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Chapter Text

THUNDERCLAN

Leader - Bluestar - tall blue-gray molly with a scar on her back and yellow eyes
Apprentice - Firepaw

Deputy - Redtail - dark ginger tom with white paws and yellow eyes
Apprentice - Dustpaw

Seer - Spottedleaf - beautiful brown and gold spotted torbie and white molly with copper eyes

Matriarch - Goldenflower - thick-furred golden spotted tabby molly with a white chest and belly and amber eyes

Warriors

Whitecloud - tall white tom with yellow eyes (Whitestorm)
Apprentice - Ravenpaw

Lionface - handsome golden tabby tom with a thick neck ruff, white chest, and green eyes (Lionheart)
Apprentice - Graypaw

Speckletail - pale dusty brown and cream torbie molly with amber eyes

Tigerclaw - massive dark brown tabby tom with a scar across the nose and amber eyes
Apprentice - Sandpaw

Frostfur - white molly with green eyes

Brindleface - beautiful dilute tortoiseshell molly with pale green eyes

Darkstripe - dark gray tabby tom with black stripes and yellow eyes

Teaselfoot - brown tabby tom with a pale belly and hazel eyes (Runningwind)

Mousefur - smallish dusky brown molly with a pale belly and amber eyes

Lizardtail - light brown tabby tom with stark stripes, a long tail, and hazel eyes (Longtail)

Apprentices

Sandpaw - sandy golden molly with green eyes

Dustpaw - sturdy dusty brown tabby tom with copper eyes

Ravenpaw - scrawny black tom with a white dash on his chest and tail-tip and green eyes

Graypaw - thick-furred gray tabby tom with thick stripes and yellow eyes

Firepaw - short ginger tom with green eyes

Queens

Willowpelt - pale gray molly with pale green eyes

Kits

Cinderkit - dark gray molly
Swiftkit - black tom with white markings

Elders

One-eye - ancient gray molly with one orange eye

Halftail - dark brown tabby tom with half a tail and yellow eyes

Smallstorm - small gray tom with amber eyes (Smallear)

Patchpelt - black and white tom with amber eyes

SHADOWCLAN

Leader - Brokenstar - long-furred dark brown tabby tom with a kinked tail and copper eyes

Deputy - Blackfoot - black tom with white feet and muzzle and amber eyes
Apprentice - Dipperpaw

Seer - Murkpelt - long-furred dark gray molly with a flattened face, an underbite, matted fur, and orange eyes (Yellowfang)
Fognose - gray tabby and white tom with pale yellow eyes (Runningnose)

Matriarch - Poppytail - dark ginger tortoiseshell molly with pale hazel eyes (Tallpoppy)

Warriors

Cinderfur - gray tom with yellow eyes
Apprentice - Volepaw

Yewwhisker - brown tom with amber eyes (Nutwhisker)

Burnetdusk - long-furred dark ginger tom with green eyes (Scorchwind)
Apprentice - Rainpaw

Stumptail - dark brown tabby tom with a nearly missing tail and bright green eyes (Stumpytail)
Apprentice - Brownpaw

Clawedface - gray-brown tom with a scarred face and brown eyes (Clawface)

Lizardstripe - brown tabby molly with stark stripes and yellow eyes

Flintfang - dark gray tom with a white dash on his chest, white toes, and orange eyes
Apprentice - Littlepaw

Darkflower - black molly with hazel eyes

Flyheart - dark gray tom with a white belly and paws, and pale yellow eyes (Wolfstep)
Apprentice - Mosspaw

Russetfur - dark ginger molly with dark green eyes
Apprentice - Dawnpaw

Deerfoot - brown tom with brown eyes

Adderfur - pretty mottled brown molly with green eyes (Applefur)

Foxfang - ginger tom with amber eyes (Jaggedtooth)

Bouldernose - large, stocky gray tabby tom with brown eyes (Boulder)

Cloudpelt - long-furred pale gray tom with yellow eyes

Apprentices

Dawnpaw - long-furred golden molly with hazel eyes

Mosspaw - mottled brown tom with leaf green eyes

Volepaw - small brown tom with pale yellow eyes

Rainpaw - gray tabby tom with a white dash on his chest and amber eyes (Wetpaw)

Dipperpaw - black tom with a white throat and paws and pale green eyes (Whitepaw)

Brownpaw - brown tom with a pale belly and gray eyes

Littlepaw - small brown tabby and white tom with gray eyes

Queens

Toadbelly - brown tortoiseshell molly with amber eyes (Rowanberry)

Fernshade - brown tabby molly with a white belly and yellow eyes

Wigeonfur - dilute tortoiseshell molly with yellow eyes (Tangleburr)

Kits

Toadbelly’s litter
Lavenderkit - light gray tom
Marigoldkit - ginger molly
Mintkit - light gray tom

Wigeonfur’s litter
Quailkit - brown tom (Quietkit)
Ashenkit - pale gray tom (Rubblekit)
Pansykit - pale tortoiseshell molly (Turtlekit)

Orphaned litter
Chervilkit - white molly (Blossomkit)
Swankit - white tom (Swampkit)

Fernshade and Flyheart’s kit
Badgerkit - black and white tom

Elders

Brightflower - ancient long-furred calico molly with amber eyes

Nightpelt - black tom with green eyes

Ashfur - gray tom with yellow eyes

Palecloud - pretty pale gray and white molly with vibrant green eyes (Poolcloud)

WINDCLAN

Leader - Rookstar - black and white tom with yellow eyes (Tallstar)

Deputy - Deadfoot - black tom with a twisted paw and green eyes

Seer - Buzzardface - handsome dark brown tabby tom with gold eyes (Barkface)

Matriarch - Morningflower - warm golden-brown tortoiseshell molly with amber eyes

Warriors

Ryenose - brown tabby molly with amber eyes (Ryestalk)
Apprentice - Larkpaw

Aspenfall - gray tabby tom with faint stripes and dull yellow eyes
Apprentice - Tawnypaw

Darkfoot - dark blue-gray tom with yellow eyes

Tornear - gray-brown tabby tom with faint markings, a split ear, and brown eyes
Apprentice - Wrenpaw

Cloudfoot - pale gray tom with copper eyes (Cloudrunner)

Rushtail - brown tabby tom with green eyes

Oatwhisker - golden-brown tabby tom with hazel eyes

Deerstep - brown molly with green eyes (Doespring)
Apprentice - Palepaw

Roeheart - reddish-brown tom with amber eyes (Stagleap)

Stoneclaw - gray tabby tom with white toes and brown eyes

Thrushwing - gray-brown spotted molly with a white chest and hazel eyes

Apprentices

Larkpaw - brown molly with a white belly, faint tabby markings, and yellow eyes

Wrenpaw - smallish brown tabby tom with a paler belly and yellow eyes (Onepaw)

Tawnypaw - tawny brown molly with umber eyes

Palepaw - pale gray molly with amber eyes (Whitepaw)

Queens

Ashfoot - gray molly with brown eyes

Ashendawn - very pale gray molly with amber eyes, expecting (Meadowslip)

Kits

Ashfoot and Deadfoot’s litter
Eaglekit - large brown tom
Mistkit - pale blue-gray molly

Morningflower and Cloudfoot’s litter
Gorsekit - golden tom
Sorrelkit - ginger tortoiseshell molly (Storkkit)
Harrierkit - pale gray tom (Quailkit)

Elders

Crowfur - black tom with yellow eyes

RIVERCLAN

Leader - Crookedstar - warm brown tabby and white tom with a twisted jaw and green eyes

Deputy - Oakclaw - reddish-brown tabby tom with amber eyes (Oakheart)

Seer - Mudcloud - dark brown blotchy tabby and white tom with gold eyes (Mudfur)

Matriarch - Duckflower - brown tabby and white molly with green eyes (Greenflower)

Warriors

Sleetstream - long-furred mottled gray and white molly with mossy eyes (Lakeshine)

Pikefang - brown tabby and white tom with orange eyes (Piketooth)

Swallowwing - dark brown tabby and white molly with odd eyes (Softwing)

Lightfang - white tom with dark tabby patches and blue eyes (Whitefang)

Beetlenose - black tom with yellow eyes

Voleclaw - small gray-brown tom with white markings and bright green eyes

Pansyheart - pale gray tortoiseshell and white molly with sage green eyes (Petaldust)

Rockstream - gray tabby and white tom with green eyes (Frogleap)

Reedtail - golden-brown and white splotchy tabby tom with vibrant copper eyes

Leoparddawn - brown and ginger rosetted caliby with gold eyes (Leopardstar)

Apprentice - Silverpaw

Dawnheart - warm gray and white molly with green eyes (Skyheart)

Apprentice- Mosspaw

Blackclaw - black tom with a white chin and orange eyes

Apprentice - Privetpaw

Stonefur - light blue-gray tom with gold eyes

Brightstream - ginger and white molly with light amber eyes (Dawnbright)

Mallowtail - cream and white molly with dark amber eyes

Apprentices

Privetpaw - black and white tom with green eyes (Whitepaw)

Mosspaw - pale brown tortoiseshell and white molly with mossy eyes

Silverpaw - silver tabby and white molly with dark stripes and light green eyes

Queens

Lavenderflower - gray tabby and white molly with yellow-green eyes (Lilystem)

Bleakstream - gray tabby and white molly with dull yellow eyes (Sunfish)

Mistfoot - blue-gray molly with amber eyes (Mistyfoot)

Emberdawn - tortoiseshell and white molly with bright green eyes, expecting Reedtail’s kits

Kits

Lavenderflower’s kit

Shadekit - black molly

Bleakstream and Beetlenose’s litter

Grasskit - brown and white tabby molly

Sedgekit - black and white molly

Mistfoot and Blackclaw’s litter

Rookkit - black tom with a white marking on his chest (Reedkit)

Burdockkit - blue-gray tom (Pikekit)

Asterkit - pale blue-gray molly (Primrosekit)

Slugkit - black tom (Perchkit)

Elders

Peatstorm - dark brown tom with darker points and orange eyes (Mudthorn)

Cypresspelt - brown tabby and white tom with a short tail and pale green eyes (Cedarpelt)

Graypath - dark gray molly with yellow eyes (Graypool)

OUTSIDERS

Smudge - white tom with black spots and yellow eyes from the Houses

Barley - patched black and white tom with blue eyes from the Barn

Chapter Text

For once, the Aulmir was quiet.

That’s not to say that it was mute—even when the humans slept, there was some form of background noise drifting down the roads and echoing in the alleyways. The rumble of a car, or that odd sound like rain localized to the interior of these buildings, sometimes accompanied by warbling or hissing. The Aulmir was a creature all on its own, breathing deeply as it dozed, never quite going completely silent.

The sun was not fully over the horizon, but the dark of the night was fleeing southward, taking its stars and thinning clouds with it. Long shadows were cast behind anything tall enough to stand in the way of the light, creating an uneven pattern of stripes on the ground like a tiger’s pelt. Those things that caught the burgeoning sunlight sparkled with the remnants of the night’s rainstorm, shining yellow and white to contrast the black and blue behind them.

In the quiet of dawn, lithe forms slunk through the alleys or sat on the rooftops, grooming themselves and shaking off water with annoyed flicks of their tails. They, too, made as little noise as possible, though some little ones squeaked for milk or two adults traded conversation. It wasn’t wise to speak loudly before the humans rose. It didn’t tend to go well.

Apparently, a small cluster of these forms, now seen more clearly as cats in the shadows, did not know that.

“Entirely too late for this,” a black tomcat muttered. One of his white paws went into a puddle of ambiguous liquid and came out brown. He knew better than to lick it off; instead, he shook droplets away with a twitch of his lip. “They work at night, I thought.”

“They do.” The leader of the group cocked his head sideways to give the black tom something like a reassuring look, and his tail, bent at a wrong angle, tapped his side. “But they also move in the daylight. We’ve just as much chance of finding him now as any other time.”

The black tom narrowed his eyes and stalked alongside his leader. He grumbled again, “Entirely too late, even so.”

The leader’s eyes shone pleasantly and yet pierced through the black tom’s pelt. The black tom lowered his head defensively and scowled at the ground, saying no more.

No one else spoke, though they shared slightly nervous glances.

The party continued through the stone paths behind the buildings of the Aulmir, avoiding the sunlight and darting through it to a shadow when they could not. Irritated, sharp eyes watched them from every angle, and the black tom felt it. The leader did not. He just held his head high and strutted along like he owned the place.

After a few turns left and right, the leader stopped, motioning for the rest to halt. They had reached a dead end, and they were not alone. Those metal things that blew air and jutted out from the perfectly flat walls all had a cat on them, glaring down at these thin little intruders. Those that were not on the structures sat atop trash cans or loomed at the edge of the alley.

The leader, seemingly unaware, lifted his chin and called, “Brick?”

For a moment, there was no response, other than the glares intensifying. Then there was a sharp clunk as a dark red tom dropped from a higher place onto a trash can, its previous occupant quickly jumping away and off.

“You just gotta holler and wake up the whole neighborhood, don’t you?” This tom, Brick, spoke casually but quietly, as if he was sleepy. The party knew very well he was fully awake and wary, and watching them very closely. It made most of them nervous.

Of course, the leader did not express anything but confidence. He turned to face Brick, front paws together neatly and bent tail high. “Apologies. I’ve never an idea where you are. I was lucky this time, it seems.”

Brick hummed curtly, took two lazy steps, and almost melted down off of his perch to approach the party. He stood much taller than all of them. “You’re here on the offer, yeah?”

“No time for pleasantries?” The leader tilted his head.

“No purpose.” Brick moved around the party to be parallel to the leader, eyes narrowed. “A few cats expressed interest, with that promise of yours.” He leaned a little into the leader’s face, emphasis on ‘promise’, not in tone, but in the slightest rise of volume that made the word more of a threat than it should have been. “You’re fortunate we have so many hungry families here.”

“We’re hungry, too.” The bent tail awkwardly waved in the air, entirely too casual for the topic. “We’re always hungry.”

Brick’s eyes roamed up and down on the little leader again, scrutinizing. “I’m very aware of that.”

“Which is why we’ve come back with another offer,” the leader continued, as if he had not been interrupted. He met Brick’s eyes with that pleasant-yet-piercing gaze. “And I think you’ll like it.”

“You haven’t talked to him yet.”

Far south, in a dense forest, two mollies sat on a wide, flat stone. The trees barely allowed a look at the Houses, where the eyes of the buildings were lighting up, one by one. The scent of alien plants and butchered grass wafted towards the cats, and the smaller one—a beautiful tortoiseshell tabby—shut her eyes and breathed deeply (though silently—she knew not to appreciate such things in front of her leader).

The other molly, a tall, regal blue leader, stared straight ahead, eyes half-lidded with her usual stern expression. She spoke in a much deeper voice. “No. I haven’t.”

“But you have decided.” The tortoiseshell leaned a little forward to catch her leader’s eye. “And you decided to go ahead with it.”

The blue molly’s head drifted ever-so-slightly sideways, her eyes doing most of the work to meet the tortoiseshell’s. “Yes. I’m just not sure what Redtail will say.”

“He’ll agree.” The tortoiseshell straightened up again, her plumed tail curling cheerfully. “I know he’ll agree. Even if you surprise him with it this morning.”

The blue molly hummed. “Has StarClan said anything to you?”

“There were sparks in the sky tonight,” the tortoiseshell said dreamily, looking up adoringly at the disappearing stars. “It’s the perfect time to bring him in, too. He’s the right age.”

“And if he isn’t Clan material?” The blue molly half-looked up too, though her eyes merely touched the treetops. “He’s already going to have to work hard to make it.”

The tortoiseshell’s head tilted to look at the leader. “Kindling needs to get hot before it can burst into a fire.”

The blue molly’s mouth stretched back on one side in something like a grimace. “I don’t like that comparison.”

“It’s alright!” The tortoiseshell’s eyes shut as her head turned back upwards. “His fire won’t be all that bad.”

The blue molly said nothing for a long moment. Then she harrumphed, got to her feet, and turned. “I’ll speak with Redtail, then. Say nothing to anyone until I either bring him home with me or tell you otherwise.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the tortoiseshell said, still not opening her eyes.

The blue molly dropped down off the stone and trotted away, melting into the shadows of the forest. The tortoiseshell stayed where she was, letting a faint breeze curl around her and gently ruffle her long fur. The scents of the Houses seemed to grow stronger as she sat there. Eventually, she looked down again, peering at one particular house, where no lights had lit up yet.

“Be ready, chrii ,” she said softly, regarding the house almost fondly. “You have a long path ahead of you.”

Chapter Text

Rusty jerked awake and banged his head on the bottom of the armchair he lay under.

His immediate reaction was to hiss and duck down again, silently bemoaning each residual wave of pain between his ears. The armchair, just tall enough to allow him space to crawl underneath, shifted above him. The top of his human’s head appeared upside-down to peer at him curiously, mane dragging on the floor. He blinked at them and they chuffed, eyes crinkled, before the head disappeared again.

Rusty waited for the last achy throb to fade away before he crawled out from underneath the armchair, stopping to stretch between his human’s feet and shake his fur out to the irritating dinging of the bell on his collar. He felt fingers gently scratch at his neck and between his shoulders, to which he responded with an obligatory purr. The fingers lifted away as the human trilled something in a high pitch. Rusty’s pelt brushed against one of their legs as he turned and headed for the next room.

His food was still there, in its bowl. Rusty ignored it completely, even as his stomach gave a hint of a growl. The stuff tasted terrible and never seemed to make him full. Not for the first time, he reminisced about his last home, where he had been given something soft and much more delicious.

His mind started wandering on the topic of new and old sensations, as it always did, and he distantly felt his feet carrying him through the overly-warm kitchen and to the flap in the door he’d learned to use on his first few days in this house. He barely paid attention to where he was going; he was in the throes of his dream, before he had been startled into the waking world.

It was always the same: he would be prowling through a place he had never been, yet felt right at home in. The place changed every time he dreamed. Sometimes the grass was tall enough that he had to rear up to see ahead, sometimes it was unending stone formations that curved oddly smoothly and arched above his path. Usually…

Rusty pushed through the flap into the night, walked across the yard with cut grass that irritated his pawpads, and leaped onto chairs and pots until he was at the top of the fence that separated him from the outside world.

Usually, it was what he saw ahead of him—a thick forest, so dense with trees and ferns and bushes that it was impossible to track any potential trails to follow, and rich with the scents of the wild. Even from this distance, through the dark and the petrichor from the rain, those scents seemed to find him at all times of the day and night.

Rusty breathed deep, enjoying the freshness of the damp earth and the many, many smells he could not identify from the forest. It was close. Very close—

“There you are!”

Rusty blinked in surprise and turned his head to see another kitten in the next yard, who did a much less graceful job of getting up onto his fence, scrabbling and puffing for air every time he had to heft his considerable weight to meet with his friend.

“I didn’t think you’d be out this late, Smudge,” Rusty said once he had finally sat down on the rail and was catching his breath.  

“Well, I was looking for you all day,” Smudge said, letting out one final huff before sitting up straight. “Were you inside the entire time? What were you doing?”

“Ehm…” Rusty cocked his head sideways a little in thought. “Sleeping, I guess. I was having a lot of nice dreams. I suppose I didn’t want to wake up.”

“Very unlike you, bud.” Smudge gave him an amused look. “Even the old homebody down the way asked where you were today. He said you weren’t around to scare his prey off.”

Rusty snorted. “He’s never caught a thing in his life and we all know it.”

“Well, neither have we,” Smudge said. “Just a matter of time with you, though, I suppose.”

Rusty frowned. “You could catch something one day, too—”

Smudge blinked slowly, unimpressed, and motioned with a paw to his own chest and belly. He was quite different from Rusty—black-and-white and much softer and rounder. He looked like how he lived, never moving far from his bed and food bowl if he could help it.

Rusty, ginger and much wirier, persisted. “Still, you never know.”

“S’pose we don’t.” Smudge glanced out at the forest before them. “Though I wouldn’t dare try, myself. Not over there, anyway, since you keep looking that way.”

“There aren’t really any other places to hunt, though,” Rusty said. “Unless we wanted to go—”

“’We’,” Smudge muttered.

“’We’.” Rusty nodded. “Unless we wanted to go further into the neighborhood and try that park.”

“Eh.” Smudge rolled a shoulder like the very idea of walking that far pained his limbs. “There’re probably ferals out there too.”

Rusty did not respond to this. He was looking back into the forest, thinking. He’d heard stories of feral cats living in those woods—wild giants that lined their borders with the fur of trespassers and ate the bones of helpless kittens and house cats. He’d been warned many times by the adults in his neighborhood to stay away from them, and to run as soon as he saw a hint of their eyes or caught the scent of strange plants and cut wood (whatever that smelled like, he wasn’t sure). Apparently there were even more feral colonies far away, but he knew nothing about them. What everyone was concerned about was the group in the forest.

“Mind a nibble on your thoughts?” Smudge said, jerking Rusty back to the present.

“Just—” Rusty looked between his friend and the woods. “Just wondering what’s in there.”

“Probably nothing good.” Smudge wrinkled his nose distastefully. “A bunch of mud and bullies, I’ll bet.”

“Really?” Rusty looked at Smudge sideways, head tilted a little. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of prey and adventures waiting past those trees.”

“Ohhh,” Smudge said with a grand sarcasm. “Lots of good times in there?”

“All of the good times,” Rusty returned. “And if there are cats, I’ll bet they’re not as bad as everyone says.”

Smudge huffed an amused breath. “Tell you what, you bring one back for me to see myself, one that’s real nice and friendly, and I’ll personally take you to the park tomorrow.”

A spark of something lit up Rusty’s mind. “You know, I might take you up on that.”

All of Smudge’s snarky demeanor vanished in an instant. “Rusty, I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not.” Rusty bunched up and looked over the fence, eyeing the best place to land.

“Don’t—” Smudge puffed up out of the corner of his eye and his volume rose. “Rusty, don’t.”

“No, no, we have a bet.” Rusty jumped and landed with, he proudly noted, barely a stumble. “I’ve got to go find you a feral.”

“They’ll eat you alive!” Smudge protested, looking genuinely anxious. “Come back here! I wasn’t even serious!”

“See you in a while, Smudge!” Rusty called over his shoulder, and started off at a trot through the soft, uncut grass.

“Rusty!” Smudge shouted, but Rusty didn’t look back. He simply padded along, ignoring his friend’s yells, only pausing for an instant as he hit the treeline before pushing his way past a fern. The forest swallowed him and Smudge’s voice faded away.

