to appoint me."
Featherpaw blinks.
“I haven’t decided if I’m going to say yes,” Mistyfoot continues.
“You’re asking me.”
Mistyfoot nods, licking between Featherpaw's ears. "I won't take it if you don't want me too," she says. "There's no glory in unwanted victory. That's—"
“From Ripple and Dusk.” Featherpaw puts her head on Mistyfoot’s paws. There’s still a scratch across her shoulder. It’s closed, but Featherpaw avoids it. “But — you should take it. If you want it.”
Mistyfoot hums noncommittally.
“River chose Dawn,” Featherpaw says. "Because she was the most like him. But then, she made...uh..." Featherpaw trails off. She can't remember the name of Dawn's deputy. "She picked her deputy because he wasn't like her."
"Then you're saying I should?" Mistyfoot lowers her head, staring softly at Featherpaw.
“I don’t know.” Featherpaw rolls, breaking eye contact. “I’m saying, in all the stories, the deputy is always — real.”
The leader is RiverClan. The deputy is the one who acts. Stonefur was killed, and RiverClan has not found itself.
“I’ll think about it, then,” Mistyfoot says, sighing. “She wants to make you a warrior.”
Featherpaw snorts. “I’m sure I’ll pass my assessment easily.” She flicks her tail, closing her eyes. “Guess Stormpaw probably will.” She yawns, and Mistyfoot licks her shoulder.
“I think you’ve already proved yourself,” Mistyfoot says, as Featherpaw falls asleep.
"Mistyfoot is the new deputy of RiverClan," Leopardstar says, and the Clan calls her name in celebration, like they were not calling her name in jeers only days before.
Mistyfoot doesn't accept it, doesn't acknowledge it, doesn't look at Leopardstar. Featherpaw's whiskers twitch. Sympathy.
"We're next," Stormpaw says. He glances at her, with joy.
Featherpaw's legs shake. Mistyfoot woke her for the ceremony; she almost wishes she didn't.
There's a ceremony for dying apprentices. Leopardstar could have done that. But Featherpaw has been dragged from her den to stand in front of the Clan for their amusement once again.
It doesn't matter that their amusement is now derived from celebrating her.
"And now, there are two apprentices more deserving of being warriors than any I have known," Leopardstar says. "Stonefur, Mistyfoot, I don't need to ask you if you apprentices are ready to be warriors."
"They are," Stonefur says. Mistyfoot looks back towards Featherpaw, flicking an ear. Approval.
Stormpaw is bouncing, his tail flicking energetically. Featherpaw's legs feel heavy as she walks after him towards the center of camp.
She doesn't hear most of the ceremony. She hears Stormpaw become Stormheart, and she hears the space when she is supposed to say, "I do."
"From this moment on, you will be named as Feathertail," Leopardstar says, and Feathertail wants to laugh.
(Later, Mistyfoot tells her that Leopardstar praises her bravery and resilience, and Feathertail does laugh.)
Leopardstar is supposed to place her muzzle on Feathertail's head, but she is tired and the world is swimming and maybe she uses that as an excuse, because if Leopardstar touches her she thinks she will shout, something feral and unhinged, so Feathertail searches for Mistyfoot.
"Feathertail?"
She's not sure if it's the Clan or Mistyfoot or Stormheart or Leopardstar or if she's mishearing someone again or if someone just called for Feather.
"'M tired," she says. "Are we done?"
"We're done," Mistyfoot says, resting her muzzle on Feathertail's head, purring. Feathertail's sides burn. She wonders how many new wounds she'll have when she wakes.
"Did I do well?"
"You did well."
Feathertail's eyes close. She doesn't open them.
Mistyfoot is next to her when she wakes.
"You're in Mudfur's den," Mistyfoot says. "Do you want to go back to ours?"
Featherpaw flicks her tail. "I don't know."
This den smells of herbs and sickness. There's no one here but her and Mistyfoot.
"Mudfur is going to want you to eat herbs, okay?"
Featherpaw nods. Her head hurts. That's new.
"Feathertail is awake," Mistyfoot says, louder, and Mudfur's eyes shine in, circles of gold against the night.
"Good," Mudfur says. "How do you feel?"
Featherpaw blinks at him. She feels like she is still alive.
"How's your scruff feel?" Mistyfoot asks. She licks it.
"It hurts?" Featherpaw puts her head down on her paws, closing her eyes.
Mistyfoot purrs. "I'm sorry. I had to carry you here."
Featherpaw blinks.
"What's the last thing you remember?" Mudfur asks.
She scowls. "I don't know."
"What's your brother's name?"
"Stormpaw."
"Where is he?"