Rusty stopped a few steps in, eyes wide. The trees, he knew, were always taller than the houses, but up close they seemed to scratch the sky—he wasn’t sure he was even able to see their peaks from here. Some smaller forms of them, much more delicate and thin, fought their way out of the brush that covered almost every bit of ground. The ferns, soft and broad and fringed, took up what the brush didn’t, and patches of incredibly soft grass soaked up what little moonlight they could catch. Everything was vibrant, fresh, alive.

More than that, though, were the scents, so numerous and strong that they threatened to knock Rusty off his feet. Even the trees clouded his nose, and he understood instantly what smells the adults were talking about. The ferns and grass were almost delicious, and the packed soil under his paws smelled not only of rain, but of something that made Rusty’s stomach growl. Something like what he had eaten in his old home.

He wanted to find it.

Without quite understanding what he was doing, Rusty lowered his body into a half-crouch and he tried to pinpoint the scent past all the others. Experimentally, he opened his mouth, and the air brought him a taste that seemed to be coming from his right. He sniffed, turning slowly, ears swiveling.

Something rustled in the ferns, and something else lit up in his head.

Very slowly, very carefully, Rusty moved forward, trying to track the scent as he went. His shoulders brushed against the fronds, but luckily, they made no sound (“Luckily?” What was he trying to sneak up on?). He cursed in his head when his feet shifted the soil and the rustling stopped. He paused, and the rustling eventually continued, as did he.

He closed in on this unknown target, until he ducked below a fern that was blocking his view. In a little clear patch of ground, he could see something tiny and brown scuttling back and forth, digging at the earth or chewing on grass. It had a long, naked tail and wide ears, and Rusty had a vague idea of what it was supposed to be, based on a toy he had at home that looked about the same, save being much more brightly colored.

Again, not having a clue why, Rusty crouched further, eyes focused on the animal. He kept as still as possible, waiting for an opportunity to… do something. The animal was entirely unaware of him. He lifted one paw and took a step, pulling himself closer.

The bush ahead of him violently shook and the animal darted into the undergrowth.

Rusty straightened up, greatly annoyed. He glared at the bush, now catching a scent of something else. Something that was also familiar, but still as new as the rest of this forest. And, going by the continued shaking, something quite large.

Rusty had a faint idea that he should probably run.

Chapter Text

A mass of grey exploded from the brush. Before Rusty could so much as blink, he found himself thrown backwards. He landed on his side and rolled a little, grass and ferns and soil catching on his pelt.

Rusty wasted no time in getting to his feet, staring at the big grey tabby that stood across from him. He started to turn, but he was tackled again and knocked onto his back. The tabby loomed over him, bright yellow eyes alight with interest.

Rusty was small enough that he could reach with his back foot and kick the cat in their face. The tabby threw their head back with a noise of surprise and Rusty scrambled upwards again. This time, he didn’t try to run, except to stumble back a bit to give himself space and time to get a good look at his assailant.

This cat—a tom—was quite bigger than Rusty, and significantly furrier; it was hard to tell how much of his size was from his hair alone. His face was large but youthful, making Rusty blink as he realized that he might be around Rusty’s age—which was quite terrifying, given how massive the tom’s paws were. His eyes were the only brightly lit part of his face, and they oddly did not seem angry or even wary. If anything, he looked curious.

“St-stay back,” Rusty stammered anyway, as if he could pose a threat to this monolith. His back paws inched a step or two away. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

The tabby blinked, and spoke in a much higher, younger voice than Rusty had expected. “Well, that’s obvious. Not that you could.”

Rusty stared. This cat was definitely his age, then. “I just- I was only following that animal, whatever it is.”

The bright eyes widened in shock and sparkled in amusement. “You don’t even know what you were hunting?”

“I…” Rusty’s head lowered and his shoulders hunched of their own accord, embarrassment warming his ears. “No.”

“Wooow,” the tabby said, sounding genuinely awed. “You kittypets really are sheltered. Even a kit knows what a mouse is.”

‘Mouse’, Rusty thought, even more embarrassed. He had heard the word before, but never had an image attached to it. Now it seemed painfully obvious that he had been after a mouse. His ears burned, sliding back to fold against his head.

Eager to get away from this feeling, he changed the topic. “What’s a kittypet?”

“Uh, you?” The tabby’s eyes scanned him with bafflement. “You live in those houses with the humans, right? You’ve got a collar.”

Rusty didn’t know how this cat managed to make having a collar sound scornful. “I-I do, yeah. I live with my human.”

“So you’re a kittypet.” The tabby gave a self-satisfactory nod. “And you really shouldn’t be on our territory, hunting our food. You’ve got food at home.”

“I do,” Rusty repeated, quieter. He wanted to huddle again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The tabby eyed him doubtfully before abruptly turning his head back and calling into the woods, “Is that the answer you wanted, Bluestar?”

“More or less,” said someone else.

Rusty jolted upright as two cats, both even larger than the tabby, pushed out of the undergrowth. One of them was a dark red tom with white feet, and the other, the tallest of the three, was a magnificent blue-grey molly who only had to glance at Rusty to make him want to bow his head in respect. Both of them had long hair, like the tabby, and both of them had grave, hardened faces, though their eyes were alert and more youthful.

“I had been hoping to see more of a fight,” the molly said, her voice low and commanding, “but we can take it from here, Greypaw, thank you.”

The tabby—Greypaw, rather—immediately took several steps back to allow the older cats to approach Rusty. Rusty stood, frozen in place, as they moved forward with slow, deliberate, incredibly intimidating steps, until they were within a tail-length of him. The red tom tilted his head a little, quietly regarding Rusty.

The molly looked down at Rusty. “Hello, Rusty. I am Bluestar.”

Rusty swallowed, too nervous to wonder where she got his name. “Hello.”

Bluestar had to have noticed his nervousness, because her tone softened a little. “I’m the leader of ThunderClan, the Clan that owns this forest.”

So they are real, Rusty thought, eyes wide.

“This—” Bluestar nodded to the tom “—is Redtail, and you know Greypaw already. We’ve come to speak with you tonight.”

Rusty blinked. “M-me? Why?”

Redtail spoke now, and his voice was much warmer, easing Rusty’s anxiety a little. “We’ve noticed you for a while now, staring into our woods since you came to live with the humans. We actually expected that you would wander past the border someday. It was a lucky coincidence that we decided to talk to you tonight, just as you trespassed.”

“Oh.” Rusty lowered his chin a little, embarrassed again. “I didn’t realize this wasn’t a place I could explore. I mean, I heard you chase house cats away, but I just… I was too curious, and my friend—”

Bluestar cleared her throat quietly and Rusty immediately clamped his mouth shut. “You don’t need to make excuses, Rusty. We’re not upset with you.”

Somehow, that didn’t make him feel any more relieved.

“We had Greypaw attack you to see how you’d react,” she said. “And while you’re not exactly strong, you were honorable about coming here uninvited, and we respect that.”

Redtail suddenly walked forward and began circling Rusty, sniffing him. He and his tail were long enough that they formed a complete ring around Rusty. He stayed perfectly still, keeping his eyes on Bluestar, having a feeling that that was the correct choice.

“Now let me ask you…” Bluestar’s head tipped to one side just a fraction as she appraised the little house cat. “Are you satisfied with your life as a kittypet? Are you content to live in a house, wearing a collar, eating those pellets forever?”

Rusty blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden questions. “It’s- it’s been pretty boring, honestly. I…”

He trailed off, unsure of where to go with this.

Bluestar nodded with a subtle sense of encouragement. “Go ahead. How do you feel being a kittypet?”

Rusty took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “I guess I would say that it feels… easy. Which, I don’t think that’s a bad thing for some, but I’m always bored when I’m home. If- well, if you have been watching me, you must have seen me going into everybody else’s yards. I irritate some of my neighbors, and I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it. Just staying inside, or in my own yard, I get restless. The only reason I haven’t come here before is because of the rumors about you. That you chase off strangers, and things like that.”

He happened to glance at Greypaw, who was now much closer, like he had been sneaking up to listen in better. The tom seemed quite intrigued by Rusty’s speech—almost eager, if Rusty wasn’t mistaken. For what, though, he wasn’t sure.

Bluestar spoke again and Rusty immediately returned his attention to her. “Then you would leave your kittypet life, if you think you could.”

Rusty considered this idea for a few heartbeats, then nodded. “I would. My friend would think I’m crazy, but I’d love to see what else is out there. I just don’t know if I can.”

Redtail paused as he came around to Rusty’s head and silently caught his eyes. He looked pleased. “I think you can, chrii, if you really want to.”

“Then you agree?” Bluestar said to him.

Redtail nodded. “It’s worth a try.”

“Very good.” Bluestar turned back to Rusty. “Then we have an offer for you.”

Rusty held his breath without quite knowing why.

“If you are willing to leave your kittypet life behind,” Bluestar said, lowering her head a little to meet Rusty’s eye level, “and if you are willing to work hard and learn our ways, ThunderClan would be interested in having you join us.”

Rusty’s eyes widened. Something in his chest flared to life in a way he had not felt before. “Me? T-to be a Clan cat?”

“That’s right.” Bluestar met his eyes with a pale, serious stare. “I will warn you now—Clan life is not for everyone. You will need to hunt for food, and defend our borders, and live with many other cats who may not all like you at first. You’d have to change your name to something like our names. We don’t have your human healing powers out here. You could get sick or injured, and you won’t have the humans as an option for help.”

“And we have a Code we live by,” Redtail added, also looking Rusty in the eye—though his gaze was much less intimidating. “You’ll have to follow our rules and obey your superiors. And, most importantly, you can’t come back to your human for any reason.”

Rusty blinked. “Why not?”

“We stay away from humans,” Redtail said. “We don’t take food from them, we don’t play with their cats, and we don’t go into the Houses unless we’re forced to. We take care of ourselves.”

“That means that you would have to say goodbye to your friend.” Bluestar caught Rusty’s attention now. “You won’t be able to go to his home and play with him anymore.”

A great deal of these warnings, oddly, did not bother Rusty, but as soon as this last condition was given, he hesitated. “…Could I at least talk to him?”

“No,” Bluestar said. “If you are one of us, you don’t talk to kittypets.”

Rusty’s eyes lowered to the ground. Losing all contact with Smudge was a hefty price for…

“It sounds like a really difficult life,” he said, looking back up at Bluestar. “Is it all that bad?”

Bluestar’s eyes crinkled, surprisingly humorous. “No, of course not. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Being a Clan cat is great!” Greypaw burst out. His huge paws almost tripped over each other as he closed the distance between him and the rest of the group. “We eat real food, and we have the forest all to ourselves, and we’re so strong we scare all the cats in the Aulmir and Houses, and we—”

“Greypaw,” Redtail said patiently.

Greypaw’s ears went down, but he didn’t fully deflate. “Sorry. I just think he’d really like it.”

“I do too.” Redtail looked at Rusty. “Being part of ThunderClan means you’re courageous and powerful. You have a community who will fight to the death to protect you from any danger.”

“Even at first?” Rusty asked.

“Even at first,” Redtail affirmed. “We have our great wide forest, and we still travel to different places and meet with different cats—the other Clans that live nearby. You’ll get to learn a great deal of new things, all the while living a real life, running and climbing and hunting.” He cocked his head to the side almost fondly. “And we have many stories to share with you. I think you’d be interested in those.”

“What do you think, Rusty?” Bluestar said.

All three ThunderClan cats watched him expectantly as he focused hard, considering his options. Exploring, hunting mice, meeting new cats: it all sounded exciting. He didn’t mind the work that would come with being feral, if he had those cats that could support him while he learned their ways. He didn’t even really mind the idea of changing his name.

But the risk of getting hurt or sick, having to abandon Smudge, and the warning that he might not be welcomed initially…

He looked at Bluestar. “I don’t know what to do. It’s a lot to think about.”

“That’s alright.” Bluestar straightened up again, returning to her businesslike posture. “I know it’s a big change from what you’re used to. We can give you two days to think about it. The night after tomorrow, there will be two warriors waiting for you at the edge of this forest. You can give them your answer. If you decide to join us, they’ll take you to our camp.”

“And that’ll be it?” Rusty asked.

“No more kittypet business,” Redtail said. “You’ll give all that up if you say yes.”

“Huh.” Rusty’s eyes returned to the ground as he considered this. He nodded slowly. “I would like to think it over, if that’s okay.”

“That’s why we offered it.” Redtail gave him a friendly tap on his back with his enormously fluffy tail. “I hope to see you in our camp soon, Rusty. Until then, I think it’s time for you to go home.”

“We do have a patrol to continue,” Bluestar said, not too unkindly. “Consider things carefully, Rusty. It’s all or nothing. If you say no, you aren’t welcome back in this forest.”

Rusty was a little worried by that last note, but he said, “Okay. Thank you, Bluestar. For the offer. Regardless of what I say.”

Bluestar looked down on him, but with approval in her eyes. “We’ll see you soon.”

With that, she jerked her head to the side and Greypaw approached, nosing Rusty’s shoulder and almost knocking him over. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the border.”

Rusty cleared his throat and dipped his head respectfully to Bluestar and Redtail before hurrying after the departing Greypaw. When he caught up, he opened his mouth to ask a question, but Greypaw spoke first.

“It’d be cool if you joined us,” he said. “You seem nice. And the other apprentices are either too shy or too up their own prats to hang out. I’ll help you learn the trade, if you come back.”

Rusty blinked, surprised by the offer. “Well… thank you.”

“You’ll get a much cooler name than ‘Rusty’, too.” Greypaw snorted. “’Rusty’, really, who named you?”

“My mother,” Rusty said, and couldn’t help digging back a little. “Not much weirder than ‘Greypaw’ and ‘Bluestar’ and ‘Redtail’. What if I get a weird name?”

“You won’t,” Greypaw said. “I’m sure of it.”

The two couldn’t talk any further; they had reached the end of the forest and Rusty could see his house (and a panicked Smudge) from here. He looked back at Greypaw, and was surprised by the earnest eagerness on his face.

“Hope to see you again, kittypet,” he said.

Rusty, not sure what to say, gave him a nod and started for his fence. He heard Greypaw rustling through the ferns and grass and disappearing into the woods. He didn’t look back. He had a feeling he would be tempted to return there if he did.

“You’re okay!” Smudge cried when he was close enough to speak. “I saw that cat—he’s huge! How did he not kill you?”

“He didn’t want to.” Rusty bunched up his haunches and leaped onto the fence. He turned to Smudge, unaware of his fur flaring and his eyes sparkling. “You are not going to believe what happened.”

Chapter Text

“Shut up.”

“Yep.”

“Shut up.”

“Yep!”

Rusty was tickled by Smudge’s expression—mouth dropped open enough to catch a ball, eyes wide as Rusty’s paw. Smudge had listened to his story in complete disbelief, and now was visibly reeling from Rusty’s adventure.

“And they actually meant it,” Smudge said at last.

“I mean, I don’t know why they’d offer if they didn’t want me there.” Rusty’s chest was filled to bursting with excitement. He couldn’t help tip-tapping his feet to release the energy. “But Smudge, the forest—the smells, the plants—it’s amazing there! If I could—”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Smudge held up a paw and shook his head. “You can’t be taking this seriously.”

“Well, they meant it, right?” Rusty said, purring in delight. “So I am!”

“No, not just that they offered it.” Smudge leaned forward, looking alarmed. “You can’t just leave and bugger off into the woods! We have no idea what’s out there. You could get killed, you could get sick, or starve, or—”

He cut himself off, eyes searching Rusty’s face, desperate. The excitement in Rusty’s chest settled down immediately and he softened his voice.

“It’s a possibility,” he said. “I know. But… honestly, I’m willing to take those risks. It’s just…” He looked up and a little sideways, searching for the right words. “It’s not horrible here, but I’m not… I feel like I could be doing more. Seeing more. Just living in this neighborhood, it’s not…”

“Fulfilling?” Smudge offered unhappily.

Rusty nodded.

Smudge looked crestfallen; he didn’t even meet Rusty’s eyes. He drew in a big breath and let out a heavy sigh.

“If you go, we can never talk again,” he said, quiet. “Your new friends won’t let you see me. I’ll have no idea if you’re doing okay or not. Or if you’re even still alive.”

Rusty lifted a paw, halfway to reaching out to Smudge, then retracted it. “It won’t be all bad. I can at least walk by the border once in a while and wave to you.” He tried a more cheerful tone. “And I’ll know that you’re safe in your house, getting fatter and comfier by the day, right? You aren’t going anywhere.”

Smudge made a breathy noise that could have been amused, but he still didn’t look up at Rusty.

Rusty tried again. “I just don’t know if this is the life for me. When I went into the forest… it was like a part of me woke up. I started hunting without knowing what I was going after. It felt natural.” The recollection stirred excitement in his blood, and his voice took on a tone of wonder. “If the Clan cats hadn’t shown up, I-I don’t know! I might not have come back. Not for a while. There’s so much to see in the world, in that forest alone. It doesn’t scare me. Maybe it should, but it doesn’t.”

Smudge’s eyes flicked up to him. Rusty reached out again and rested a paw on Smudge’s head, trying to be comforting. Honesty came out instead.

“I don’t know what could happen to me,” he said. “Or what will happen to me. I could die, yeah, but I don’t know for sure. And I like that. It feels like being alive. Here it just feels… the opposite.” He tilted his head. “Does that make any sense?”

Smudge’s eyes drifted down again, and for a moment Rusty was afraid he’d lost him. Then, slowly, he raised his head. Rusty quickly took his paw away and waited as Smudge regarded him with a sadness he had not seen in his friend before.

“You never were content here,” Smudge finally said. “Even when I first met you. That’s why you wandered all over and pestered everyone by going into their yards. Your home wasn’t enough.”

“Right,” Rusty said softly.

Smudge briefly shut his eyes and sighed again. His sadness was now a little more affectionate.

“I guess…” he started, paused, and then, again, “I guess I’m not willing to stop you from being happy. If you want to be with those ferals… if you really want to live out there and risk your life… if that’ll make you happy, then maybe you should do it.”

Rusty purred, halfway between pleased and trying to comfort his friend. “Thank you. I’m sorry that I have to leave you behind. I really am. I wish they’d let me talk to you, at least.”

“Eh.” Smudge waved a paw with a blatantly false casualness. “I’ve got plenty of cats to talk to here. And you certainly will have company, if they’re really a group.”

An idea came to Rusty. “Maybe… maybe my human will get another cat, and they’ll be even better friends with you than I could ever be.”

“I doubt that,” Smudge said fondly. “You’re pretty awesome. Hard to top.”

Rusty’s tail curled. “Thanks!”

“And I’m pretty awesome too,” Smudge prompted, somewhat sarcastic.

“You’re very awesome.” Rusty stood up and bumped his head against Smudge’s shoulder. “Here, let’s meet at noon tomorrow. We should hang out and play as much as we can before I go.”

“That’s a good idea.” Smudge returned the gesture. “In the meantime, I’m going to sleep. So should you. It’s late and I’m tired from all this life-changing talk.”

Rusty snorted and turned, waving his tail. “I’ll see you here tomorrow.”

“Sleep well,” Smudge said, and a bit of unhappiness crept into his voice again. Before Rusty could say anything, he clumsily hopped off the fence and plopped onto the cut grass, trotting back into his house. Rusty could hear his human cooing over him and shaking a kibble bowl.

Rusty didn’t feel like going to sleep. He felt like running straight into the forest again and calling for the Clan cats to let him join them now. Some small, reasonable thing in the back of his head reminded him that he should still be thinking things over, but the greater part of him was fluffing out his fur in a pre-emptive thrill of exploring the woods. His tail wagged up and almost over his back, and his paws kneaded at the chipped paint on the fence.

His mind ran wild as he returned to his yard, scenario after scenario making him forget the irritating clipped grass beneath his feet. Those cats were giant—would they all be taller than him? Would the kittens be taller? How many members of the Clan were there? How long would it take him to see every step of the forest? What about the other Clans that were mentioned? What were they like? Would he get to meet them?

The possibilities made him shiver in delight. The bell on his collar jingled tauntingly and his delight vanished in an instant, replaced by irritation.

Right, he thought. One other thing to do before I leave.

He stepped through the door-flap, pawing at his collar every other step. It wasn’t particularly tight—his neck was too skinny for that—but it wouldn’t go over his head. A few paces into the house, he sat down and started pushing at it with his back foot, trying with all his might to squeeze his head through the gap. The metal clasp dug into his throat and it became difficult to breathe. The back of the collar pressed against his head, touching his ears. He unconsciously let out a frustrated growl (strained a little by his current situation).

At this, there was a shift of cloth. When he looked up, his owner was walking towards him from the living room and into the kitchen. They crouched down in front of him and tilted their head, making high-pitched, soothing noises.

Rusty stopped struggling and met their eyes. It occurred to him that he had never quite paid attention to them before, couldn’t remember their face—had never even studied their face, really. The moon had vanished and reappeared since he had come here, and it was only now that he realized his owner’s eyes were dark and soft.

Perhaps that was a sign that he should leave.

Rusty was jarred out of his thoughts when their hands came to circle his neck and began fiddling with his collar. He sat still, waiting politely until the collar was unbuckled and lifted away. The human spoke again, a little louder and sweeter, and gently scratched around where the collar had been. He thanked them with a purr and rubbed his cheek against their hand, though the gesture meant little to him. They stood again and walked away, setting the collar down on the counter before moving back into the living room and sitting down on their chair.

Rusty watched them distantly, the image of some animal running around on their lit box. He stood up and slowly turned his head, observing his surroundings. It was all flat and even and perfectly curved or cut with an exact line. The floor under his feet was cold and completely smooth. The air in the kitchen was stiff and a little too warm. The one or two smells he could pick up were stale (his kibble) and nastily foreign (whatever flowers were sitting at the windowsill).

It was plain, he thought. Simple. It was no wonder he had been blown away by the forest—there was so much to it. Here…

Smudge had given him the right word. It wasn’t fulfilling. It was nothing. A life of nothing, he thought, was not one he wanted to live.

At noon, Rusty jumped onto the rail splitting his yard from Smudge’s. His faithful friend was sitting on the grass, looking morose. Rusty called his name and the look faded instantly when Smudge noticed him.

“I was worried you were going to sleep in again,” he said as Rusty jumped down into his yard. “You haven’t happened to change your mind, have you?”

“I’m afraid not.” Rusty offered an apologetic half-crouch when Smudge hung his head. “But we still have time. What do you want to do?”

“Well…” Smudge stood up. “If you’re about to go, we should go around the neighborhood and say ‘bye’ to the few cats you haven’t annoyed by intruding.”

“They’ll be thrilled that I’m gone.” Rusty puffed out a jokingly dramatic sigh. “I think you’re the only one that will miss me.”

“Then we should get one last pester in,” Smudge said. His tail, still kitten-short for his size, thwapped Rusty’s back leg. “What did the homebody call it? ‘Blaze of glory’ or something.”

“That’s for when you’re about to die.” Rusty led the way to the fence and climbed up again with ease. He turned around and waited for Smudge.

“Where you’re going, that might be appropriate,” Smudge muttered as he clambered after Rusty, making a cheerful face when Rusty gave him a pretend-irritated look.

Once Smudge was on the rail, Rusty led the way down the row of yards, his tail high. Saying farewell to everyone, he realized, was not going to be as sad as he might have thought. To him, it was just a symbol of his transition into his new life.

He just hoped that everyone in the Clan liked him more than everyone in the neighborhood did.

Chapter Text

It must have seemed entirely too soon to Smudge when time ran out and Rusty stood on the fence in the growing dark, prepared to leave his yard for the last time. His face was mournful and his tail curled around his side as far as it could go, as if to comfort himself. 

“S’pose I’ll see you around,” he mumbled, not quite looking at Rusty. “If I get lucky, that is.”

Rusty turned his head to Smudge and tried to think of something comforting to say. He faltered, opening his mouth to nothing, before sighing under his breath and gently tapping Smudge’s shoulder with his tail, holding it there until he looked up.

“I’ll say ‘hi’ when I can,” Rusty promised. “Any time I’m around and you’re out here.”

Smudge’s left whiskers twitched, but he didn’t look up for a long moment. When at last he did, his eyes were filled with dread and, oddly, grief, as if Rusty was already dead.

“Good luck out there,” he said.

Rusty nodded once. “Stay safe, Smudge.”

“I’m not the one who needs that blessing,” Smudge said, a little more amused (though not by much). He straightened up and gave Rusty a pat on the shoulder with his paw. “They’re probably waiting for you. Get going.”

His words were rather curt, but his voice betrayed him. Rusty didn’t want to make him watch him run off into the woods. He simply blinked slowly, a final gesture of trust and friendship, before bunching up and taking his leap off of the rail and on to the fresh grass. He started off at a trot, only looking back once to see Smudge’s tail disappear behind the fence. 

That was it, then. Rusty’s heart sparked with excitement and he picked up his pace. 

It wasn’t until he was almost within the border of the forest that he heard rustling and stopped. A moment later, two cats, just as big as Redtail and Bluestar, emerged from a patch of ferns. One of them was tall and pure white, and he looked down at Rusty with kind yellow eyes, a similar color to Bluestar’s. 

“You must be Rusty,” he said. His voice had the rasp of a whisper, even though he spoke normally.

Rusty suddenly had no idea what to say. He bobbed his head eagerly.

“We were sent to meet you,” the tom said. “Have you made your decision?” 

“I—” Rusty’s voice suddenly felt too squeaky. He cleared his throat. “I have. I want to join ThunderClan. I-if the offer is still there.”

“It is.” This was the other tom—massive, golden, with a long, hardened face and a much grander voice than his comrade. His fur was longer around his neck, creating an impressive mane. “Then, if you’re joining us, welcome. This—” he tilted his head towards the white tom “—is Whitecloud. My name is Lionface.”

Rusty blinked. “Sorry— What-face?” 

“Lion.” Lionface was eyeing him, and for a moment Rusty was afraid he’d offended him. Then Lionface lifted his chin a little, like an idea had occurred to him. “That’s right, you wouldn’t know what a lion is.”

“I wouldn’t,” Rusty admitted, a little embarrassed now. “Should I know?”

“You’ll know that and plenty more soon enough,” Whitecloud said, gentle enough to make Rusty relax. “We’ll take you to our camp, then, if you’re ready.” 

Rusty stood as straight as he could. “I’m ready.”

The warriors looked at each other, silently exchanging some thought, before Lionface turned back to Rusty. “We’ll be going at a run. Can you keep up?”

“I’ll do my best,” Rusty said, then coughed. “Er, yes. I can.”

Whitecloud gave him a friendly nod. “Your best is fine. Follow us.” 

Before Rusty could say anything, the toms had pivoted and dashed nearly out of sight. Rusty dove into the forest after them, sprinting with all of his might. They ducked around bushes, flew past the fronds of ferns in their way, leaped over a fallen log or two, all without slowing down. Rusty scrambled to keep in line with their path, quickly running out of breath and completely aware that they were not going as fast as they could. Their motions were too casual for that. 

By the time Lionface and Whitecloud slowed down, Rusty’s chest burned and he couldn’t speak through his pants. The warriors, thankfully, paused and let him breathe. Lionface looked a little bit doubtful now, but Whitecloud approached Rusty and lowered his head to speak at his eye level. 

“You did better than we expected,” he said. “I thought we’d have to turn around and get you.”

Rusty was panting too hard to give a witty comeback. He just flicked his ear in acknowledgement.

“When you’ve got your air, take a sniff,” said Lionface. “See what your nose catches.”

Rusty forced himself to breathe normally after a few gasps. He raised his head and looked around. He wanted to marvel at his surroundings—denser and even more vibrant than the border—but he did as Lionface said and sniffed deeply. Amongst the scents of the ferns and the earth, he caught something familiar.

“I smell cats,” he said. “Somewhere around here.”

Lionface snorted, but his response wasn’t mocking. “We’re right outside ThunderClan’s camp. The entire Clan is here, waiting to meet you.”

“Oh!” Rusty perked up immediately. “The-then I should go in, right?” He paused. “Where do I go in?” 

Whitecloud purred, sounding amused. “Follow us.”

Lionface took the lead and maneuvered through a patch of some sharp, bristling plant that Rusty had never seen before. Whitecloud followed him, and Rusty came last. He found it quite easy to make his way through without being scratched or brushing against something, which he hoped would impress his new community. The branches of the plant pulled up into an archway, and suddenly Rusty was walking on clean, soft sand (much unlike the stuff in his old litter box), and then he was in a clearing. 

He couldn’t take in everything around him at once—there were so many cats, all huge and long-haired, that they blocked his view of most of the camp. Low murmurs of conversation trailed off as, one-by-one, the cats turned their heads to notice the newcomer. Rusty felt quite tiny and almost trapped by their curious (and some hostile) stares. He swallowed nervously and walked along after Lionface and Whitecloud, trying to offer polite nods to everyone he passed. He caught sight of Greypaw in between a few other cats, who brightened up and waved his fluffy tail eagerly to Rusty. Rusty waved back, barely catching sight of a sleek, nervous-looking black cat behind Greypaw eying him warily. 

He wasn’t looking where he was going, and so he bumped into someone. He backed up quickly and lifted his head up and up and up to meet eyes with a golden giantess, with a face similar to Lionface’s. 

“Welcome, little one,” she said, and her voice was so kind and motherly that Rusty relaxed immediately. “We hoped you were coming tonight.”

“Speak for yourself,” some voice growled. 

Rusty ignored them and nodded to the molly. “Thank you.”

The molly looked pleased and stepped out of his way. Rusty hurried after Lionface and Whitecloud, following them up to a wide, tall stump on the edge of the clearing. They split up, revealing Bluestar and Redtail standing by the stump, watching Rusty.

“How did he fare?” Bluestar asked Whitecloud.

“He’ll take some training,” Whitecloud said, “but he kept up with us the best he could and never asked to slow down.”

“Good.” Bluestar jerked her head, gesturing to Rusty to follow her, and leaped onto the stump. Rusty was immensely grateful that he jumped up easily after her, not scrambling to find purchase like Smudge. It was a mild surprise that this wood was so much softer and cooler than his old fence. He turned to face the crowd with her, who were all watching Bluestar expectantly.

“Some of you may remember this cat,” she said, voice loud enough to carry through camp. “He’s been seen eying our border multiple times, and discussions have come up about what to do if he crosses it.” 

There was a general murmur, some cats squinting judgingly at Rusty, and a couple glaring at him. He was relieved that most of them were simply watching him with a neutral expression. 

“I have spoken with Redtail,” Bluestar went on. “We decided that, rather than deal with a kittypet intruding, we will bring him in as a member of ThunderClan.” 

Rusty’s heart sank as several voices rose up, all complaining. 

“We don’t need a kittypet, Bluestar!”

“That tiny thing? Here?” 

“Why didn’t you consult the rest of us?”

“I’m consulting you now,” Bluestar said calmly. “We’ve observed him over the past month, and I think we can make a fine warrior out of him.”

“He’s awfully small,” a beautiful grey tortoiseshell said, eyeing Rusty. “Are you sure he isn’t still a kitten? Where’s his mother?” 

Bluestar looked at Rusty. Rusty belatedly realized he was supposed to answer. 

“I-I’ve been away from my mother since it started to snow,” he said to the molly. “And I was born when the leaves fell.” 

“Half a year, then,” the golden molly said. “The perfect age to become an apprentice!” 

“He’s soft already,” a dark tabby growled. “How are we supposed to teach a kittypet anything when he’s been in a house his whole life?” 

“There’s no better time to start,” the golden molly said to him, almost excited. “He’ll learn quickly and he hasn’t been poisoned by other kittypets and their lives to the point of no return.” 

“How do you know?” The tabby narrowed his eyes. “What if he just thinks this’ll be like home, and we’ll have to send him away again?” 

Bluestar, again, turned to Rusty, her voice low. “This is your time to make your case.”

Rusty, to his credit, only hesitated for a moment. He took a step forward, stood tall, and looked over the crowd. All eyes were on him, and it was terrifying, but he breathed in and tried to speak as loud as Bluestar did. 

“I…” 

Silence. Cats who were neutral before looked unimpressed now. A few eyes turned sympathetic to his nervousness, but the majority were scrutinizing him, looking for weakness. 

Rusty tried again. “I know I’m not a—I was a kittypet, and all I’ve been brave enough to do is walk around my neighborhood to explore. But I’ve wanted to come into this forest for a long time, and… well, Bluestar offered to let me join ThunderClan, and I-I’d be honored to live here, especially among cats like you.”

The unimpressed faces faded back to neutral, and a couple cats tilted their heads. 

This next part, at least, was much easier to say. “I know I’m small, and really young, but I’m happy to work hard and earn your respect. I’ll contribute in whatever way you ask, and I’ll learn your ways and follow your rules. Whatever it takes to live here, I’ll do it.” 

A soft murmur arose, cats glancing at each other, gauging reactions, before returning their attention to Rusty. His heart lifted a little out of its gloom with the more approving expressions. 

“Well done,” Bluestar whispered to him, before stepping up beside him and raising her voice. “I intend to personally mentor him, as well. He will learn directly from me, and if I’m busy, my senior warriors have agreed to teach him about ThunderClan life.” 

This appeared to win the cats over. The words exchanged were friendlier, and Rusty caught a few words of encouragement from the warriors to him. He didn’t miss the dark tabby and a brown tom muttering contemptuously to each other, and the scowls from two younger cats didn’t escape him either. He just tried to give them a friendly blink and look back at the majority of the cats. 

“If it helps…” Rusty almost jumped as a tortoiseshell tabby came up alongside the stump from behind, tail waving back and forth slowly. “StarClan has shown me their approval of him a few nights ago. To turn him away instantly—I think it’d be cruel and unwise.”

She looked up at Bluestar and Rusty, eyes soft and cheery. Bluestar dipped her head respectfully and said to the crowd, “Are we agreed to at least test him for the next few months?” 

A slight pause, before the Clan nodded, some speaking their agreement aloud. Rusty managed not to sag with relief. Bluestar nosed him and he turned fully to face her. 

“Then, with the Clan’s approval, and by the power of StarClan, I welcome you with your own Clan name,” she said. Rusty blinked and her whiskers twitched. “Yes, you forgot about this part, didn’t you? Your name must change, if you stay here.”

Rusty cleared his throat and said quickly, “I’m fine with that. What will I be now?”

Bluestar’s eyes slid a little to the side, towards the tortoiseshell, before she continued. “From here until you earn your warrior name, you will be known as Firepaw. I, Bluestar, will be your mentor, and I will pass down all I know to you.”

She leaned forward and touched her nose to his forehead. Rusty shut his eyes and felt an oddly warm shiver rush through his body, from his nose to his tail, chasing out a chill he didn’t know was there. When Firepaw opened his eyes again, Bluestar was looking at him warmly. 

The Clan suddenly shouted together, “Firepaw! Firepaw!” Some were, perhaps, not too enthusiastic, but Firepaw could hardly hear those over the welcome of these warriors. He faced the crowd, fur fluffing as the words—his name—washed over him. 

“Go ahead and meet your Clanmates,” Bluestar said. 

Firepaw jumped down from the stump and immediately was approached by several cats, sniffing him one by one and speaking to him.

“You’ve got a good name,” a pale brown tortoiseshell tabby said. “Bear it well.”

“Welcome to ThunderClan, Firepaw.” An aged black-and-white tom purred a creaky, wobbling purr to him. 

A dusky brown molly, shorter than the other cats, gave him a friendly tap to his shoulder with her paw. “Try to keep up, and you’ll do fine.”

Firepaw responded to every greeting and kind word he got with thanks until his head spun with the number of cats speaking to him. Finally, they dispersed, and he was able to walk forward.

Until a whisper stopped him. 

He looked back and the kind tortoiseshell came to stand by his head. Her eyes sparkled and she looked thrilled.

“We’re so glad to have you,” she whispered to him, like she was about to tell him some great secret. “You belong here, with us. You’ll do great, and great things will happen. I know it.”

Firepaw didn’t know quite how to react to that, so he just returned again with, “Thank you.”

The molly winked at him and trotted off, tail dancing along behind her. Firepaw watched her go, not sure what to say or do now.

“My sister can be a little odd,” Redtail said, coming up to him now. “She’s a great seer, though. Her name is Spottedleaf. You’ll come to know her soon enough.”

Firepaw huffed out a breath, tired but cheerful. “I’ve got a lot to come to know, I think.”

Redtail purred, looking at camp with the new apprentice. “Yes. You certainly do.”

Chapter Text

Firepaw blinked awake.

He lifted his head and looked around wildly, startled, before his eyes adjusted and he recognized the walls of the bush he had been shown yesterday as his new sleeping quarters. He relaxed for a moment, but then his tail started jumping around, tapping the floor in excitement as he remembered the previous night’s events.

He had become a member of ThunderClan. He had then been guided around camp and shown the various “dens” that these cats lived in. There were quite a few of them—a hollowed-out log housed the oldest cats, with the other adults and cats his age sleeping in separate bushes with nesting spots in the dug-out earth beneath them.  He had been warned to not go near the large tree (“oak”, Bluestar had said, it was called an “oak”), because there was a hole between its roots that mothers and their kittens resided in. The big golden molly, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to again, but she was sitting outside of this “nursery” as a guard. He was not inclined to see what would happen if he disobeyed, so he just went along after his new leader.

It had been hard to sleep when the night was done—he was used to being awake during the day, and even though this new life had exhausted him, he was excited enough to run around out in the forest. It didn’t help that the two older -paws had glared at him when he came into the den, making him edge around them and lie down in the corner, where there was a small hole that let a breeze in. Greypaw, at least, had been friendly, and chatted with him a little about all of the cool things he was going to see here before curling up himself. The black -paw had nodded and shyly turned away, pressing himself against the other side of the den like he was trying to disappear into the shadows. Firepaw had fallen asleep last of everyone.

Now, however, it appeared that he was the first one awake. Carefully, he stood up and tiptoed around the sleeping forms of his denmates, barely avoiding stepping on the pale molly’s tail.

He emerged from the den and took the opportunity to stretch freely, not having to worry about bumping into someone. The camp clearing was incredibly spacious, and the sand was still warm from the sun. It was closing in on nighttime, going by the yellow part of the sky being swallowed by star-dotted blue. Firepaw stared up into the coming dark, unconscious of his paws kneading at the sand, simply marveling at how different the air felt compared to his old house.

“Oh, Firepaw!”

He looked down just as the big golden molly emerged from the nursery (and it seemed to take her significant effort to squeeze through the opening). She shook out her very, very long fur and blinked slowly at him, purring.

Firepaw, suddenly feeling shy, took a few steps towards her. Only a few. She was right in front of the nursery, after all.

“Good morning,” he said, and then winced. “I mean- evening. Good evening.”

The molly’s whiskers twitched in amusement. “Used to daylight activity?”

Firepaw nodded sheepishly.

“You’ll adjust quickly, dear, don’t worry.” The molly closed the gap between them and sat down. Even so, she was much, much bigger than him. “How are you feeling tonight? Did you sleep well?”

Firepaw was caught a little off-guard by the kindness in her voice and face. It felt a little like when his old human had first picked him to come home with them. “I did, yeah. And… well, I’m pretty excited still. Do you know what I’ll be doing today…” He struggled to remember her name, and realized he hadn’t gotten it yet. He settled with an awkward, “Ma’am?”

The molly looked even more amused. “I’m Goldenflower.”

“Oh,” said Firepaw, and quickly corrected himself. “Do you know what I’ll be doing today, Goldenflower?”

“Well…” Goldenflower glanced at the entrance to camp. “I imagine that Bluestar will take you out and show you the territory. There’s a lot of it, you’ll find. I’d be ready to walk all night.”

“That’s not a problem at all.” Firepaw’s tail tapped and swished. “I’ve been wanting to explore this forest forever. I’m glad I’m allowed to now.”

“I’m happy for you, Firepaw,” said Goldenflower, sounding like she meant it. “You’ll love the forest. But don’t expect to be out there all by yourself immediately, alright? You’re an apprentice, and you’ll have duties in camp too.”

“Oh.” Firepaw blinked. “What kind of duties?”

“Caring for the elders will be the main one.” Goldenflower nodded at the fallen tree. “That’s them over there. They sometimes need to be searched for fleas and ticks, or they want something done for them.”

Firepaw hesitated to answer, and Goldenflower caught it, adding, “Once you’re a warrior—when you graduate from being an apprentice—you won’t have to do that.” She winked. “Assuming you don’t act unruly, that is.”

“I’ll try not to,” Firepaw said, attempting to wink back and not quite succeeding. “How long does it take to become a warrior?”

“Half a year to a season over that,” Goldenflower said. “It depends on how well you do. You’ll do just fine, I’m sure, but don’t worry about being a warrior for now. Just focus on your training.”

Firepaw straightened his posture, which didn’t make him much taller. “Okay. What’s my train—”

“Well, now.”

Goldenflower and Firepaw looked at the camp entrance. Bluestar had just stepped into the clearing and was walking up to them, paying attention to Firepaw.

“I’m surprised I didn’t have to wake you up,” she said. “Very good.”

Firepaw immediately stood up and turned to her, bobbing his head. “Mo- good evening. I’m excited, so I got up early.”

“We’ll have to see if we can keep that energy up.” Bluestar greeted him with a flick of her ear and looked to Goldenflower. “Is Willowpelt doing alright in there? You’re up early yourself.”

“She’s very alright,” said Goldenflower. “She’s asleep. I heard a noise out here and came to investigate.” She beamed at Firepaw. “Turns out I didn’t need to worry. Not yet.”

Bluestar gave one nod. She was somehow doing a good job of seeming taller than Goldenflower by pure authority, even though Goldenflower had a head’s length on her. “You can go back inside if you want. I have an early night with Firepaw ahead.” She turned now to Firepaw. “Get a meal in while you can. It’s going to be a while before you eat again.”

“Okay.” Firepaw hastened to obey her and trotted to the small pile of prey he had been introduced to last night. There were only a few things there—a mouse, something big and grey, and a couple birds of some kind or another. The air around this pile had a taste that Firepaw almost unconsciously drooled over, but he was quick to pick the mouse. He didn’t want to be greedy when he’d just got here.

The bushes rustled, and out came one of the older apprentices, the well-built brown tom. He was blinking blearily, like he hadn’t quite woken up yet. Still, he bowed his head respectfully to Bluestar and Goldenflower and headed for the prey pile.

Firepaw took a step away to give him room to pick, saying brightly, “Good evening!”

The tom barely turned his head enough for Firepaw to see him twitch his lip, briefly exposing teeth, with a disdainful snort. He grabbed one of the birds and stalked past Firepaw, not looking his way.

Firepaw deflated a little, disappointed. Still, he tried to keep his spirits up and moved to a clear spot away from the prey pile with his mouse. He wasn’t quite sure how to go about eating this thing, so he sniffed it over, looking for where he should start. When he glanced up, Bluestar was approaching him, regarding him with something in her eyes that he couldn’t define.

“Start by pulling the pelt off,” she said. “The meat’s under the skin.”

“Oh,” said Firepaw. He did not miss the brown apprentice’s eyeroll and sneer. He chose to ignore it and gripped a part of the body with his teeth. Using his paws to anchor the mouse down, he succeeded in peeling the skin away—which was a little gruesome to him, but he forgot that as soon as the scent of the meat hit his nose.

The first bite was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him. Kibble was like litter sand now. This thing—meat—woke up something else in him. Hunger, specifically.

He wanted more after his meal was done, but he exercised discipline and just stood up, looking at Bluestar eagerly. “Are we going out now?”

“We are.” Bluestar’s voice was on the edge of warmth. “Come on.”

The two of them headed for the camp entrance. Firepaw looked behind him just long enough to see cats slowly emerging from their dens, all yawning and stretching. None of them appeared to notice him as he left, save Greypaw, who waved his tail to Firepaw. He waved back and hurried after Bluestar.

Goldenflower was right - it was a very long walk through the forest, one that Firepaw almost thought wasn’t going to end. Not that he was complaining; he was enamored with every step he took. The trees, mighty and tall. The bushes and ferns, thick and vibrant. The fresh air that energized him just breathing it in. Even the flowers, small though they were compared to the obnoxiously decorative ones from his old neighborhood, were beautiful with their simplicity. As much as he wanted to see everything else, Firepaw barely restrained himself from running ahead of Bluestar or demanding that they pick up the pace. He wished he had more eyes so he could look at everything all at once.

They did eventually reach the end of the woods, though. Bluestar stopped at the very last tree, signaling with her tail for Firepaw to stop too. They had come upon a rising slope covered unseeable end to unseeable end by stones that were a little large for gravel, but too small to be proper climbing rocks. Firepaw wrinkled his nose at the stink of something like the cars he’d seen in his old neighborhood.