"Not sure. He's—" Featherpaw closes her eyes, trying to remember. Mistyfoot makes a sound Featherpaw can't understand. "He's here, right? He came back. With Stonefur. No. Stonefur's dead."
"He's alive," Mistyfoot says.
"We saw him die."
Mistyfoot tucks her tail around Featherpaw. "He's alive," she says. "I'll show you."
Mudfur looks down at them. He blinks, softly, and passes Featherpaw a bundle of herbs. She swallows them without thinking about it, without tasting them. She can remember being a kit, and thinking they were hard to swallow. They don't feel that way anymore.
"Your warrior ceremony was tonight," Mistyfoot murmurs. "Leopardstar named you—"
Feathertail is quiet. "I remember."
"It's okay if you don't."
Mistyfoot watches her with sympathy.
"I do," she says. "Stormpaw and Stonefur came back. And Leopardstar named us Stormheart and Feathertail. I remember."
"Okay." Mistyfoot licks her head. "Do you still want to see Stonefur?"
"Yeah. But I'm going to...I'm going to go alone, okay?"
Mistyfoot blinks, surprised, but steps back. Feathertail is grateful she doesn't ask for an explanation.
"Feathertail?" Dawnpaw calls, and Feathertail ignores her former friend. "Feathertail, I'm glad you're okay."
Feathertail keeps walking, until she finds Stonefur. He's not hard to find. He stares at the river, where it borders the deepest parts of their territory. She sits beside him.
He died, once. He understands.
"I think I'm going to die," she says. She has said this before, but she doesn't think it was felt as real as it does now. Maybe it's because the pain is still getting worse, and nothing is causing it. "Don't think what Mudfur is giving me is working."
Maybe it's because she can't taste them. Maybe they don't work on her any more. Maybe this is some last joke, some last trick. To make sure she can't even die in peace.
Stonefur is silent, but he's watching her quietly. Her legs shake, and she lets herself lean on him, her head on his shoulder. He smells like Mistyfoot, almost. He smells like Mistyfoot used to. She closes her eyes. "I'm not sure if I mind."
This isn't her den this isn't her den this isn't her den this isn't her den
"You're good," Mistyfoot whispers. "You're okay, you're good."
"I didn't, we didn't," she scrambles she doesn't know.
"She should eat something," someone says.
Is this another trick?
"I can't," she says, and Mistyfoot licks her head.
"You can," she says. "You're okay."
Featherpaw hides her head beneath Mistyfoot.
She thinks she's getting better.
She thinks she doesn't know her own name, because they have to keep telling her.
She thinks she's getting worse.
Mistyfoot is pregnant. It is unavoidable, even if she won’t talk about it.
"Are you hungry?"
Feathertail stares at the freshkill pile. If she's — hungry. That's a foolish question, she decides. Any question where the answer doesn't matter is.
Stormheart looks uncertain, his tail twitching.
"Do you — want me to bring you something?"
She considers this. Mistyfoot hasn't eaten, she doesn't think. "I'll eat later."
Stormheart glances at her. "Are you feeling okay?"
This, too, is a foolish question. "Same as." Feathertail tilts her head, rolling through the lingering stiffness in her neck. The days are getting warmer, but if she wants to swim, she usually wakes up stiff and aching. "I'm gonna..." She blinks.
"Feathertail?"
"I'm going to take a nap," she decides.
"What's she like?"
Mistyfoot looks at her, confused.
"Leopardstar. What is it — like? When she talks to you."
Mistyfoot furrows her brow. She is thinking, her tail flicking slowly. Feathertail waits.
"It's like — talking to the cat who killed my brother," Mistyfoot says. There is anger in her words, Feathertail can hear it no matter how much Mistyfoot tries to hide it for her benefit. "And sometimes I—" Mistyfoot takes a breath, looking away.
Feathertail presses her nose against Mistyfoot's shoulder.
"Sometimes I just think that — there's no one waiting outside her den."
She takes another breath, and it is shaking, shuddering, rage.
"And sometimes, minnow, it's like talking to Stonefur."
Feathertail lifts her head, tilting it slightly.
"They think the same," Mistyfoot says. "They used to be friends."
"I remember."
Mistyfoot licks Feathertail's head, and Feathertail purrs. "I think mostly, it's like talking to someone I know, but who doesn't know me."
Dawnpaw becomes Dawnflower. She’s older than Feathertail, but she had an assessment. Heavystep retires.
“He’s the only one,” Shadepelt says. She flicks her tail across Stonefur and Feathertail. “You’d think he’d want to just — not. Like the rest of us.”
“I think he doesn’t want Mistyfoot to assign him to a patrol accidentally,” Stonefur says. It’s not like Mistyfoot assigns patrols.