“This is the road,” Bluestar said. “Move carefully and follow me.”

The two of them clambered up the slope (well, Firepaw clambered, Bluestar just climbed elegantly) and came onto a wide, wide line of cement that didn’t seem to end to the left, but was swallowed by a veritable hive of buildings on the right.

“That—” Bluestar pointed with her tail to the buildings “—is the Aulmir . Humans and loners live there. We do not go near that place for any reason.”

“Right,” said Firepaw. His eyes drifted, and he noticed the expanse of flat, dark-grassed land ahead of them, kept away from the forest by the road. The grass was tall and coarse, but Firepaw thought he could see a web of water splitting the land into small pieces. “What’s that?”

“That’s ShadowClan’s territory,” said Bluestar. “They’re another Clan that lives in these territories. Unless we have a very serious reason, we don’t trespass on their land. If you need to speak with them, you would wait on the border for a patrol to come by and find you. Otherwise, they won’t be polite in chasing you off.”

“Is there a polite way to chase me off?” Firepaw asked, eyeing a few dark dots moving in the distance.

Bluestar’s whiskers twitched. “There is, and only ShadowClan’s good at it. Let’s move on.”

They ducked back down into the forest and headed left, walking along the border. Firepaw was now distracted from the beauty of the trees by ponderings about this ShadowClan, and what their cats were like. Was everyone there a giant too?

The moon, a mere crust of its usual self, was high in the sky by the time they’d reached the next uncrossable line. Firepaw stared in wonder at the wide stretch of grass that gradually went up, and up, and up into a tall mound of earth. Firepaw thought it might be called a “hill”. Before that, a square of trees stood in the distance.

“The moorland, that hill, is WindClan’s,” Bluestar said. “And those four trees are simply the Fourtrees. All the Clans gather on the waking night—when the moon is full—and share news, or see friends from the other Clans.”

Firepaw nodded. He tried to see any more moving things, but only the grass glimmered briefly in a wave.

Bluestar must have noticed him peering, because she said, “You won’t see a WindClan cat in tall grass. They’re quite stealthy.” She paused, and spoke dryly and quietly. “For sprinters.”

Their corner of the woods bent left again, and Bluestar took him that way. Firepaw’s feet were starting to get sore, but he was energized by his curiosity, and marched along after Bluestar with gusto.

Though he was a little tired when they reached a wide path of water. He kept up his good attitude as well as he could, trying not to complain, as they walked alongside this water.

“Have you seen a river before?” Bluestar asked him, looking back.

Firepaw straightened up, attempting to look as fresh as he had been earlier. “No, never. Is this a river?”

“It is.” Bluestar nodded. “And it belongs to RiverClan. That land beyond it, that meadow with those horses, if you can see them, is their grounds.”

Firepaw squinted at the large beasts with their long necks and heads down in the grass. “I see. They’ve got a lot of land that isn’t the river, for being named after it.”

“It’s their specialty,” Bluestar said primly. “And we’ll leave it at that for tonight. Now, look ahead; do you see that stretch of stones and grass?”

Firepaw trotted to catch up with her and examined what she had pointed out. Between the edge of the forest and the river was, indeed, a streak of grassy land, with large, smooth, flat stones cropping up all over it. “Yes.”

“That’s the Sunningrocks,” Bluestar said. “We own it. It’s part of our territory. RiverClan doesn’t think so, though. They’re always trying to take it from us.” She narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes they succeed, and we have to fight for it all over again. We never know when they plan to strike. So, for that reason, don’t come out here by yourself just yet. Always have someone with you.”

“I will,” Firepaw said. “Have someone with me, I mean. But Goldenflower said I might not get to be out anywhere by myself for a while anyway.”

“You won’t. You’re too young.” Bluestar gave him a very serious stare. “You’ll have that privilege when you’ve gotten some training and know the forest better. Until then, you know now to not be alone.”

Firepaw met her stare and nodded. Her eyes flickered lightly with something akin to respect, for some reason, before she turned away. “Now, let’s go home. You’ve seen the last line of the border already. You lived there, after all.”

“Oh.” Firepaw’s ears perked with realization. “Right. I’m not allowed to be there alone either, I assume.”

“It would be a good idea to be there as little as possible,” said Bluestar. “If you linger there, you may be tempted to go back to the houses—or, at least, your Clanmates will think that. Stay on the eastern side of this forest for now, and you’ll do fine.”

The moon was sinking and the sky was paling in the east by the time they re-entered camp, and by then Firepaw was dragging his very achy feet, desperate for food and rest. Bluestar dismissed him and he immediately went to the prey pile, which was a great deal larger than it had been earlier.

“There’s the little ant.” A rather thin brown tabby tom greeted him with a friendly blink. “Heard you were out learning our territory. Have fun?”

Firepaw grabbed another mouse (bigger this time, at least), trying to look alert. “It’s amazing out there. I just saw the borders, though. I need to see the rest of the forest soon.”

“Don’t get lost in it.” The tom pawed a grey thing with a bushy tail out of the pile. “There’s monsters afoot.”

Firepaw stared at him. “Monsters?”

“Teaselfoot, come on.” The dusky brown molly, who was a good deal shorter than him (though still taller than Firepaw), gave him a light nudge with her shoulder. “Don’t scare the kid. He just got here.”

“I’m making a joke, it’s fine.” Teaselfoot nudged the molly back and said to Firepaw, “You look like you’re about to collapse, chrii .”

“I am a little tired,” Firepaw admitted, fighting back a well-timed yawn. He looked to the molly. “He’s Teaselfoot, and you’re…?”

“Mousefur,” the molly said. “This is my brother. No hard feelings if you forget our names.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a lot of them to learn,” said Teaselfoot. “And relearn, and relearn—”

Mousefur thwapped his haunch with her tail. “Go eat your food, Firepaw. Get some rest.”

Firepaw didn’t need to be told twice. “Okay, then. Nice to meet you.”

The siblings nodded together and Firepaw got out of the way of a pretty brindled molly as she went for some food. He found the most unoccupied part of the clearing and flopped down, paying attention to nothing but the wonderful taste of mouse.

He spared no time after eating in heading to the apprentice’s den, trying not to limp as the ache in his feet started up a not-so-subtle throb. Unlike this morning, he wasn’t paying attention, and when passing the pale molly, he stepped on her tail.

The molly hissed and he jumped away, wincing at his pained paws.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

“Mind where you’re walking!” the molly snapped. “You’re not the only one in here, you know.”

Firepaw opened his mouth to apologize again, but she turned away from him, curling her tail around her side, back-hair bristling. He settled on getting past her and heading back to where he had been before.

The black apprentice was sniffing the hole in the bush, and jumped when Firepaw greeted him like he had been struck.

“I- sorry—” The apprentice backed away. “This is your spot, sorry.”

“He doesn’t have a spot,” the molly growled, a little muffled by her paws around her muzzle. “He just got here.”

The black apprentice fidgeted nervously, glancing between her and Firepaw. Firepaw noted the white dash on his chest and his white tail-tip, given that his tail was shaking and he had one paw up like he was trying to protect his throat.

“It’s fine,” Firepaw said. “I didn’t get your name yesterday.”

The black apprentice steadied a little bit, but his voice was quiet. “I’m Ravenpaw.”

“Well, hi, Ravenpaw,” Firepaw said, trying to find a balance between cheerful and relaxed, hoping to put this cat at ease. “Is there something up with this hole? You were just sniffing it.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Ravenpaw looked like he was attempting to calm himself down. He wasn’t doing a good job of it if he was. “I was worried it’d be cold right here, that’s all.”

“It wasn’t today,” Firepaw said. “I was alright. Nice to have fresh air, actually.”

Ravenpaw huffed out an unsteady breath and weakly brightened up. “Good. Okay. Um… I’ll… go get some food. See you later.”

He rushed past Firepaw and out of the den before Firepaw could respond. Firepaw watched where he had gone, contemplating all these new cats. Exhaustion quickly took control of him, and he laid down where he was, eyes shut almost before he was fully settled.

He dreamed of trees and ferns that morning, and he woke up just as excited as before.

Chapter Text

The next evening brought with it a tremendous agony in Firepaw’s feet. He thanked his fortune that the sand was soft and warm, making hobbling to the prey-pile a little easier.

“Did you step on a thorn?” Greypaw asked, coming up beside him to fetch a brown bird from the stock.

“No.” Firepaw sniffed at a little black thing with a narrow nose and seemingly no eyes. “I just walked a lot yesterday. Last night, I mean.”

“I thought you kittypets walked on those tiny rocks and fences all the time. Here, come on.” Greypaw gestured with his tail for Firepaw to follow him once he had his food and led the way to a slightly hollowed-out spot near their den. “I heard fences give you thorns too. Those sharp whatevers, the chips off of them.”

“Splinters?” Firepaw settled down beside him, marveling internally at how he was even tinier reclining next to the mass of fur that was Greypaw. “Humans get them more. You have to scrape at the wood and slide your paws around on it for splinters.”

“What about the rocks? On your little roads and stuff.” Greypaw pulled at a wing with his teeth.

“Gravel’s not that hard on my feet, at least.” Firepaw felt a little ill watching the bird be torn up like that, so he focused on his not-mouse. “But what I mean is that it’s how much walking I did, compared to my usual. Even if I was on this sand here, I think I’d be sore.”

“Fair enough,” said Greypaw, and he looked over at Ravenpaw, who was tiptoeing away from the prey pile with a mouse. “Hey! You want to eat with us?”

Ravenpaw flinched. Instead of answering, he looked around anxiously before scooting away towards the elders’ den.

“Worth a try.” Greypaw sighed and gave Firepaw a resigned nod. “I try to hang out with him, but he’s scared dirtless around everyone but his grandpa. And Sandpaw and Dustpaw only want to talk to each other or the older warriors. It’s been pretty boring, eating by myself.”

Firepaw looked at him sympathetically. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I don’t mind hanging out. Eating by yourself isn’t fun, even for me.”

“Rad.” Greypaw’s tail curled happily. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here.”

Tickled by the comment, Firepaw started on his prey, finding the wide, pale paws entertainingly chewy. He got down a mouthful before turning to Greypaw again. “What’s a ‘grandpa’?”

“Oh, boy, we have a lot to teach you.” Greypaw shook his head, but seemed more amused than disappointed. “A grandpa is your parent’s father. The parent of your parent. How do you not know that?”

Firepaw frowned a little, rebuking himself internally. “I guess I never thought about family terms before. I don’t know any of my family now.”

“Oh,” Greypaw said, almost under his breath, then louder. “Oh, right. You go to a new home and then you never see your family again for as long as you live.”

“Yeah.”

“We don’t here.” Greypaw took a chomp out of his bird, and his next words were mangled by the food in his mouth, but Firepaw thought he heard, “Not the first part, anyway.”

Unsure if he should ask for elaboration, or if he even wanted to, Firepaw said nothing and kept eating. The apprentices became preoccupied with their food—so much so that they didn’t notice Bluestar until she was standing over them. Firepaw coughed in surprise and sat up, wincing a little at the complaints of his pawpads.

Bluestar’s eyes scanned him, analyzing. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Firepaw said quickly. “Fine. Just… my feet hurt a little.”

“He was limping all the way over here,” Greypaw said.

Firepaw cleared his throat pointedly. “Just a bit.”

“Well…” Bluestar narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “That’s unfortunate for you. We have your first training session tonight. You’ll have to walk some more.”

“I can do that!” Firepaw perked up. “No problem. What are we training for?”

Bluestar gave him a look that made it clear she didn’t believe him, but she accepted the change in topic. “You’ll be joining Ravenpaw and Greypaw in learning some battle moves.”

Firepaw blinked. “Oh. Are… are we fighting someone?”

“Not at the moment,” said Bluestar. “Are you two done eating? The others are ready to go.”

Before Firepaw could ask what “others”, Greypaw got to his feet. “Yeah, we’re done. Come on, Firepaw.”

Firepaw very quickly had to hobble after him and Bluestar across and out of camp. Just outside the entrance, Whitecloud, Lionface and Ravenpaw were waiting.

“Good evening, boys,” Whitecloud said. His eyes lingered on Firepaw as he limped forward. “How are you doing, Firepaw?”

“Good!” Firepaw said immediately.

Lionface gave Bluestar a sidelong look. She narrowed her eyes at him and he looked at Greypaw instead.

“You’re finally awake early for once,” he said, greeting Greypaw with a headbump that audibly connected. “I didn’t have to wake you up.”

“Nice change, isn’t it?” Greypaw was pushed back a little by the gesture, surprisingly, but he didn’t look bothered. “And now I get to show off how cool and tough I am to the kittypet.”

“He’s a ThunderClan apprentice now, Greypaw,” Whitecloud said patiently. His long white tail tapped against Ravenpaw’s side, who flinched. “Sorry. Shall we go?”

“Let’s.” Bluestar started off, taking the lead, with the group of toms following her. Firepaw was last, but close behind Ravenpaw, with Greypaw and the adults ahead of them.

Firepaw did not let himself complain out loud, though he regretted every unnecessary step he’d taken earlier. It seemed like his feet were just getting worse. Still, he forced himself to keep up, even if it was a struggle.

Oddly, Ravenpaw kept glancing back at him, first with the barest movement of his eyes, and then slowly turning his head before looking away quickly like he was afraid of being caught.

Firepaw, not sure of what else to say, offered a joke. “Kinda weak, right? I’ll bet a kitten could outpace me at this point.”

Ravenpaw made some kind of noise like he was trying to respond and whatever he wanted to say clung fast to his throat, fighting to stay in. He immediately looked ashamed of himself, mumbling, “Sorry.”

“For what?” Firepaw grimaced as he tried to catch up to Ravenpaw.

“For—” Ravenpaw’s mouth twitched and opened several times before he continued. “Your feet hurt. Th-that can’t be nice.”

“I’ll live,” Firepaw said cheerfully. He noticed Ravenpaw wince a little at his rather loud response, so he softened his voice. “Did you have sore feet too, when you first explored the borders?”

To his surprise, Ravenpaw gradually slowed down until he was nearly beside him. “Well… no, but I had to get used to all the noise. I mean—you know, camp’s loud too, but it’s different out here.”

“It really is,” Firepaw said, and awe stirred in his chest again. “It’s wonderful here, compared to my old house. The scents especially. They’re so strong! I totally forget there’s birds and stuff out here with the scents!”

Ravenpaw made another noise. It sounded less forced than before, but his face was still tight with anxiety; something told Firepaw to quiet down now and just focus on walking. He caught Greypaw looking back at him with surprise. He waved his tail and Greypaw returned the gesture, then hesitantly turned back again. Firepaw caught Whitecloud glancing at him thoughtfully, but neither of them said anything.

It took entirely too long, it seemed, for them to reach their destination. Firepaw sighed in relief when he stepped into a hollow with soft sand, cooled by the night, giving his paws a well-deserved break. The adults stood in a row, with Ravenpaw coming to stand across from Whitecloud, Greypaw from Lionface, and Firepaw from Bluestar.

Bluestar spoke first. “You two, Greypaw and Ravenpaw, already know what I’m about to say, but we’ll explain for Firepaw’s sake. This is the training grounds for all of our apprentices, and we’re here tonight to test your capabilities in a battle and adjust your training accordingly.” She looked at Firepaw. “You’re quite small for a ThunderClan cat, and I’m assuming inexperienced.”

Firepaw nodded. “I’ve never been in a fight. Well, play-fights with Smudge—my friend, but nothing else.”

“Kittypet fights aren’t much even when they’re serious,” Lionface said dryly.

“Which is why we’ll be assessing him tonight and finding the best way to teach him,” Bluestar said. If Firepaw wasn’t mistaken, there was a slight warning in her voice. Lionface must have heard it too, because he bowed his head respectfully.

“Um…” Firepaw tilted his head. “If I can ask, why do we need to fight?”

“We don’t need to fight,” Lionface said, blinking at Firepaw. “We just need to know how.”

“That’s what ThunderClan’s about!” Greypaw puffed out his chest and stood tall. “We’re huge and strong and tough, and we scare all the other Clans!”

Firepaw didn’t say anything, but his eyes immediately went to Ravenpaw. As if on cue, Ravenpaw hung his head.

“I mean—” Greypaw faltered. “We’re good at battle, that’s all. No matter who you are in ThunderClan, you’re better than everyone else in every other territory. Even, uh, even if you’re skinny and stuff.”

“Which means,” Bluestar said to Firepaw, “that you’ll be just as much a threat as everyone else by the time your training is over.”

Firepaw didn’t know if he quite liked that idea, but he knew not to start off the night by questioning his mentor and leader in front of everyone else. He just nodded.

Bluestar seemed pleased enough with that. “Greypaw, I want you and Firepaw to face off. Everyone else, with me.”

The rest of the cats stepped back and away until Firepaw and Greypaw were standing alone in the clearing. Greypaw turned to face Firepaw with a bit of an uncomfortable expression.  

“I don’t need to hurt him, do I?” he asked Lionface.

Lionface chuffed quietly. “Just do what you know now, and do it lightly.”

“Alright…” Greypaw crouched a little, tail stiff. “Uh, Firepaw, just… dodge me or something—”

“Don’t instruct him,” Bluestar said sharply. “Let him act on his own.”

Firepaw had the same feeling in his gut that he’d had when he first met Greypaw: namely, that he should run. Before he had a chance to act on it, Greypaw lunged, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. Firepaw was bowled over and landed on his back.

“Try again,” Bluestar said.

She said that many more times, and every time Greypaw charged. Firepaw managed to dodge a couple times, but had absolutely no idea what to do after that, and very quickly he was knocked down again. At some point, he caught Ravenpaw being led to a separate part of the hollow by Whitecloud, and he definitely saw Lionface’s expression become more and more amused, with Bluestar’s becoming more and more frustrated.

“Can we stop?” Greypaw asked at last, barely out of breath. “This isn’t fair.”

Bluestar narrowed her eyes.

“He can at least take a break, Bluestar,” Whitecloud said, a distance away. “I don’t think this is getting him anywhere.”

Bluestar’s tail twitched, but she said, “Let the apprentices rest, then. I want to speak with my warriors.”

Greypaw sighed in relief and looked down at Firepaw. “You okay?”

Firepaw, bruised and battered and very desperate for air, managed a wheezing confirmation.

“Sorry.” Greypaw went around to Firepaw’s side and hefted him back onto his feet. “I tried to be gentle. Guess that didn’t go anywhere, huh?”

Firepaw, standing and feeling very sore, coughed sand out of his mouth. “Think… I got hit by a car.”

Greypaw’s ears went back anxiously. “Sorry, Firepaw.”

“I’m not—” Firepaw flicked a paw and almost lost his balance, forcing him to sit down where he was. “I’m not mad. It’s fine.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ravenpaw was close, paws shuffling and eyes wide and concerned. Firepaw gestured an invitation with his tail and Ravenpaw crept forward, hunched a little.

“I, um…” He glanced at Greypaw before speaking to Firepaw. “I was training over there, I didn’t… a-are you okay?”

“Dandy,” Firepaw puffed out.

“Nice of you to ask, Ravenpaw,” Greypaw said. Ravenpaw flinched and he added quickly, “I mean that. It’s nice of you.”

Ravenpaw’s eyes darted from side to side, like he wasn’t sure what to say. He managed a quiet, “Thanks.”

An awkward silence fell between the two of them. Firepaw did his best to save it with, “So… are those two your mentors?”

“Oh!” Greypaw looked at him. “Yeah. Whitecloud is Ravenpaw’s, and Lionface is mine.”

“Okay.” Firepaw had his breath now (mostly), and a thought occurred to him that hadn’t since his first night. “So he’s named after a lion, right? What is that, exactly?”

Greypaw, again, was amused by Firepaw’s obliviousness. “Horoa’s the Lion. One of the Three.”

“They’re the gods that rule over the territories of the Clans,” Ravenpaw said. “Horoa, the Lion, Rokhar, the Tiger, and Suriin, the Leopard. They came from the Mother, who made everything.”

Firepaw nodded sagely. He had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.

“We should hang out with your grandpa soon,” Greypaw said to Ravenpaw. “He knows all the stories, right?”

“ Pampam and the elders do, yes.” Ravenpaw nodded, then seemed to remember his nervousness and fidgeted, adding to Firepaw, “I-if you wanted to, that is. They’d be happy to teach you about everything.”

“That sounds fun,” Firepaw said. “Older cats know more, usually. Most of them. We had a homebody tom at my old house. He pretended to know a lot of things and got them wrong all the time. I don’t think he ever left his yard.”

Greypaw snorted and even Ravenpaw’s whiskers twitched a little humorously. Firepaw couldn’t help being a bit pleased that he’d warmed the air a little with these two. Before he could say anything else, though, Bluestar called for their attention.

“Firepaw,” she said. “I think it’s best that we teach you a few moves before we proceed. Can you stand?”

Firepaw made himself get up, despite very much not wanting to. “I’m ready.”

Bluestar’s eyes narrowed in a bit of a joking sort of scrutinizing. “You’re sure about that?”

“Yep!” he lied.

Bluestar nodded to Greypaw and Ravenpaw. “You two go with your mentors. Firepaw and I will need some space.”

The other apprentices shuffled away, hurrying to where Lionface and Whitecloud were waiting. Bluestar approached Firepaw and spoke to him in a low voice.

“I know this is hard,” she said. “But we need to be tough on you to show everyone that you can make it. You’re doing very well just getting back up every time. Lionface and Whitecloud are very impressed with your determination.”

Firepaw blinked in surprise. “Oh. Thank you. That’s kind of them.”

Bluestar made a soft noise that could have been a purr and tapped him with her tail. “Now come along. We’ll start with something easy.”

Chapter Text

Firepaw couldn’t pretend that he was feeling fine the next night. His chest and sides shrieked with anger if he breathed too deeply, and his feet did not appreciate their forced exercise. When Greypaw went out with Lionface, he immediately saw how haggard and bruised Firepaw was from training and blurted several apologies rapid-fire.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Firepaw responded, voice slightly weak and very exhausted. “I’ll be fine.”

Greypaw shuffled his feet, worry on his face and in his jittering tail. Lionface had to usher him out of camp with a slight push to his shoulder and a nod to Firepaw. Firepaw nodded back and watched them go before walking to the prey-pile like he was made of wood.

“Hard start for you, I see,” a white molly remarked when he started sniffing at the prey.

“Hard enough,” Firepaw joked faintly. “But I’m going to keep at it.”

The molly scanned him with half-closed eyes. “If you didn’t, I’d tell you to leave pretty quickly.”

Firepaw didn’t know what to say to that. There weren’t any good responses in his head. He just returned his attention to the prey-pile and found another one of the dark not-mice. He pointed at it with his paw. “What’s this called?”

The dry contempt on the molly’s face didn’t quite soften, but her tone did, just a little. “It’s called a mole.”

“Mole,” Firepaw repeated, looking at the little creature. He thought of all the other things on the pile he didn’t know. “It has fun paws to chew on.”

“That it does,” the molly said. Abruptly, she pulled out a bird and turned to leave.

Firepaw, wanting to be polite, said, “It was nice talking to you. I-I didn’t learn your name yet.”

“Frostfur,” she said without looking back, and walked away.

“Nice to meet you, Frostfur,” Firepaw said quietly, more to himself than anything. He couldn’t help feeling a little lost on what to do.

He luckily didn’t have to figure it out on his own. Someone cleared her throat behind him and he turned to see Bluestar.

“Good evening,” he said automatically.

“Good evening.” Bluestar looked him over, tilting her head just a little. “You look tired.”

Firepaw tried to stand tall and winced.

“And sore,” Bluestar said. Her eyes flickered to where Frostfur had gone, narrowed for just half a heartbeat, before returning to Firepaw. “Take a night off. You need to rest.”

Firepaw blinked. “Is… is that okay? I just started.”

“It is.” Bluestar lowered her head, looking him more evenly in the eyes. “If you want something to do, you can talk with some of your new Clanmates, or help the elders with whatever they want. That’s one of your duties as an apprentice, anyway.”

Firepaw glanced backwards at the fallen tree the elders resided in. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Bluestar said. “But take it easy. You’ll need to be fresh tomorrow. I can’t give you a break every time you’re sore, otherwise we won’t get anywhere.” Her eyes had a hint of warmth in them. “One night won’t hurt, of course.”

“Okay.” Firepaw made an effort not to sag with relief. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m… well, ‘weak’ is the only word I can think of.”

Bluestar’s warmth was now more sympathetic, if distant. “You were a kittypet. If you could keep up with us at full speed from the start, I’d be amazed. Now, I have some business to handle out of camp. Talk to one of the adults if you need anything. Until then, go ahead and get some breakfast.”

With that, she gave him a tail-wave and turned away (more politely than Frostfur). Firepaw didn’t watch her leave camp. He just picked up the mole and looked around for somewhere to sit.

His first choice was near a dark grey tabby tom. The tom hissed at him and bristled, so he very quickly went the opposite way. His next idea was to visit Goldenflower, but he remembered the warnings about the nursery. He finally walked stiffly to the bottom of the stump Bluestar had stood on when introducing him, sat down very gradually, and ate alone.

While he gnawed at the mole’s wide feet, he watched camp. One massive dark brown tom was speaking quietly with Goldenflower, who looked pleased to see him. Firepaw marveled at how large he was. He also marveled at how Goldenflower was almost his size, making her even more of a giantess than he had grasped before. The tom walked past her after a moment and left camp, his hefted pawsteps audible. Firepaw couldn’t help staring at him until his tail disappeared through the branch-tunnel.

“He’s quite big, isn’t he?”

Firepaw jumped a little at the soft voice in his ear, and he turned his head to see Spottedleaf sitting beside him. How she had snuck up on him, he didn’t know, but she was giving him a very happy face and purring, so he relaxed.

“You’re all really big,” he said. “But he’s the biggest I’ve seen so far. Who is he?”

“One of ThunderClan’s best,” Spottedleaf said, and she certainly sounded proud. “Tigerclaw. He’s Goldenflower’s mate, you know. Otherwise he wouldn’t be allowed near the nursery. He makes the queens nervous.”

Firepaw at least could estimate that being huge and intimidating must be what ThunderClan valued. He was instantly very aware of how much work he had ahead of him to get approval. He munched at his mole as he thought about this.

“You made the right choice,” Spottedleaf said suddenly. “They may not think so, and you may not think so, but you did.”

Firepaw blinked and looked up at her again, still chewing. “Sorry?”

She winked at him and stood up. “Meet the elders when you’re done with your mole. They need to see it too.”

Before Firepaw could ask her what she meant, she trotted off, tail curled over her back. Firepaw continued eating, confused. He eventually figured that he could at least do as she said. Bluestar had mentioned the same thing, so that would probably be the best choice.

When he was finished, he got up (with much protest from his body) and made his way over to the fallen tree. As he approached, he could hear creaky and raspy voices from within, and someone stuttering a purr. He poked his head into the shade made by the roof of the den.

There was a small cluster of cats lying close enough together that everyone was touching someone. One of them looked quite similar to Tigerclaw, just smaller; another was a grey tom, shorter than the rest and with a deep-set scowl wrinkling his face; there was the black-and-white tom that had greeted Firepaw when he first came to ThunderClan; and last, a grey molly, thin and with a slightly-wobbling head. She was looking at the grey tom with some amusement, and he very clearly did not appreciate it.

Firepaw cleared his throat quietly and said, “Excuse me…”

All three toms immediately looked his way. The molly followed them after a moment, and Firepaw flinched at her full face—she was missing one eye, leaving a hollow pocket in her head.

Before he could embarrass himself with a comment, the patched tom started up that wobbly purr. “Firepaw! Good to see you.”

“Ah!” The molly’s voice was rather weak, but it had enthusiasm. “The varmint Bluestar brought in. Hello, boy.”

“Hello,” Firepaw said. He made himself not look at her missing eye, which was an extremely difficult task. “I, um—Bluestar said I should come meet you all.”

The small tom’s face hardened even more, his muzzle wrinkled. “Been long enough. You’ve been here three nights now. No respect for your elders.”

“Oh—” Firepaw fumbled with his words. “I’ve been out of camp, mostly, and—”

The small tom snorted and squinted at the black-and-white tom. “You said he had potential, Patchpelt.”

“He does,” Patchpelt replied. He gave Firepaw a friendly blink. “He’s just got a lot to learn. Have you met everyone else yet, Firepaw?”

Firepaw shook his head. Now that he was looking more closely, he could see some similarities between him and Ravenpaw—they were both sleek and had youthful faces. He guessed this was his grandpa.

“See?” Patchpelt said to the small tom. “He wasn’t ignoring us.”

The small tom grunted, displeased. The dark tabby gave a quiet hum and looked away.

“Well, good to meet you, Firepaw,” the molly said. “I’m One-eye, and this is Patchpelt. That’s Smallstorm—” she nodded to the grey tom “—and Halftail.” She nodded to the dark tabby. “We have obvious names. Should be easy for you to remember.”

Firepaw caught himself looking at her vacant eyehole and cleared his throat. “They are.”

One-eye purred impressively loudly for her frail figure. “I get that look a lot, don’t be ashamed. Every kit always squeals in terror when they see me for the first time.”

“When they bother to come visit,” Smallstorm grumbled. “You apprentices only come here to do your duties. Never take the time to say ‘hello’ once in a while.”

“Ravenpaw does,” Patchpelt said.

“He flinches every time I look at him,” Smallstorm snapped.

“Wonder why,” One-eye said out of the corner of her mouth. Smallstorm whipped his head around to glare at her and she chuffed. Patchpelt’s whiskers twitched.

Firepaw was a little more confident with the air easing. It felt warm and comfortable, even with Smallstorm’s grousing and Halftail still not looking his way. He inched in a few steps before asking, “Do, er, do any of you have ticks or fleas? I think that’s my task tonight.”

“You aren’t touching me, kittypet,” Smallstorm growled.

Wasn’t planning on it, truthfully , Firepaw thought.

Halftail made a small hmph . Firepaw took that as a dismissal.

Patchpelt, at least, was encouraging. “My back’s been a little itchy. Part the fur there and check, if you would.”

Firepaw quickly went around to Patchpelt’s side as he rolled onto his stomach. It was lucky for Firepaw, he thought, that he’d had a tick once himself after exploring in the grass near his home, so he knew what to look for. He had never seen a flea before, but he had an idea from hearing stories that they were tiny black things, like baby ticks. He set to work carefully using his claws to rake the fur, looking closely.

“Easy to see with that white spot, isn’t it,” One-eye said. “I might have a tick or two myself. I always do.”

“If you’d quit rolling around in the grass back behind the den, you wouldn’t,” Smallstorm said. “They ought to clear that place out. I keep telling Bluestar that.”

One-eye rolled her eye. “You haven’t said a word to her about it.”

“I could,” Firepaw offered. “When I see her next.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about it, chrii .” One-eye shook her head. “She comes to us all the time. Anything we need to say to her, we can.”

Firepaw nodded in acknowledgement. He caught sight of a round, dark lump. “Found a tick, I think.”

“You know how to pull one?” Patchpelt said.

“Kind of,” Firepaw said. “I had my human do it once.”

“Ha!” Smallstorm managed to make that single sound carry a dog’s weight of scorn. “Kittypets getting ticks. Where would you find the rotten things in your clean little yard?”

Firepaw deflated a little. “Well, I used to explore outside of my house…”

He thought Halftail’s eyes landed on him, but when he looked up, he was still facing away.

Patchpelt gave Smallstorm a stern look before saying kindly to Firepaw, “You just pinch with your teeth a little around the skin and pull carefully. Sometimes the head stays in if you don’t do it right, and it can make you sick.”

Firepaw remembered his human’s nails doing exactly as Patchpelt described. He leaned in and tried to bite down gently, but firmly. He felt something (he guessed it was the tick’s head) loosen and fall away. He pulled now and the tick came with him. It tasted quite bad, so he spat it out. He noted with pride that its head was firmly on its terrible, fat little body.

One-eye craned her thin, long neck over Patchpelt’s back and peered at the tick. “Well! Did it right first time. Nicely done, boy.”

“Very nice indeed.” Patchpelt purred. “Now you can behead it.”

Firepaw didn’t like it too much, but he used a paw to squish the tick’s front half without complaint. Something dark and thick came out of its body as he pawed it off into the grass. It got on his paw and he sniffed it, disturbed.

“Got blood on you?” Patchpelt said. “Just wipe it off in the grass.”

Firepaw had not seen blood of any kind up close before, and he most definitely did not like that either. He hurried to clean it away with the dewy wet grass and return to the elders.

For a little while, he continued to search Patchpelt, and then One-eye, as they chatted away to each other and sometimes to him. Smallstorm offered complaints or insults that One-eye always found hilarious. After a bit, they didn’t bother Firepaw as much, though he didn’t respond to any of them. That just seemed to be Smallstorm’s natural state of being. Nothing personal. Hopefully.

When he had gone over the two elders completely, having pulled another couple ticks, One-eye said, “You’re free to go now, Firepaw. We’ve prattled your ears off enough, and I’m sure you could use a break.”

“Just to rest my body,” Firepaw said quickly, rushing to not insult her with a blunt “yes”. “I’m hurting a little from last night’s training. But I’m back at it tomorrow.”

“Already sore?” Smallstorm scoffed.

“Greypaw kind of beat me up a little,” Firepaw admitted. “He’s really strong.”

One-eye made a rickety trilling noise. “You poor thing. I wouldn’t want him to even bump into me on accident, and I’m bigger than three of you!”

“We’re all a little frail at this point,” Patchpelt said. “We’d suffer as much as Firepaw.” He turned to Firepaw now. “Get some rest, now. Thank you for coming to take care of us.”

Firepaw bobbed his head, not sure exactly what to say, but reverting to his default. “Nice to meet everyone. Thank you for talking to me.”

Patchpelt looked pleased. One-eye purred and said, “You’re a good one, chrii, but you need to raise your voice a little. I’m half-deaf.”

“Sorry,” Firepaw said, making sure to speak a bit louder. He turned to leave, waving his tail goodbye.

“Hey.”

Firepaw looked behind him. Halftail was finally facing him, yellow eyes narrow and cool.

“Welcome to ThunderClan,” he said.

A rush of relief and happiness went through Firepaw’s body. “Thank you, sir.”

Halftail looked away again without another word. Firepaw took the cue and walked away, feeling less stiff and pained than before.

Chapter Text

“What’s a Gathering?”

Firepaw looked at his fellow apprentices—Greypaw was barely containing himself from bouncing up and down, and Ravenpaw, unusually, had a sparkle in his eyes. Firepaw looked back up at Bluestar, who had just given them the news.

“It’s where all the Clans meet to share news and talk with neighbors past the border,” she said. “You three are old enough to go to one, so you’ll be coming with us.”

“You’re gonna love it,” Greypaw said to Firepaw. “You get to see all sorts of cats there.”

At that, Firepaw had to admit to a bit of excitement. “I do want to see the other Clans. Are they nice?”

“Nice enough for now,” Bluestar said. “It’s a peaceful time.”

“I can’t wait to see those otter cats for myself!” Greypaw barely crouched, like he was about to leap forward and attack someone. “Old RiverClan, with their tiny ears and short tails and stuff. I bet they look ridiculous.”

“They look like owls,” Teaselfoot remarked, walking past. “Wide heads and big eyes. Very silly.”

Greypaw snorted at this. Firepaw turned his head to Ravenpaw now, who offered a weak twitch of the whiskers. He returned with a slow blink and leaned his head in a little.

“Who are you excited to see?” he asked in a low voice.

“Well…” Ravenpaw’s right front foot unsheathed its claws and softly pulled at the camp sand. “I mean, it-it’s going to be a lot of cats, so I don’t know… I guess ShadowClan? I’ve only seen them from far away.” A beat, and then he awkwardly asked, “What about you?”

“I just want to see everybody, myself.” Firepaw’s tail curled and uncurled. “RiverClan and ShadowClan and… what was the other one? WindClan?” Ravenpaw nodded. “I hope they’re friendly. I’d like to talk to a cat from each Clan, if I can.”

“Good to be curious,” Bluestar said with an approving nod of her own. “You’ll have the time to talk to other apprentices, I’m sure. The three of you, get ready to go. We leave very soon. Meet us by the entrance.”

With that, she walked away, leaving the apprentices to look at each other with excitement and trot together to the entrance. Greypaw had a spring in his step, while Ravenpaw lost a bit of his usual “trying to be a shadow on the ground” slink. Firepaw took the lead, reaching the camp entrance first and sitting down by the bush-branch wall.

A few cats came to join the apprentices: Teaselfoot, a pair of tortoiseshells (Firepaw thought one was Brindleface, and the other was...Specklesomething, Speckletail? Specklefur?), Tigerclaw, and a very long-tailed tabby that Firepaw had not spoken with yet, mostly because he always had a look of disdain and annoyance whenever Firepaw walked by. Brindleface and Specklesomething chatted with each other about someone named Tornear possibly getting an apprentice since they last saw him, and Tigerclaw quietly told the tabby (“Lizardtail”, he said) to hold himself in, whatever that meant. Lizardtail seemed to know, because he just looked down with a scowl that somehow managed to still be deadpan.

Bluestar pretty quickly padded up to the collected cats, and with a flick of her tail started through the tunnel. The older cats followed after her, and the apprentices took up the rear. Once they were out in the woods, the party spread out a little, allowing more room for Firepaw to keep up with everyone else without bumping into someone.

“So how often do Gatherings happen?” he asked Greypaw. “A lot?”

Lizardtail rolled his eyes.

“Once a month,” Greypaw said. “Every waking night.”

“He’s not going to know what that is,” Lizardtail said suddenly. When Firepaw looked at him, he was giving Firepaw another annoyed look. “Why would he know of the Three? He’s a kittypet.”

“I know about the Three,” Firepaw said, more hesitantly than he would have liked. “Ravenpaw and Greypaw told me about them.”

“Really.” Lizardtail narrowed his eyes. “Then why is it called a ‘waking night’?”

Firepaw opened his mouth and then closed it again, head lowering a little in embarrassment. “Well, I don’t know that—”

“Of course not.” Lizardtail’s ears slid back contemptuously. “It’s a waking night because Suriin’s eye is fully open in the sky.”

Firepaw looked skyward. Through the dense foliage, he saw a few glittering stars and the moon. He did not see an eye anywhere. He was not willing to keep being stupid and ask for elaboration, so he just looked back down again and trotted in silence.

Lizardtail scoffed. “He doesn’t even know what that means—”

“Do you not have anything better to do than make fun of him?” Brindleface said sharply to Lizardtail. “He’s just a kittypet, he still needs to learn.”

“It’s barely been four days,” agreed Specklesomething, giving Lizardail a stern look. “Give him time.”

Lizardtail did not seem affected by these scoldings. He simply tossed his head—though he did stiffen a little when Tigerclaw barely turned his head so that their eyes met, and he suddenly became very interested in the ferns he was walking past. Tigerclaw turned his corner-of-his-eye gaze on Firepaw. He didn’t know what that stoic look meant, so he just nodded his head sheepishly. Tigerclaw turned away again and the group fell silent.

The walk seemed to take forever to Firepaw, mostly because he didn’t know where they were going, so he had no way to measure how close they were to their destination. He had lost track of time when the forest suddenly ended and the party was out in the open, heading for the trees standing together in the distance.

A breeze gently passed through the group like water through rocks. Firepaw sniffed the air and was struck with a flood of scents he couldn’t identify by name; some were like the wet food he’d had in his first house, others a bit less pleasant with a tinge of sickness, others still airy and dusty. As they approached the trees, Firepaw trotted faster until he was alongside Bluestar, staring at what lay before him.

An uncountable number of cats stood or sat together, all of different shapes, sizes and colors. Here was seated an incredibly tall and thin tom speaking to what must have been a kitten with huge ears that was nothing but skin-and-bones. There a heavyset patched molly trilled at a joke, her face round and pleasant. A sour-looking skinny black cat with a white upper lip said something quietly to his friend, who had the biggest, most gentle eyes Firepaw had ever seen, entirely too large for his skeletal face. A cat as wide as he was tall trotted over to speak with the black tom, his tail half the length it should have been, though it didn’t seem damaged.

Firepaw gawked, eyes wide. His fur fluffed out as he looked upon this menagerie of cats unlike any he had ever seen in his old neighborhood. These cats were most certainly not cared for by humans—their many different scents had the freshness of the wild, and even the round cats had muscled legs and something in their face that gave Firepaw the impression of a wise veteran with many stories of dangerous adventures to tell.

Self-control barely restrained him from leaving the party behind and sprinting straight into the crowd. Curiosity tugged at that restraint, wailing in protest. Firepaw could feel Bluestar’s eyes on him as his steps jittered with excitement and the forcefully slow pace to stay with everyone else.

Bluestar, taking pity on him, turned her head back to Greypaw and Ravenpaw. “You three can run ahead if you want.”

Firepaw didn’t wait for them—he bolted forward, tail fluffed and high in the air. He heard Greypaw’s heavy feet behind him and a worried squeak from Ravenpaw, but they barely registered in his excitement. He was upon the crowd in mere heartbeats, barely skidding to a stop in time to avoid smashing into a lanky brown tabby about his size.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, a little breathless from the run.

“S’alright…” the tom started, before his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slowly, scanning Firepaw. In a very flat tone, the tom added, “What Clan are you from?”

“He’s with us,” Greypaw said, catching up to Firepaw with Ravenpaw behind him. “ThunderClan.”

The tom’s face gave away nothing, but one ear swiveled forward. “Small as a fly, for a ThunderClan cat.”

“Oh, I was a kittypet,” Firepaw said, too fast for him to realize that keeping his mouth shut might have been a better idea. “I, um… just got to the Clans a few days ago.”

“Ah.” The tom nodded slowly. “Well, welcome to warrior life.”

Firepaw blinked. “You’re not surprised?”

“He’s very surprised,” someone said, “he’s just a WindClan cat.”

All the toms looked over to see a very pretty silver-and-white molly about their age come strutting up, her kitten-short tail wagging like a dog’s.

“ThunderClan’s bringing in rabble now, are they?” She looked Firepaw up and down, but her tone was quite friendly. “Well, look at you, so small! You must get squashed by the other apprentices when it’s time to sleep.”

Firepaw hesitated, not sure how to answer her.

Greypaw answered for him. “We’ve got a bigger den than you think. Better than whatever puddle of water you sleep in.”

The molly, completely unbothered, made a joking overly-impressed face. “Ohhh, is that what you heard? We’ve got dens, too, fluffy, and they’re mighty comfortable.”

Firepaw looked sideways and saw the brown apprentice’s eyes roll.

“So you’re from WindClan?” he said as Greypaw and the molly went back and forth. “It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Firepaw.”

“Wrenpaw,” he replied. “Strong name for you to bear.”

“Thank you… I think.” Firepaw intercepted possible awkwardness by pointing with his tail to his fellow apprentices. “That’s Greypaw and Ravenpaw. We’re all new apprentices.”

Wrenpaw nodded to Ravenpaw, who returned the nod with a look like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“There’s so many cats here,” Firepaw went on. “I’m guessing she’s from RiverClan?”

“Mm,” said Wrenpaw.

“So are these kittens ShadowClan?” Firepaw looked around at the tiny things scattered among the crowd. “Why did they send so many cats our age?”

Wrenpaw’s eyes had the faintest flicker of amusement in them. “They’re all warriors. ShadowClan cats are just like that.”

Firepaw stared at him. “They are? Are they all okay? They’re so small and hungry-looking.”

“They’re like that,” Wrenpaw said again.

“Wow.” Firepaw raised his head up a little to scan the crowd. “I’ve never seen anyone like you guys before. Well, I mean, these RiverClan cats, they kind of look like some kittypets I knew, but…”

“The nerve on you!” The silver molly leaned to the side to look past Greypaw with an exaggeratedly shocked face. “Comparing us to your flabby friends. We actually work for our food out here! This body isn’t just fat, you know, we’re quite strong.”

“Not as strong as us,” countered Greypaw.

“Well, obviously,” the molly said. “You’re all huge to compensate for that itty bitty mind of yours.”

Before Greypaw could retort, there was a yowl. The clearing immediately fell silent, the only sound coming from the trees rustling in the wind overhead.

Bluestar was sitting on a huge, flat boulder with other cats. One was an incredibly tall, incredibly thin black tom with white markings, who sat perfectly still. The brown-and-white one left to Bluestar was shorter, but much bulkier—and if Firepaw was seeing correctly, his jaw was stuck severely to the right, his tongue poking out a little. The tom to the right was quite tiny compared to the others, a dark brown tabby with long fur and a tail that looked like it had been broken and healed at a bad angle.