Feathertail stands. It’s been hurting less to do that, and she thinks it’s a good thing. “Anything good on the freshkill pile?”
Stonefur blinks. “I think Stormheart brought back a trout.”
“Good enough,” Feathertail says.
She's the only one in their den. That happens a lot. Stormheart has patrols and Mistyfoot makes up excuses to go on patrol and Stonefur likes to sit outside but sometimes — Feathertail is just watching and waiting and she can't.
And Mistyfoot is on patrol or something and it's not like Feathertail can—
She'll be back when she's back.
Stormheart slips into the nest, but she doesn't look up at him. Mudfur said she could've lost the whole paw. That he doesn't know what he would have done.
She's not sure that matters, because the whole of it is stiff and painful and wrong. She doesn't even like standing on it, but she's not sure if that's because it hurts or because she can feel where her missing claw should be.
"Do you know that you can bite through a claw?" It occurs to her that Stormheart doesn't know this. He hasn't asked her about it. Maybe Mistyfoot told him. He doesn't answer her, and she turns, studying his posture. It is painfully, forcibly calm. "It kind of stops the rest of your paw from working." She lets herself put her head down.
She doesn't like tucking her paws in anymore — doesn't like how it feels. She leaves them out, and she watches how Stormheart examines them.
She closes her eyes. (The memory is too sharp and too blurry, all at the same time. It is,
Feather,
and pain,
and Tigerstar,
and someone dragging her,
and pain,
and Mistyfoot,
and please please please just let me die.) "Feathertail?"
"I don't know." (Sometimes she thinks this is all a dream. She was never going to get a name — she's not even a year old not even anything.) "That's not what he called me when he did it."
"Hey, minnow," Mistyfoot says, as Feathertail leans against her side. "You alright?"
Feathertail purrs softly. She's not sure why.
"Okay," Mistyfoot says. "Alright."
"Can I stay with you?"
"Of course." Mistyfoot's whiskers twitch. Feathertail thinks — she would've felt nervous, once, sitting in front of the Clans, next to the deputies, but it is better than sitting alone.
And it's not like this is the first time she's been in front of a crowd.
Still — it's her first Gathering. Apprentices always stay close to their mentors at their first Gathering.
"Russetfur's the new ShadowClan deputy," Mistyfoot says softly. This is her first Gathering in — a long time. The last one was just after Leopardstar made them warriors. Feathertail doesn't really remember, but she knows that Mistyfoot didn't leave her.
Feathertail stays quiet, following Mistyfoot to the base of the Great Oaks. The WindClan deputy is already here.
"It's — good to see you, Mistyfoot," he says.
She dips her head. "And you, Mudclaw." She's saying his name for Feathertail's benefit. Feathertail doesn't want to draw any more attention to them, but she touches her nose to Mistyfoot's shoulder in silent gratitude.
ShadowClan arrives next. Russetfur is silent, and Mistyfoot's tail wraps around her. Mudclaw says a few words, but Feathertail doesn't hear them.
"That's ThunderClan," Mistyfoot says.
Feathertail watches Greystripe. She hasn't seen her father since —
"Feathertail!" he says. "It's nice to see you. Congratulations, by the way."
She takes a cautious breath.
"I'm glad you're doing well," he continues. "That you're—" He halts, fear and worry showing in the cracks of his expression. She tries to open her mouth, to say something, but her jaw feels caught and frozen and painful. Feathertail inclines her head, and Mistyfoot's ears twitch. She's listening.
"You're like Mistyfoot's shadow," Greystripe says. It sounds like — it's supposed to be a joke, maybe.
"I didn't really—" She stops, because she doesn't know what she was going to say. ("Just stop talking," and he's up on the Great Rock now, how long until he starts speaking?) "I dunno."
(Please don't please don't please don't they already take Mistyfoot from her so much she can't lose her she can't she can't she can't)
Firestar's voice rings out over the hollow, and Feathertail hears Tigerstar in his place. She presses her temple against Mistyfoot's shoulder and Mistyfoot licks her head.
Mistyfoot tells her she speaks with Greystripe, but Feathertail doesn't remember.
Feathertail is sitting by the river when Dawnflower approaches her, placing a pile of daisies between them.
"I think camp needs more decorations," she says. "Do you want to help?"
She doesn't, not really. But — Dawnflower is right. The camp is not as barren as it was a moon ago, but their holidays have been distorted by battle. Or maybe Feathertail slept through them. She feels like there are days of missing time, moons stretching out between now and yesterday.
"I'll help," she agrees. Dawnflower purrs.
"Let's start with the nursery?"