The tom with the bad jaw stood up and spoke first, surprisingly easy to understand despite the injury. “Welcome, all, welcome! Fine night for a Gathering, eh?”

Murmurs of assent breezed through the crowd.

“Let’s not waste any time on the news, then,” the tom said. “We’ll let you get back to your gossip soon enough. To start with…” He leaned forward to look past Bluestar and nodded to the tiny tom. “How about you, ShadowClan’s new leader?”

“As you like.” The tom bobbed his head and stood up. It barely made a difference to his height. “Good evening, everyone. I am now Brokenstar. My father, Raggedstar, has unfortunately journeyed on to StarClan, and passed leadership down to me.”

Many scattered comments of sympathy, and Bluestar looked at Brokenstar too.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “He was a fine leader. I’m sure you’ll do well in his stead.”

“I can only hope so,” Brokenstar replied sadly. He sighed softly, sat back down, and turned to the crowd again. “Aside from that, ShadowClan is well. We’ve had no incidents or ceremonies to make note of.” To the tom with the bad jaw, he said, “Shall you go next, Crookedstar?”

“Might as well.” Crookedstar’s tongue licked at his upper jaw. “Our best foot first—my daughter has become an apprentice!”

The silver molly puffed out her chest as the crowd voiced congratulations.

“You were talking dirt to the leader’s daughter?” Firepaw whispered to Greypaw.

Greypaw didn’t respond. He looked nervous.

“And with that comes a stumble,” Crookedstar went on. “Our river’s been a little thin. We hope that rain comes soon to fatten it up.” His eyes slid over to Bluestar, glinting. “If not, we have other resources, of course.”

Bluestar narrowed her eyes at him. The black tom and Brokenstar both suddenly looked annoyed (Brokenstar much more so than the other leader).

“Still—” Crookedstar returned his attention to the gathered cats. “All in all, we’re doing fine. Don’t have much else to say, so, Rookstar?”

The black tom gave one slow nod and spoke in such a flat and quiet voice that Firepaw almost couldn’t hear him. “WindClan has three new apprentices: Wrenpaw, Tawnypaw, and Palepaw. We also have two new warriors: Thrushwing and Stoneclaw.”

“Congratulations,” Firepaw said to Wrenpaw, the crowd mirroring him. “We’re both new!”

Wrenpaw flicked his tail in response. Firepaw was not sure what that meant.

“There have been no new kemeran from the east,” Rookstar continued. “However, an unfamiliar scent of badger has been found just past the Barn on the edge of our territory. We will watch carefully and send news if the badger advances to any of your borders.”

“What’s a badger?” Firepaw whispered to Greypaw.

“Big grey ugly thing,” Greypaw whispered back. “Long nose and a black-and-white head.”

While Firepaw tried to imagine this “badger”, Rookstar looked at Bluestar. “We have no other news.”

Bluestar took the cue and raised her head, speaking with more authority than her fellow leaders. “ThunderClan’s new apprentices come tonight as Greypaw, Ravenpaw, and Firepaw.”

Another welcoming response from the crowd, but when cats spotted Firepaw, their eyes lingered with curiosity and confusion. He tried to politely blink at all of them, a little nervous at the scrutiny. Ravenpaw looked relieved that the attention wasn’t on him.

“Our warriors are well-fed this newleaf,” Bluestar said, and eyes slowly turned back to her. “We have no one on our borders to drive off.” She copied Crookedstar’s sidelong glance. “But we are very well prepared to handle those that want to push their luck.”

Crookedstar made a huff that seemed to involve his entire body. He looked amused, rather than threatened.

Bluestar looked forward again. “No other news tonight. It seems to have been a good month for all of us.”

The other leaders gave various agreeing murmurs or gestures. Crookedstar stood up.

“Then let’s end our reports here,” he said, “and give you all more time to catch up. Suriin, keep that eye open a little longer! We’ve got some chatting to do.”

He jumped down from the boulder, followed by the other leaders, Bluestar very close behind him. The clearing rippled with noise again as conversations continued.

Firepaw didn’t say anything for a moment. He scanned the crowd, admiring all the differences from one cat to another, listening happily to their voices, their accents leaking through or their pitches squeaky or rumbling. His heart beat rapid-fire, and a breeze circled him, carrying their scents again.

Spottedleaf was right, he thought. This is the life for me. I’ve been missing out on so much.

Chapter Text

The next evening came with another wonderful first: Firepaw, Greypaw, and Ravenpaw were taken to the sandy hollow again to start hunting practice. They would be able to catch their own prey and, better yet, contribute to the Clans’ hungry mouths. A real chance to prove his worth! Firepaw was ecstatic.

The less wonderful part of this first was that the older, surlier apprentices were there with them.

Firepaw knew their names by now—it was very easy to remember after the molly, Sandpaw, had almost bitten his head off for asking. Dustpaw, at least, had simply given his name with a growl and a look of deep offence that Firepaw didn’t know it. He had then stalked off to sit with Sandpaw, tail lashing, and they had glared at the newbie before pointedly ignoring him to talk with each other.

Firepaw had a distinct impression that they did not like him very much.

Well, maybe he could get them to be friendlier in the future. For now, he just had to stay out of their way and focus on this crawling movement that Redtail was showing him.

“Belly off the ground, that’s the important part,” Redtail said. “Your fur is short, so this’ll be easier for you than us.”

Firepaw mimicked Redtail’s posture, keeping low to the ground while trying to not just lie down. He silently scolded himself for having such a hard time in an educational setting when he’d managed to sneak up on that mouse the first time he’d come into the forest.

Bluestar, thankfully, was not here to watch her apprentice belly-crawl like a buffoon. She had been called away on a strange scent by one of the borders, leaving the rest of the mentors—Tigerclaw, Whitecloud, Redtail, and Lionface—and their apprentices to train without her. Redtail had paused watching Dustpaw, his own apprentice, to help Firepaw along.

Firepaw caught a few glances of his fellows as he practiced; Greypaw was still trying to work around his huge feet and copious fluff, but Ravenpaw was doing comparatively better. Not too surprising, since Ravenpaw already walked like he was trying to be a shadow. Dustpaw and Sandpaw, being older, were doing perfectly (he guessed, since they weren’t being corrected), but they still had complaints.

“I could be actually hunting right now,” Sandpaw grumbled. “I have this down, Tigerclaw.”

Tigerclaw’s amber eyes narrowed just a smidge. “The other apprentices will improve from seeing you.”

Sandpaw looked with great annoyance at Firepaw, Greypaw, and Ravenpaw. “They have their mentors! What, is Lionface just unable to hunt now?”

“You’re being an embarrassment, dear,” Redtail said lightly as he used a paw to press Firepaw’s back down a little. “Just do as your mentor says.”

“Arpam , I could be finding prey for the elders right now!” Sandpaw protested. “I don’t need to practice or show these little—”

“That,” said Tigerclaw, “is enough.”

Firepaw watched in awe as Sandpaw’s mouth shut with a click of her teeth. She scowled at the ground, but continued her stalking.

“It’s a sad night when her mentor has more control over her than me,” Redtail murmured, seemingly to himself.

Firepaw looked at Redtail. “She’s your daughter?” he asked, barely cutting off the following question of “and she acts like that instead of like you?”

Redtail nodded and returned to business. “Try moving forward again.”

Firepaw positioned himself again, focusing on having his paws moving silently and keeping his belly off the ground. He managed to stalk a few steps forward, almost reaching the edge of the hollow, before looking back questioningly at Redtail.

“Very good,” the deputy said, trotting up to him. “You’re keeping your tail still without needing to be told, too. You’re doing well.”

“Oh, good!” Firepaw straightened up without thinking, realized what he did, and immediately dropped into the crouch again.

Redtail’s eyes lit up with amusement. “You can walk normally now, Firepaw.”

A little sheepish, Firepaw stood up and turned around to face him. “What now?”

“Now, I think…” Redtail looked over to Lionface and Whitecloud, raising his voice. “Shall we give them a moment to rest?”

Lionface rolled a shoulder ambivalently. Whitecloud nodded and said something to Ravenpaw. Ravenpaw stood up and slipped around Greypaw, who had just tripped over his fur that was caught under one of his paws. The grey tabby got to his feet, shook himself free of sand, and walked with Ravenpaw over to Firepaw.

“I’ll tell you what, I am most certainly not built for hunting,” Greypaw said. “Did you see that stumble?”

Ravenpaw lifted a paw to his mouth like he was trying to hide something and gave it a lick. “You, um, didn’t do too bad.”

Greypaw snorted. “I’d do better in WindClan. I could just tackle a rabbit and sit on it until it suffocates.”

“You’re not fast enough to do that,” Dustpaw said stiffly as he passed the younger apprentices. “Rabbits are the quickest prey in the territories.”

“Well, now, that’s news to me,” Greypaw said. “Wouldn’t have known that if you didn’t tell me.”

Dustpaw twitched a lip and he picked up his pace to go visit Sandpaw, who was talking with Tigerclaw and Redtail. Greypaw shared a smarmy look with Ravenpaw and Firepaw, who both had to contain a chuff so that Dustpaw didn’t hear them.

“I’ve never seen a rabbit,” Firepaw said. “Are they in this territory?”

“Nah, not really.” Greypaw sighed out the sentence. “They like open spaces. They’ll show up in the neutral grounds around Fourtrees, but that’s about it for us seeing them anywhere.”

“They’re pretty distinct,” Ravenpaw added. “They have very long ears and back legs.”

Firepaw blinked. He faintly recalled sitting with his old human, watching the moving things on their sheet in the living room. One time, something with long ears had been chewing on grass, occasionally looking around with big, dark eyes. “Are they brown with a puffy tail?”

“So you do know them!” Greypaw looked impressed. “Are there some in the Houses?”

“Oh, no, it was just a…” Firepaw motioned with his front paw, trying to recall the name of it. “At my old house, we had a big flat thing that shows animals or plants moving around on its face.”

He was suddenly aware of everyone’s eyes being on him, varying from curious to scornful.

“What do you mean, ‘big flat thing’?” Greypaw tilted his head and squinted like he was struggling to imagine it. 

“Well, it was big and flat.” Firepaw’s tail tapped thoughtfully. “It had a little thickness to it, but it was still flat on both sides.”

“Like the slate slabs at Sunningrocks?” Whitecloud prompted. 

Firepaw nodded. “Yeah, like that, just upright.”

“I still don’t get it,” Greypaw said. “Was the rabbit inside it?”

“Sort of, but not really.” Firepaw was delighted to finally know something these Clanborn cats didn’t. “It would have, like, say, a mouse running around in it, but the mouse wasn’t really there. It was just a fake image. Humans like to sit and watch it a lot, so you get used to seeing things that aren’t real.”

He almost snorted at the pure bafflement on everyone’s faces. Even Tigerclaw and Lionface were staring at him with open confusion.

“Wait, so—” Greypaw shuffled around to face Firepaw directly. “It’s like—you see a mouse in front of you, but it’s not a mouse? Is it a vision of some kind?”

“Like a dream,” Ravenpaw elaborated, before Firepaw could ask. “Something that’s in your head.”

“Not really.” Firepaw thought hard on how to translate the idea, perking up when he had something. “It’d be like if you were looking into some water, and you see your reflection. It’s there, and you can see it moving around, but it’s not actually real. If you were to touch it, it’d just be water. That’s basically how it works, just with random stuff on it.”

This explanation worked—everyone’s eyes brightened with understanding, and a few cats nodded or made noises of comprehension. Even Sandpaw and Dustpaw looked interested, glancing at each other curiously.

“Humans are a strange type of creature,” Redtail said. “You must have seen many other things we’ve never even heard of.”

“Here and there,” Firepaw replied, a little proud.

“Then you may know more about this side of the world than you thought.” Whitecloud actually leaned forward a little, calm but curious. “You know rabbits. What about the Three?”

Firepaw’s pride immediately melted. “I mean, maybe, but I don’t know what they all look like.” He looked to Tigerclaw and Lionface. “You’re both named after two of them, I think.”

Lionface nodded.

“It’s to honor them,” Ravenpaw said suddenly (and surprisingly earnestly). “Tiger-, Lion-, Leopard-, they all mean to say that you look like one of them. Horoa is big and golden like Lionface, with a mane around his neck. I mean, he’s a lot larger, but it’s the idea.”

Firepaw faintly recalled seeing something similar to this description on the box. It was so faint, though, that he barely could grasp the image in his mind.

“And the Tiger looks like Tigerclaw?” he asked. “Is he all big and stripey too?”

Tigerclaw’s eyes crinkled a little like Firepaw had told a joke.

“That’s… a way to put it.” Redtail had a similar look to Tigerclaw. “Rokhar’s a little beyond us.”

“They all are,” Whitecloud said.

It was Firepaw’s turn to be confused. He looked to the adults, bursting with questions. “But you described Horoa fine. What are they then if they’re ‘beyond us’? Where did they even come from?”

“They’re from the Mother,” Ravenpaw said. “Like all things.”

Firepaw looked at him, then turned to Whitecloud helplessly.

Whitecloud took pity and said calmly, “While we rest, this would be a good time to get him acquainted. Would one of you apprentices like to tell him the First Story?”

“Oh!” Greypaw jumped to his feet. “Ravenpaw, you and Patchpelt are good at that. You tell it!”

Ravenpaw immediately looked like he wanted to melt into the ground and become sand himself. “I, uh…”

“Give it a try,” Whitecloud said gently.

Ravenpaw’s jaw jittered like he was cold, but he looked at his mentor, drew in a breath, and swallowed.

“Well…” he started, glancing again at Whitecloud, who nodded. “Um…

“Long, long ago when the world was barren, life as we know it was little more than a foggy breath in the winter; a thought passing by and fading into nothing. There were no cats, no humans, no badgers or foxes or anything else. Life was giant. There were tree-like things with massive legs and feet like roots that tore up dirt with every step, or beasts that were little more than walking stone, moss and soil clinging to their backs. They were what the land should have had, but they kept it to themselves for power and life. They were Titans, and nothing had ever been as big or as dangerous as them before or has been since.

“They didn’t speak like us, either. They roared and rumbled and communicated by bites and slashes, each trying to stake territory in the plain, unassuming land they lived on. The skies were red and brown with the dust that rose every time one fought another. There was no chance for anything to grow on the ground, because it would just be destroyed again. The only way plants could exist was to hang on the bodies of the Titans and pray that they weren’t shrugged off.

“But there was one being, apart from all of them. A giant even by their standards. She was the heaviest and largest creature in the world, and she was tired of the constant chaos. She wanted there to be life, and she wanted there to be peace.

“She didn’t have a name then, but in time, she would come to be known as the Mother. She was the start of everything we know today, and… and…”

Ravenpaw suddenly faltered, like he had just realized all over again that he was being watched. His words turned to mumbles and he looked down at the ground.

Firepaw wanted to help him, but he had no idea how. He fidgeted, anxious to do something.

Luckily, Whitecloud lifted his head, saying, “I can take it from here, Ravenpaw, if you’d like.”

Ravenpaw didn’t look up. He just nodded shamefully. Firepaw caught Tigerclaw and Sandpaw exchanging a look he couldn’t decipher. If he had to guess, it was, for some reason, a warning from Tigerclaw.

“Continuing,” Whitecloud said, breezy and relaxed, “the Mother started her quest for life by slaying the other Titans. Their bodies—those rocks and plants on them, if you’ll remember—they melted into the ground where the Titan died. They became part of the landscape we know now.

“It wasn’t perfect, though. There were still no walking things that were small enough to be comfortable in this new world. Besides that, there was no order. Stones and trees just lay scattered about. It wasn’t organized, you see. The Mother wanted something done about that.

“So she got to work, and she made three children.

“The first was Rokhar, the Tiger, striped dark and bright, and much, much larger than we can comprehend. He took over the sky, clearing the air of dust and giving us a place to see our ancestors as the stars in the night.”

Whitecloud nodded upwards, and Firepaw looked up at the uncountable little white glimmering dots.

“The second was Suriin, the Leopard, spotted with beautiful rings of darkness. She scored a long, long gash in the ground and filled that gash with rainwater. Plants flourished as the water spread and the rain soaked into the earth. Small plants like grass and ferns grew quickly with this gift.

“Finally, there was Horoa, the Lion. He did not have anything to do just yet, as the youngest, but he decided upon two things. The first was to take his burning left eye and throw it into the sky, and why do you think that is?”

Whitecloud tilted his head to Firepaw now. Firepaw’s mind scrambled and he managed to stutter, “B-because, uh, because it’s like Suriin, right? She made her eye the moon, I think, so… his eye is the sun?”

“Very good.” Whitecloud nodded. “Yes, he created the daytime for us. But more than that, he swore to watch over the Mother’s future children, to protect them from any monsters that hid away from the Three to stalk the shadows. He patrolled the land, watching carefully and slaying any beast that dared show its face.” Whitecloud huffed out an amused breath. “And he managed to convince Suriin to help him by giving her right eye to make the moon. But, as you can see from here on, she doesn’t always watch us. Her eye’s always opening and closing.”

Firepaw looked up again, this time angling to see the moon, which was already narrowing, though just a whisker’s breadth. He had a feeling he should be comforted, knowing that the Clan was being watched, but he had a faint feeling of being judged instead.

“With everything set in place,” Whitecloud continued, “the Mother got to work. She created thousands of animals: mice, deer, hedgehogs, owls, and, of course, us.”

“We ended up being her best work, if you ask me,” Redtail said.

“That we did.” Whitecloud nodded again. “Of course, all animals fought among themselves here and there, but by that point the Mother’s work was done. She burrowed into the earth, laid her head down, and drifted into a sleep so deep that, to this day, she has never awoken. That is how it happened, and this is how it’s told.” His voice became more serious. “Remember, Firepaw, that we have a duty to honor her for all she’s done to make our world, and to make us. You’ll get to see her yourself sometime soon, I imagine, and you can learn more there. That’s part of the tradition.”

There was a pause. It took Firepaw a moment to realize the story was over. What the proper response was to such a story, he wasn’t sure, but he did have a question or two, so he blurted them out.

“Why did the Mother care so much about life that didn’t exist yet?” he said. “I mean, did anything like that exist before?”

“The Titans were alive too,” Greypaw said, with an ‘obviously’ in his voice. “She just knew about it.”

“Maybe it was a dream, then,” Firepaw said, more to himself than anything. “Like the slab, or something.”

“She didn’t see a cat on a slab of slate,” Dustpaw said sharply. “She had us in her head, as a vision, probably.”

Firepaw was about to question that ‘probably’ when the underbrush shifted. Everyone got to their feet as Bluestar stepped into the clearing, eyes narrowed and tail twitching.

“What did you find?” Redtail asked.

Bluestar huffed an annoyed sigh. “RiverClan’s on our territory. The Sunningrocks has their scent all over the place. Crookedstar was making a threat at the Gathering.”

Immediately, all cats bristled, except for a confused Firepaw. Even Ravenpaw looked a bit irritated.

“We’ll have a Clan meeting tonight,” Bluestar said. “I want everyone home as soon as possible in the meantime. We can continue training tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the warriors said together, nodding curtly. They crossed the hollow, nosing their apprentices and leading them into the woods.

Firepaw watched them go, completely lost. He only moved when Bluestar came up to him and cleared her throat.

“You’ll be seeing a little more of Clan life soon,” she said. “Not the part I particularly wanted you to see. Come along.”

She started off after the warriors and apprentices. Firepaw hesitantly followed her, glancing up at the sky one last time. He caught sight of the moon again, and his mind set to wondering about the story he had been told as he entered the labyrinth of ferns and bushes.

Chapter Text

The apprentices were left with Bluestar for their mentors to split off and find a couple patrols that were out in the territory. Whatever the implications of this situation were had them all tense and bristling, and Firepaw was steadily growing more concerned.

It took very little time after he got home for the rest of the Clan to emerge from their dens or come into camp, all talking to each other about whatever snippet of the news they had caught. The dark tabby came to sit with Tigerclaw and Goldenflower, Lizardtail taking a spot beside the tabby. Firepaw, nudged around by the crowd, landed in front of Goldenflower and behind his apprentice friends. He had to sit up on his haunches to get a look over Mousefur’s head and see Bluestar.

“I’m sure the news has gone around,” she said, “but I will officially inform you all that RiverClan scents have been found at Sunningrocks again. Those that went to the Gathering can recall Crookedstar’s very thinly veiled threat. It appears he’s taken up on it.”

Growls and shouts of anger erupted from ThunderClan. Firepaw looked around in astonishment at the outrage on everyone’s faces. Should he be shouting too? But what would be wrong about some scents, exactly?

Bluestar raised her tail and the crowd quieted. She continued, “I have no doubts that they’re waiting for an opportunity to attack. I want at least four cats in any patrol in that area. We’re doubling border patrols and marking as well. Hunt around there in groups and have someone on watch. And—” she narrowed her eyes “—any RiverClanners on the grounds are to be fought off immediately.”

“We ought to take out all the prey there so they have nothing to fight for,” the tabby groused.

“That’d be a waste, Darkstripe,” Lizardtail said. “You know that.”

Darkstripe’s muzzle wrinkled and he glared sideways. “It’d work.”

“That’s all for now,” Bluestar said. “You can return to your business. Spottedleaf, Redtail, I want a word with both of you.”

She turned and jumped down right where Firepaw thought he could see Spottedleaf’s plumy tail. The rest of the Clan slowly split up into different conversations about RiverClan and the border. A few cats went back out as Greypaw and Ravenpaw joined up with Firepaw.

“Well, we aren’t hunting there any time soon,” Greypaw said. “Unless we’re part of a big patrol, I guess.”

“I don’t really get it,” Firepaw said. “Why do we need to fight over the Sunningrocks?”

To his surprise, even Ravenpaw looked at him with shock. Firepaw could feel eyes on him from behind.

“Are you serious?” Greypaw asked incredulously. “That’s our territory! We have to fight for it, otherwise they’ll steal it!”

“Oh,” Firepaw mumbled. His ears went low. “I guess that’s true. Is it really that important?”

“It’s vital,” Goldenflower said. She stood up and walked over to Firepaw, speaking like she was explaining something complicated to a kitten. “ThunderClan has fought for Sunningrocks for generations now. It’s our duty to hold on to it.”

Firepaw turned to her, less afraid of rebuke from her. “How come? Is there a big reason?”

“The point is that it’s kept away from RiverClan,” Lizardtail sniffed, “and that’s reason enough.”

Firepaw stared at him now, totally puzzled. He’d seen Sunningrocks himself—it was just a bunch of flat rocks by the river. He tried to find a reason in his head for it, coming up with, “So there must be a lot of prey and important things there, right?”

“Well…” Ravenpaw looked thoughtful, squinting a little. “No, I don’t think it has that much prey. The stones there are good for sunning during the day, though.”

Firepaw was even more confused. “But we sleep during the day! Why do we—”

“You’re asking too many questions,” Darkstripe snapped. “That land is ours and we’re keeping it. End of discussion.”

Firepaw shut his mouth then, even with Goldenflower’s patient purr. Perhaps that was a good thing, because his only thought now was that, frankly, this whole thing sounded pretty stupid.

Nights passed with no action from either side. More scents were found, but never in time to catch RiverClan in the act of trespassing. In the meantime, warriors kept a sharp eye on Sunningrocks and all of the apprentices’ training went right back to combat.

Firepaw tried his best to repress the complaints rising in his throat. What was the point of this? If he wasn’t great at fighting, why spend the resources to train him from terrible to less than terrible? Surely Bluestar was embarrassed by his constant failures.

To her credit, she was trying hard to be patient with him, and Firepaw appreciated that. She corrected his moves and advised him over and over about dodging with every scrap of kindness she could scrounge up. But as he struggled to avoid Greypaw and failed to land a solid blow on Ravenpaw, that patience and kindness drained increasingly.

“We’ve been over this,” she was saying now, an edge in her voice that Firepaw didn’t like at all. “You need to aim for the chest and throat. You’re going for his side.”

“Sorry,” Firepaw said for the umpteenth time that session. “I’m trying, but he’s fast.”

“Should I slow down?” Ravenpaw asked, cowering at Bluestar’s rising voice.

“No,” she said sharply. Ravenpaw flinched. “Firepaw, you don’t have the advantage of size or strength. You need to be quick and precise if you want to win a fight.”

“I know,” Firepaw said, shame warming his ears. “I’m doing my best, I promise.”

Bluestar gave him a hard look. “Your best needs to be better.”

Firepaw hung his head, ears now burning. He wanted to make some excuse for himself. He knew that he couldn’t, and that he shouldn’t. All the same, it was hard to acknowledge his weakness and failure to live up to any expectations at all, let alone his leader’s. He tucked his front feet close together and said nothing, a lump in his throat. 

A quiet, deep voice broke through. “If I may, Bluestar…”

Firepaw looked up. Tigerclaw had stepped away from Sandpaw and was now standing close to his leader.

“I can try to teach him a few things,” he said. His voice was just low enough that he couldn’t be overheard by the other mentors and their apprentices. “If you would like.”

Bluestar, surprisingly, relaxed a little. “It couldn’t hurt. I’m sure you have some advice for him that I don’t.”

Tigerclaw bowed his head to her and approached Firepaw slowly, as if he was afraid to spook him. Firepaw was, admittedly, a little intimidated by this dark brown… Titan, his mind said immediately, but he didn’t speak it aloud. He stood straight and turned fully to face him. 

Tigerclaw had to crouch a little to meet Firepaw’s eye level. He spoke conversationally, like he was remarking on some innocuous leaf on the ground. “The deadliest points to strike a cat, or any animal, are the throat and stomach. Incapacitating points are the eyes, ears, and nose. Even if you don’t want to kill, you should hit where it hurts to scare your opponent off.”

Firepaw nodded, repeating this in his head.

“The issue for you,” Tigerclaw went on, “is that you’re small and thin in a Clan full of cats like me.”

“You’re kind of in a league all your own, honestly,” Firepaw said.

Tigerclaw’s whiskers twitched. “Then a Clan full of large warriors. We all learn to fight using our size, which is an advantage that you don’t have. So you need to fight like ShadowClan. You’ve seen them already?”

Firepaw nodded again. “They’re really small.”

“And yet they’re not a Clan I would want to take on alone,” Tigerclaw said. “They’ve learned better than anyone how to end a battle quickly. And their main capabilities lie in aiming for those deadly and incapacitating points fast enough and, importantly, viciously enough that you’d rather run than face them. Part of that is not just being quick, but predicting how your much larger opponent will act. And we can all be rather predictable, even in ThunderClan.”

He now shifted his crouch as if he was about to pounce at Firepaw. “Like this, you have complete access to my face, but odds are that I’ll be moving upwards to try and knock you down. What does that give you access to then?”

Firepaw thought for a second, imagining the warrior rearing up. “The throat and stomach.”

“Right,” said Tigerclaw. “If I start to rise, then you need to aim for one of those two areas. You can intercept me before I have a chance to land on you. That distracts me enough that I’m now trying to get away from you, or pull you off of me, and my attack fails. You can do a lot of damage in that short amount of time it takes to remove you. Can you try that?”

Firepaw, caught off guard by the sudden question, managed a, “Yea- yes, sir,” and prepared a pouncing crouch himself.

Tigerclaw rose up and reared onto his hind legs, front paws spread out. Firepaw didn’t take a moment to think; he just jumped straight for what he could easily hit. That happened to be Tigerclaw’s stomach.

To Firepaw’s surprise, he hit Tigerclaw hard enough to make the warrior stumble back a little. He tried to latch on carefully, and that just resulted in him falling down onto the ground with fur in his mouth. Tigerclaw took a few steps away before lowering himself back onto all fours, appraising Firepaw, his eyes lit a little.

“Good,” he said. “That’s an important move to know.”

Firepaw pawed the fur out of his mouth, his eyes catching Bluestar. She looked pleased (and not a little relieved) and nodded approvingly. He brightened up and said to Tigerclaw, “I’ve got one thing now, at least!”

Tigerclaw’s eyes creased a little. “You do have that.”

Firepaw was invigorated after this brief lesson, going at his practice with more fervor. By the time training was over, he walked with more confidence along after Bluestar, tail high. Fighting still wasn’t entirely fun, but at least he would be able to better defend himself.

He was very hungry as they entered camp, beelining straight for the prey pile. He caught sight of a rather fat mole and reached for it.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He paused, paw midair, and looked back. Dustpaw was approaching, giving him a death glare.

“You didn’t hunt any of this,” he growled. “You haven’t even hunted at all. You wait for the adults to eat first. They’re the ones who caught all that.”

Firepaw blinked. He hadn’t heard this rule yet. “Sorry, I didn’t know—”

“Neither did I, actually.”

Dustpaw jerked back as Redtail came up behind him. Redtail strolled over to Firepaw, his tail half-curled.

“I wasn’t aware we put a new rule in place,” he said, giving his apprentice a pointedly friendly look. “Did Bluestar tell you this, Dustpaw? I certainly don’t remember talking to her about it.”

The bravado Dustpaw had immediately vanished. His eyes darted around like he was looking for an excuse, or an escape.

“Perhaps you should ask Bluestar or the elders about that, just to be sure,” Redtail said, still casual. “Your prey will be here when you come back.”

Dustpaw’s mouth worked as he tried several times to formulate a response. He finally just scowled at Firepaw, whirled around and stalked off with a lash of his tail.

Firepaw watched him go, ears lowered. “I think he hates me.”

“That’s not a statement against you,” Redtail said kindly. “He’s always hostile about outsiders. He’ll warm up to you eventually. Go ahead and get your prey.”

Relieved, Firepaw pulled out the mole. Redtail’s mention of outsiders made him remember the situation with Sunningrocks and RiverClan.

“Does Sunningrocks have prey at all?” he asked.

Redtail moved past him to fetch a grey bird. “It does, yes, even outside of the river. We don’t bother with the fish, just the things on the shoreline.”

Firepaw tilted his head. “Why not fish? Can’t we share them with RiverClan?”

“It wouldn’t be too good of an idea,” Redtail said.

“I don’t know,” Firepaw said, thinking aloud now. “If we shared prey in general, that’d help stop any fights, right? Or…” Another thought occurred to him. “Why do we bother all living separately in the first place? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have one big Clan that has all of the territories for everyone? There wouldn’t be any need to fight for anything at all, would there?”

He heard a scoff from someone (he guessed it was Darkstripe or Lizardtail), but Redtail didn’t seem bothered.

“It’s a good idea in theory,” he said. “But things are very different in practice. Even if we had all the territories together, our Clans are separated by our communities, our cultures, everything, including what we hunt. You can’t really push a bunch of different cats into one spot and expect them to all work in harmony.”

“Besides that,” Mousefur said as she maneuvered around Firepaw to get another bird, “you have to factor in the long term. The territories are huge—it takes us all day to go around our border. Cats would have room to spread out, right? So they’d all separate on their own and form their own little groups. Eventually we’d just split up again, because of the distances between all of us.”

“That’s true as well,” Redtail said, and added to Firepaw, “Does that make sense to you?”

“It does.” Firepaw couldn’t help feeling a little disappointment. “It’s sad that we have to fight at all, though.”

“It’s just life,” Mousefur said, giving him a supportive tap with her tail as she walked past him. “You’ll get used to it.”

Firepaw didn’t say what he was thinking, but he thought it all the same.

I really hope I don’t have to.

Chapter Text

For a few nights, Firepaw’s hope was granted—ThunderClan still did not find any RiverClan cats on their territory, and the scent marks faded with each passing night. It rained twice, both times very heavily, washing out almost all that remained. Bluestar did not relax her patrol schedule, but she did allow apprentices to hunt near Sunningrocks with a warrior supervisor.

Firepaw and Ravenpaw were sent out on a patrol with Redtail, Mousefur and Tigerclaw. The stated reason was for hunting, but Tigerclaw seemed more intent on walking the border and showing the apprentices the different marking spots the Clan placed within Sunningrocks itself. Redtail offered no protest, so they sniffed through the stretched line of flat stones and marked where they needed to.

“I still don’t really get it, honestly,” Firepaw murmured to Ravenpaw when they had a bit of a lead on the adults and less chance of being overheard. “This is just a bit of land with rocks.”

“You need to have been born here, I guess.” Ravenpaw sniffed at the ground. “Oh, here’s some RiverClan.”

Firepaw leaned in and copied Ravenpaw, but he paused. It didn’t smell like the faint marks on the other stones. It was more the smell he’d gotten at the Gathering, coming straight off of the cats themselves—that scent of good food, with a trace of the river. It was a little smothered by something like the plants in the forest. Odd.

Firepaw lifted his head and tasted the wind. The scent was stronger now, and it was starting to overpower the plant-smell.

He looked at Ravenpaw. “Do you—”

A screech pierced the air. Firepaw whipped his head around to see a gold-brown calico wrestling Mousefur to the ground. Redtail lunged forward from behind and bowled the calico over, but another patched cat took the calico’s place. Tigerclaw didn’t have a chance to make a move before two more cats leaped onto him. In an instant, yowls rang in Firepaw’s ears and a patrol of cats started pulling themselves out of the river and from behind stone and charged the ThunderClan patrol.

Ravenpaw cried out something. Firepaw didn’t catch it because he himself was tackled and rolled several times, a cat’s teeth gripping his neck. He kicked wildly and the cat let go with a grunt. He rushed to his feet, his neck stinging, to face a pale tortoiseshell.

Firepaw’s mind worked double-time to find a solution that didn’t involve having to attack this cat. His body was frozen with indecision, and the tortoiseshell, her youthful face wrinkled with a sneering growl, was already advancing. Ravenpaw was gone, possibly attacked himself. Firepaw was on his own and he didn’t know what to do.

“Wait,” he managed to say, with no idea where he was going next. He went with the first thing that came to his mind. “We don’t have to fight. I’m not— I don’t need to fight for this place.”

The tortoiseshell, thankfully, was caught off-guard. She blinked, hair on her back lowering a little. “What now?”

“It’s just—” Firepaw grasped at this line of thought and continued to delay as best he could. “It’s just a stupid strip of rocks. There’s nothing here, is there? What do we even have? Prey? Some sitting spots we don’t use?”

The tortoiseshell looked completely thrown. She squinted at Firepaw, as if trying to spot if he was lying. “…Why are you all here, then?”

“I don’t know!” A bit of Firepaw’s panic stepped back to let some frustration through, the battle forgotten. “Everyone says this land matters, but no one will tell me a good reason why. And you all hunt in the river, right? Why would you want some territory on the other side of the water, where it’s so much harder to keep?”

Curiosity glittered in the tortoiseshell’s eyes, her response a little halting with thoughtfulness. “Funny thing, you. Then you must be the kittypet Silverpaw said she met—”

Mousefur plunged between the two of them, grabbing the scruff of the tortoiseshell and throwing her sideways, right into a stone. Firepaw jolted as the sounds of fighting and bloodshed roared in his ears again. Mousefur was scratched up, bleeding from multiple places and panting.

“Get help,” she said. “Hurry! You and Ravenpaw, split up and find a patrol!”

Firepaw’s eyes darted to the tortoiseshell. She was lying, stunned, on the ground, the wind apparently knocked out of her. His immediate thought was to rush over and see if she was okay, but Mousefur was looking at him expectantly. He just nodded and turned to run back into the forest.

He got a few steps forward before a bulky brown tabby landed from above in his direct path. He stared down at Firepaw with an expression of delight, like this whole thing was a game to him.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he said.

Firepaw tried to duck around him and got knocked over again for his troubles. Mousefur shouted something and flung herself at the tom, but he almost breezily stepped out of her way and turned the attack on her. Firepaw stood again, frightenedly watching Mousefur struggle under the grip of the tom, who was about her size and easily keeping her pinned to the ground.

There was a yowl that was more like a dog’s snarl. Tigerclaw lunged out from behind a stone and shoved the tom hard enough to make him lose his footing. His jaws were pulled off of Mousefur, taking some fur in his teeth, and he and Tigerclaw grappled and swung and bit each other.

Mousefur, now bleeding from her neck, gestured aggressively to Firepaw. Firepaw took the cue this time and ran for the forest with every strip of speed he had. He didn’t see Ravenpaw at all when he looked back, but the amount of cats overwhelming ThunderClan’s warriors was enough to keep him from pausing to check more thoroughly.

The forest was a warm welcome when Firepaw dove into the underbrush, trying to keep his head high to smell for any of his Clanmates while still running at full speed. His first thought was to run straight for camp, but it was a long way away and he didn’t have much time to get help. He fancied he caught Ravenpaw’s scent somewhere close to him. He disregarded it for now and tried to find someone else’s trail. All the while, he yelled, “HELP!” at the top of his lungs.

Running and shouting at the same time very quickly tired him out. His throat was starting to burn when a voice called back in the distance. As fast as he could, Firepaw followed the voice, answering with a mostly incoherent holler.

A large patrol with what must have been half of the rest of the warriors of ThunderClan pushed through the ferns. Firepaw raced right for them. At the lead was the brown tortoiseshell Speckletail (he remembered her suffix now, thankfully). Firepaw finally slowed, panting.

“Spottedleaf was right.” Speckletail skidded to a stop. “She said you were going to be ambushed. Where are they?”

“Down…” Firepaw gasped. “Sunningrocks… lots of cats… Ravenpaw’s gone—”

“We’ll find him,” Speckletail said. “Go home and tell Bluestar what happened. If you see another patrol, tell them to come to Sunningrocks.”

“Okay…” Firepaw swallowed and huffed, trying to breathe normally. “Hurry.”

Speckletail and her group wove around Firepaw, disappearing into the woods within a moment. Firepaw forced himself to start running again, even though his chest burned and he desperately wanted water. When he was closer to camp, he allowed himself a stop to drink out of a puddle—and even with the tinge of mud, it was delicious—before sprinting off.

When he reached camp, it was nearly deserted. Aside from the elders, there was maybe a normal-sized patrol’s worth of cats in camp. Bluestar was speaking with Spottedleaf, but as Firepaw almost collapsed into the sandy clearing, she turned around and hurried over to him.

“What’s going on?” she said immediately. “Are you alright?”

Firepaw wheezed, breathing short, shallow breaths, “Attack at… Sunningrocks… surprise… too many cats…”

Sandpaw jolted from her sitting position, tense. “Is my father there?”

Firepaw nodded.

Sandpaw turned to Bluestar, bristling in uncharacteristic fear. “That wasn’t a big enough party. We should all go.”

“How many cats?” Bluestar asked Firepaw.

Firepaw shook his head. “Don't know. Too many.”

Sandpaw took a step forward. “Ma’am!”

“We’re going.” Bluestar raised her head and called, “Everyone with me! Firepaw, stay here. There may be a hunting party coming in soon. Let them know what to do.”

Firepaw scooted out of the way as the few warriors and apprentices, including Greypaw, rushed for the camp entrance.

“Find Ravenpaw,” Firepaw said to him as he passed by. “I don’t know… where he went.”

Greypaw looked worried, but he said nothing. He simply ran out after the rest of the fighting part of the Clan.

Firepaw tried to catch his breath quickly. He was immensely grateful that he didn’t have to fight again, but he felt equally guilty for sitting in camp and waiting for his Clanmates to either win or be driven home. He reasoned to himself that he would be no use as exhausted as he was, and he had been given an order, after all. At least he didn’t have to hurt anyone.

A grey head that he had only seen one other time and remembered as belonging to the queen Willowpelt poked out of the nursery. “What’s going on?”

“Fight at Sunningrocks,” Firepaw said, having some wind now. “It was an ambush.”

Goldenflower, emerging with Willowpelt, trotted away from the nursery to sniff Firepaw over. “Are you alright, honeymouse?”

Firepaw felt a little like a kit being checked for scratches, which wasn’t unpleasant, but he still staggered to his feet. “I-I’m fine. I just got tackled, and then Mousefur told me to get help.” He looked up at Goldenflower, anxious. “They won’t come here, will they?”

Goldenflower blinked calmly at him, but there was a bit of an edge in her voice. “They know better.”

Firepaw was about to ask another question, or perhaps for clarification, when a heavy sigh rolled through camp. He turned to see Spottedleaf slowly walking up to them, looking resigned.

“I told Bluestar that we shouldn’t fight today,” she said sadly. “It’ll be pointless. But StarClan’s will is StarClan’s will. Everyone, be ready to help clean wounds. We won’t win today.”

Patchpelt, resting just outside of the elder’s den, stood up. “Firepaw, what were you saying about Ravenpaw?”

“He’s gone,” Firepaw said. “I don’t know where he went. I think maybe to get help—”

The bushes around the entrance rustled. Everyone looked up to see a panting, shaking Ravenpaw enter, eyes staring at nothing and every hair on his body stood straiht.

“Ravenpaw!” Patchpelt trotted to him, quick as his stiff movements would allow. “You’re alright! Did you find help?”

Ravenpaw’s already wide eyes bugged out and he looked up at his grandfather. “I… uh…”

“Where did you go?” Firepaw went to meet him too. “Did someone chase you?”

Slowly, guilt draining the energy out of his face, tail low to the ground, Ravenpaw lowered his head, mumbling, “I, um… I just ran away.”

Patchpelt, Spottedleaf, Firepaw, and Goldenflower all looked at each other. No one said anything.

As Spottedleaf predicted, ThunderClan’s warriors and apprentices came back bloody and beaten. Their entrance was silent and dour. Cats split up to sit somewhere alone or with one other warrior and cleaned their wounds. Greypaw’s fur had saved him from being cut up too badly, but his face was still streaked with blood, and he talked thickly through a badly scratched nose.

“I’m sorry,” Firepaw said to Bluestar, feeling guilty again. “The hunting patrol never showed up.”

“They came to us on their own,” Bluestar said, dismissing his submissive hunch with a wave of her tail. “You wouldn’t have known. See if anyone needs help cleaning up. Ravenpaw and Greypaw, help him.”

The toms said nothing to her; they all made their ways around camp, sniffing and offering assistance. Ravenpaw was helping Brindleface, and Greypaw ended up with Teaselfoot, who was sitting very stiffly and had one paw raised off the ground.

“It couldn’t be helped,” Spottedleaf said, walking up to Bluestar. “We were destined to lose Sunningrocks for now.”

Frostfur, her pretty white fur half-covered in blood, shot her head up from licking her shoulder and bristled. “You knew we were going to be beaten? Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I advised Bluestar to avoid this.” Spottedleaf looked completely unbothered by the several glares she was now receiving. “Fate can’t be thwarted, though, so I suppose we were going to fight anyway. You know how StarClan is.”

Frostfur’s lip twitched, but Lionface, seated next to her and just as injured, murmured something in her ear. She visibly forced herself to relax.

“And you couldn’t have given us any tips on how to win?” Lizardtail asked dryly.  

Spottedleaf shook her head. “It was a certainty that we’d lose today.”

Mutterings of discontent and sourness rose from the defeated warriors. Firepaw kept on going between cats, asking if they needed help and being dismissed (usually more kindly than not). When he got to Sandpaw, he barely had a heartbeat to open his mouth before she hissed at him.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. “You didn’t even help us fight.”

Neither did Ravenpaw, thought Firepaw, but he decided not to sell out his friend. Instead, he just dipped his head respectfully. “Well, thank you for fighting in my place, then, Sandpaw.”

He raised his head and could have snorted at her face—eyes wide and mouth open a little, all anger forgotten. She was staring at him as if he had grown a second head.

“I mean it,” he said. “You did more than I could have. I appreciate it.”

One of the bigger benefits of being nice was getting to see the bafflement and confusion Sandpaw now stared at him with. He might as well have blindsided her by striking her face. Though she probably would have expected that more than Firepaw’s politeness.

He left her with that expression, doing a very good job of hiding his amusement, and returned to checking around with his Clanmates. Redtail, thoroughly battered despite his own dense pelt, declined the help, but from the sparkle in his eye as he glanced at his daughter, he was just as tickled with Sandpaw’s reaction as Firepaw was.

When Firepaw got to Bluestar, she raised a paw a little in a pausing gesture and bowed her head to see him eye-to-eye.

“Ravenpaw returned here himself?” she asked quietly, almost under her breath.

Firepaw nodded while he internally scrambled for a way to not get Ravenpaw in trouble, which he was absolutely certain would come if he told the truth. He whispered, “He didn’t run into the hunters, I don’t think.”

“They never saw him.” Bluestar narrowed her eyes. “What did he say when he got back? Was he looking for help?”

Firepaw knew that her suspicions were on the truth. His eyes darted sideways.

“Firepaw.” Bluestar’s pale gaze was on him. It felt very much like being stuck in a cobweb.

He swallowed, silently apologized to Ravenpaw, and told the truth. “He ran from the fight.”

Bluestar’s eyes went cold.

“He was just scared, I’m sure,” Firepaw whispered quickly. “I was too. I froze up.”

“But you stayed until told otherwise.” Bluestar sighed and raised her head, speaking louder. “Whitecloud, Ravenpaw. Come with me.”

Whitecloud looked surprised, but he stood up and limped over. Ravenpaw stepped away from Brindleface, shaking like a newborn fawn, and followed his mentor. Bluestar stood and motioned for them to follow her. She walked out of camp with them in tow.

As Ravenpaw passed Firepaw, their eyes met. It was obvious that Ravenpaw knew exactly what she wanted to talk about. Firepaw tried to communicate an apology as well as he could with just his face, but his friend just hung his head and slunk after Whitecloud.

“What’re they talking for?” Greypaw padded up to Firepaw, licking his mouth distastefully, trying to get some fur out with his tongue. “Is he alright?”

Firepaw felt tension in his throat. “Can we talk about that later?”

“Uh…” Greypaw blinked. “Sure. Here, come help me with Mousefur.”

Firepaw turned and trotted after him, grateful for the distraction, but unable to completely ignore the cold guilt in his chest.

Chapter Text

The guilt never fully went away, even as the night progressed. It actually worsened when Ravenpaw came back into camp with his head hanging and tail dragging on the ground. Firepaw went to sleep with a twist in his stomach, unable to look Ravenpaw in the eye (not that Ravenpaw was actually looking up enough to begin with). He resolved to apologize to him tomorrow, once things had hopefully smoothed out a bit.

He didn’t get the chance to, because Spottedleaf woke him up with a shine in her wide copper eyes.

“Up we go, Firepaw!” she whispered, nudging him gently with a paw. “Wake, now!”

Firepaw, eyes bleary with interrupted sleep and barely able to open, raised his head with great effort and squinted at her. “Wha’s…?”

“You have something very important to discover today,” Spottedleaf whispered, tail-tip bobbing. “And so do I! Let’s get going.”

If Firepaw had been more awake, he would have questioned her. As it was, he simply got up slowly and almost sleepwalked after her, barely avoiding stepping on the other apprentices on his way out of the den. He shook himself once out of the den, trying to wake up more. As his eyes cleared, he looked around camp and noticed something odd.

“No one’s awake,” he said.

“Of course not!” Spottedleaf said happily. “It's still late afternoon.”

Firepaw squinted at her. “Then why are we…”

“You’ll see!” Spottedleaf almost pranced for the entrance. “Come along, now!”

Still too sleepy to argue with her, Firepaw followed, feet dragging on the ground, hardly paying attention to the world around him. It took until they were well away from camp for him to stop and yawn out, “So… what are we doing, exactly?”

“We’re off to discover some things,” Spottedleaf said, tail waving in a full arch back and forth. “It’s going to be a very big night, I dare say. You and I need to find some scents and follow them.”

“Oh.” Firepaw didn’t understand. “Then, are we, like, hunting or something?”

“In a way!” Spottedleaf paused and looked at him owlishly. “Speaking of, are you hungry? You might want to get some food before we continue.”

Firepaw paid mind to his stomach, which felt a little hollow. “I guess. Couldn’t we have gotten prey at home—?”

“No, no,” Spottedleaf said, shaking her head like a disappointed mentor. “You need the practice. Hunt for your breakfast.”

Still too tired to argue eloquently, Firepaw lifted his head and sniffed. Through the dense, moist soil, he caught a trace of mouse. Spottedleaf stood quietly as he dropped into a crouch and moved as silently as he could, following the trail through a thankfully grassless little path.

He came upon the mouse, which looked just as he felt—half-asleep and eager to get back home to nap. It sniffed aimlessly at a conical thing on the ground that Firepaw had been told was an “acorn”, which was half its size. It flicked its ear at something Firepaw didn’t hear and turned away from him, peering into the woods. Before Firepaw could second-guess himself, he leaped and landed with his front paws right on the mouse’s back. He copied what he had been taught and bit down on the back of its neck as hard as he could, and a little crack told him he’d done his job. The mouse died without so much as a squeak.

Firepaw stepped off his catch and appraised it. It was a little unpleasant to have killed something bigger than a tick, but had he not been eating killed things all this time? At the very least he had ended its life quickly, he reasoned. He picked up the mouse and padded back to Spottedleaf.

“Very nicely done,” she said warmly as he passed around a fern with his catch on display in his teeth. “Don’t make yourself sick, but do try to eat quickly.” When he lowered his head to set the mouse down, she added, “Oh, no, don’t give it to me—I don’t need to eat. You’ll be thankful for the full stomach, little one.”

A little bemused, Firepaw did as she said. He was indeed thankful after his meal; he was more alert and ready to walk again. When he stood up, Spottedleaf gestured with her cloud of a tail and led him further into the woods—towards ShadowClan territory, if Firepaw remembered right.

“What are we looking for?” he asked. “And how do you know we’re supposed to find something tonight?”

“StarClan told me,” Spottedleaf said cheerily. “Their guidance woke me earlier than usual this evening. It’s very important, they said.”

“Okay.” A pause. “What is StarClan, exactly? Is it another Clan I haven’t met yet?”

“In a way,” Spottedleaf said, passing around a bush. “StarClan is every one of our ancestors that have passed on from generations before us. They live in the sky in paradise, or in the halls of the Three, if they were particularly great in life.”

“Halls?” Firepaw hopped over a fallen branch.

“Oh, how to explain it to you…” Spottedleaf tilted her head. “Think of it like… perhaps a Clan ‘plus’. They’re still a part of StarClan, but they reside with other souls in a special place with one of the Three leading them directly. Their duties are different from a normal StarClan cat.”

“Like a special rank?” Firepaw suggested.

“Very good!” Spottedleaf trilled a purr, giving him a pleased look. “Yes, like that. They’re even more important than a leader or matriarch, or a seer like me. They guide us where StarClan alone cannot, where a greater mind or incredible strength and speed is needed to solve a problem.”

“That sounds cool.” Firepaw looked up at what little he could see of the sky, observing the stars. “But what does StarClan do, if the halls are better?”

“Oh, they speak to us common folk,” Spottedleaf said dreamily, walking with her feet brushing the ground as her eyes took on a faraway glaze. “The halls are meant for big, important, world-changing problems. When times are fine, it’s StarClan that tells me and all seers the future, or offers advice, or tells me the fate of kits—”

“Hang on!” Firepaw stopped and stared at her, very much awake now. “You know the future?”

Spottedleaf paused too and returned his stare with an amused look. “Of course! That’s what seers are for. We learn what happens, or what can happen, from our ancestors, and we guide the Clan carefully towards the right path.”

Firepaw’s eyes were bugged out with awe. Some small part of him sniffed that Spottedleaf was just crazy, that no one could predict the future, that this story was just too bizarre to be true. But there was a set feeling in his heart, a comfortable weight that knew, just looking at Spottedleaf’s expression, hearing her almost conversational explanations, that she was telling the truth.

And that was awesome.

Spottedleaf chuffed and gave him a gentle tousle on the top of his head before starting to walk again. “You didn’t know such things could happen cooped up in that little house of yours, did you?”

“No!” Firepaw followed after her, a spring in his step. “This is crazy! How did all of this exist and no one in the neighborhood ever knew?! We never talked about spirits and the future or anything, but it was here the whole time!”

“Ah, alas,” Spottedleaf sighed and looked up at the sky, easily stepping over a rock that should have tripped her. “StarClan only concerns itself with the Clans. Wherever kittypets and loners go, I don’t know, but it certainly isn’t with us. Perhaps that’s why.”

Firepaw didn’t answer; his mind was racing with all the possibilities and infinite questions. What did kittypets believe in? Did they all agree on something he’d never been told about? Would he go to StarClan when he died, now that he was a Clan cat? How many afterlives were there? Did they all know each other?

On and on his thoughts sprinted, until he was fantasizing about meeting the ghost of a dog, when Spottedleaf stopped him in his tracks, her tail barring him from walking forward.

“Look,” she whispered.

Firepaw blinked back into the world and peered ahead, where she was looking. His ears perked at the sight of something big and ginger-colored hunched over, its head blocked by the brush of the forest. A huge tail, even bushier than Spottedleaf’s but with stiff, dark fur, wagged back and forth. Firepaw was about to ask what it was when it raised its head—pointed nose, long muzzle, sharp ears, and glinting brown eyes. It looked around, sniffing silently. Even from here, it smelt quite bad.

“That,” Spottedleaf whispered, “is a fox.”

Firepaw studied it as well as he could from this distance. “Is it supposed to be here?”

“Not usually,” Spottedleaf replied. “But in a way, yes. You need to follow it. It’s looking for the exact same thing you are.”

Firepaw looked up at her in surprise. “Aren’t you coming with me? Because I heard foxes are dangerous, and—”

Spottedleaf winked at him. “You’ll be fine. I have something of my own to find.”

Before Firepaw could protest or ask another question, she ducked into a patch of ferns and was gone, not making a sound. Firepaw was about to run after her, now very nervous about this creature and being alone with it. All he had heard about foxes was to never fight one on his own. That didn’t provide much comfort.

Luckily, the fox didn’t notice him. It lowered its head, sniffed the ground, and started off in the direction Firepaw and Spottedleaf had been walking. Not having any other idea what to do, Firepaw went into the hunting crouch and slowly followed after it.

Because his head was so low, he had to rely on the scent and the sounds of the fox rustling around. He didn’t dare poke his head up, just in case it saw him and decided to do… whatever foxes did to young cats, he wasn’t entirely clear on that. Still, he stayed cautious and tiptoed along with it. Once in a while it made a strange sound like a high-pitched human laugh or a small growl with a conversational cadence. Firepaw listened to these noises with wonder, his mind drifting back to StarClan and spirits. Did foxes have a StarClan of their own?

Being distracted, Firepaw just moved forward, half-paying attention to the movement of the fox, until he crawled out into the open, breaking through the border of the forest. He stood up quickly, ears swiveling, but any trace of the fox, aside from its stink, was gone.

But there was another stink. A horrid stench, really.

Firepaw thought he recognized this stench. His human had messed around with their car one time, and that smell had come from a small, brightly-colored container. It was offensively overwhelming and made any cat nervous and oddly curious at the same time.

He looked around—yes, that checked out. He was by the road, where cars raced by. That would obviously come from them.

Then why was there something else, fainter under that car-stench? Still unpleasant, too… sickly, almost.

As if to answer Firepaw’s question, the bushes to his right rustled. Firepaw jumped and turned to face it quickly, afraid that it was the fox.

It wasn’t the fox, though. It was… what was it, exactly, this mound of dark grey fur about his size?

It took Firepaw a long moment, watching the animal limp slowly towards the rocky slope, before he recognized the general idea of a cat. The face was flat, though, and the fur was matted and stained with something shiny and dark.

This cat-like thing paused. Slowly, it looked his way, with big orange eyes, an impressive underbite, and a scarred face. One big nicked ear flicked.

“Ah,” she said. Her voice was gravelly and ancient, and that single sound carried such contempt and amusement that Firepaw was offended on principle.

He stood straight, trying to look authoritative, though he had very little idea what to do with a stranger on the border. “Who are you, an-and what are you doing here?” He faltered a little. “Please.”

The haggard molly’s eyes flickered up and down, analyzing Firepaw. “You ThunderClan, boy?”

Firepaw blinked. “Sorry?”

“You’re awfully skinny for that woody smell on you,” she croaked. “Your mama have some border-babies, or are you just something else?”

Completely lost, Firepaw’s authority failed entirely. “I’m… I was a kittypet, if that’s what you mean. ThunderClan took me in.”

“Ha.” The hag limped a few more steps and almost collapsed onto the slant of the rock-hill. “Right fools. And they sent you out here alone, did they?”

“I mean, I was with Spottedleaf—”

“Almost as bad,” she said, and shut her eyes. “Now, if you’re here to kill me, I must refuse. Let me die in peace. It won’t take long.” One eye cracked open. “And it’d be unwise to touch me, boy.”

I can see that, Firepaw thought. Smell it, really .

The eye shut and the hag shifted until she was lying with her head resting on her shoulder, yellowed and jagged bottom fangs jutting out from her face. Even as terrible as she looked, she seemed completely at peace. Firepaw smelled that undercurrent of sickness again and pity clutched at his heart.

“Are you hungry?” he asked before he even thought of the question.

“Always,” the hag rasped in a half-sigh.

Firepaw looked around and sniffed to make sure the fox was gone, then said to the hag, “Wait here,” and turned back into the woods.

It took him a bit of time, but he found another mouse, and to his surprise (and a bit of pride), he killed it just as quickly as his first one. He picked it up and hurried back out of the woods, where the hag was still lying (so motionless that for a moment he feared she really was dead). He dropped it in front of her and stepped back, politely avoiding wrinkling his nose at her odor.

The hag opened one eye again, then both, blinking at the mouse. She looked up questioningly at Firepaw.

“Take it,” he said. “You came out of the woods earlier, right? Were you trying to hunt?”

The hag huffed a small breath. “Was. Didn’t catch a thing, unsurprisingly.”

“So have this,” Firepaw said. “You look like you need it.”

The hag squinted her bulbous eyes at him, as if checking to see if he was lying. He just nodded to her encouragingly. Slowly, she pulled the mouse closer to her—then, swiftly, she bit into it and started tearing it apart, making disgusting noises the whole time. Firepaw did wrinkle his nose then, until she swallowed the tail and licked her chops.

“Very kind of you, boy,” she said. “ThunderClan won’t be happy with you.”

Firepaw tilted his head. “Why not?”

“Not supposed to feed outsiders your Clan’s prey.” The hag peered mischievously at him. “Even one such as me. They might flay you for this. Probably. What do the fluff-butts do when a kittypet apprentice gives away food?”

Firepaw felt a lot less confident in his actions now. “Well, uh… I don’t know. B-but you were hungry, and you’re sick, and I think hurt, right? So that was the right thing to do. They can’t be mad about that.”

“You’re adorable.” The hag stuck her jaw out. “Thinking ThunderClan cares about ‘the right thing’. They’re as selfish as the Aulmir cats. If you don’t have something they want or fear, you don’t matter.”

Firepaw almost glared at her, a spark of anger in his chest. “That’s not true!”

“Is,” the hag said. “Just watch.”  

Firepaw opened his mouth to argue, but a faint rustling made him turn his head back. In the woods, the underbrush shifted, coming along closer and closer, until he could make out a patrol of cats, with Lionface at the front.

“Lionface!” Firepaw trotted towards the trees, tail high. “Hey! Someone’s here, I think she’s hurt, or sick, or something, and—”

“Move aside,” said Lionface in a very, very dangerous tone.

Firepaw was alarmed enough to obey silently, his eagerness shriveling up and turning into nervousness. Lionface gave him a very stern, almost angry look before walking past him, Brindleface, Teaselfoot, and Lizardtail in tow. None of them looked particularly happy with Firepaw.

“Took you long enough,” the hag said casually. “I’ve been here since daylight.”

Lionface strode up and stopped within a body-length of the hag, tail lashing. “You have a lot of nerve trespassing on our territory.”

“Sure do.” The hag got to her feet with great effort. She stood not even half Lionface’s size, but her cool gaze was completely unafraid. “Or so you’d say, since you don’t seem to recognize me.”

Brindleface narrowed her eyes, craning her neck forward and past Lionface. “…Are you—”

“In ShadowClan, I was the seer Murkpelt,” the hag said. “And in ThunderClan, nameless though I might be, I command sanctuary.”

Chapter Text

There was a stretch of silence, every ThunderClan cat surprised into just staring at this bundle of matted hair. She was dwarfed by all of them, and yet she had an impressively tall aura about her, as if daring them all to refuse.

Eventually, though, Lionface stood straight and narrowed his eyes. “You are in no position to order around ThunderClan. Why would we ever grant you entrance into our territory, let alone ‘sanctuary’?”

“Especially if you don’t have a name anymore,” Lizardtail piped up. “That’s pretty suspicious, if you ask me.”

“Isn’t,” the hag said. “I tossed the name myself.”

“Why?” Lionface growled. Firepaw had a feeling no answer would be satisfactory.

“Rather be nameless hereafter on my own will.” The hag tilted her head a little, matching Lionface’s stare easily. “A crook could take it, or I could shed it; chose the latter, which is why I’m here.”

Firepaw took a step forward and whispered to Teaselfoot, “You can lose your name?”

Teaselfoot still looked irritated at him, but he leaned his head over and whispered back, “Yeah, but a leader has to take it. After you’ve done something wrong. Horrible thing to have happen.”

Firepaw blinked and watched the hag. What had she done, then, or at least had happened to her that was enough to make her go nameless?

“We don’t take in rogues,” Lionface said, cold and indifferent. “Even former seers.”

Firepaw stared at him, shocked. “But, Lionface, she’s hurt—”

Lionface glared at him again. The little apprentice flinched and went silent. The large golden tabby turned back to the hag. She simply stuck out her jaw, her yellow teeth glinting in the late daylight.

“You’ll take in someone who’s got information on Brokenstar, I’ll wager,” she said. “And there’s hardly a cat who knows more than I.” Another mischievous glint in her eye. “I do, of course, speak with StarClan.”

Brindleface looked confused. “Why would we need information on Brokenstar?”

“You’ll be grateful for it in the coming days,” the hag croaked. “Ask your fool of a seer. She’ll tell you.”

Firepaw could see everyone giving each other uncertain looks. Though Lionface’s anger frightened him, he stepped forward again.

“Spottedleaf told me I was supposed to discover something today,” he said quickly, rushing past his nerves. “And I found this cat. That has to be important, right?”

Lizardtail and Teaselfoot looked at him in surprise. Brindleface hummed thoughtfully, then turned to Lionface.

“She is a ShadowClan seer,” she said. “Or was. I think it’d be dangerous to risk angering StarClan by not at least consulting Spottedleaf and Bluestar.”

Lionface gave the barest nod and looked down at the hag. His eyes caught something and they narrowed to slits. “You’ll have to compensate for the prey you stole.”

“Didn’t steal a thing, boy,” the hag said.

“I can see blood and fur on the ground in front of you,” Lionface snapped. “Don’t lie to me.”

“She isn’t!” Firepaw burst out. “I got her prey. She didn’t ask for it, or anything, I—”

“You fed a rogue?!” Lizardtail bristled.

Firepaw immediately knew he was going to be in trouble when he got home, but Lizardtail didn’t scare him as much as Lionface did. He met Lizardtail’s eyes and willed himself to speak calmly and evenly. “I fed a hurt and sick cat. She needed to eat, so I got her food.”

Lizardtail’s hackles raised further and he stared furiously at Firepaw. But then, oddly, his eyes darted away and he bared his teeth at the ground.

“Idiot kittypet,” he growled. “Lionface—”

“I’m aware.” Lionface turned his head slowly to Firepaw. “Perhaps you didn’t know, but ThunderClan prey belongs to ThunderClan alone.”

“Told him so,” the hag put in, squinting one eye at Firepaw like she was trying to wink.

“After I fed you,” Firepaw retorted. “You ate it fine before that.”

She sniffed. “Didn’t say I don’t appreciate it.”

Brindleface cut off the rest of the potential debate. “I vote we should bring her with us to camp.”

“I think I agree,” Teaselfoot said. “It’s not like she can fight her way out of this.”

“It’s a ShadowClan seer,” Lizardtail scoffed. “You don’t know what she could do.”

“Enough,” said Lionface. “We’ll take her. You. Come with us.”

The hag lifted her chin with a smug face. “Best walk slow. I’ve a bad paw.”

“And you smell like rotted meat,” Lizardtail added, snout wrinkled. “Where have you been?”

“There and back,” the hag said, limping past him.

The patrol moved smoothly into position, surrounding her entirely. Firepaw wondered why they were treating her like a dangerous animal when Lionface turned just enough to meet his eyes.

“Teaselfoot, run ahead and alert Bluestar,” he said. “Firepaw. Take his position.”

Firepaw and Teaselfoot both hurried to obey. Teaselfoot sprinted into the woods and was out of sight almost instantly, while Firepaw walked on the hag’s right.

“They’ll flay you, all right,” she rasped to him. “Might flay me. We’re going to have a good time.”

Firepaw looked at her, head tilted. “You haven’t hurt anyone, have you?”

“Not recently,” the hag replied.

“Both of you, silence,” Lionface snarled.

The two small cats clammed up immediately—though, Firepaw noted, the hag looked more amused than frightened. She half-turned her flat face to him and stuck out her tongue, then yawned in a somehow insulting way.

“Making faces is a little kittish, don’t you think?” Lizardtail said testily.

The hag looked over her shoulder. “Tattling is a little kittish too, methinks.”

Lizardtail’s lip twitched, but he said nothing.

Firepaw decided that he liked this cat already, even if every aspect of her appearance and smell was revolting.

They had hardly taken a few more steps when the bushes rustled. Everyone paused as Spottedleaf emerged from the ferns, leaves and twigs in her fur.

“Well done, Firepaw!” she said brightly, coming in to stand by him. “I knew you could do it. What happened to the fox?”

“Fox?” Brindleface whipped her head around in alarm.

“I lost its scent,” Firepaw admitted. “I think it left the forest.”

Lionface harrumphed. “You should have told us about that, Firepaw.”

“Sorry,” Firepaw mumbled. “I was distracted.”

Lionface opened his mouth and tasted the air, then grunted. “There’s nothing close by, at least. We’ll send a patrol to track it later.”

“Oh, we’ll be fine,” Spottedleaf said, cheery as ever. “Let’s head home. The Clan’s waiting.” She blinked down at the hag. “Well, Prra , good to see you again!”

The hag gave her a dry look. “Clear skies to you, little loon.”

The walk home was slow, but not far—by the time the sun was sinking past the tree trunks, the patrol arrived at camp. It seemed like everyone was still here as they emerged through the entrance. Firepaw couldn’t help a snort at the immediate disgust on everyone’s faces as the stinking, dirty seer hobbled in after the much more flashy and handsome Lionface. Of course, walking next to elegant Spottedleaf did not help matters.

Bluestar was in the center of the clearing, sitting down, Tigerclaw and Redtail close by. She let the hag make her way up to her, face stony. Coolly, she said, “Murkpelt.”

“Nameless,” the hag said. “Long story. Which I will tell you for sanctuary.”

“She claims she has important information on Brokenstar,” Lionface said.

Bluestar’s left ear slid back in bemusement. “We aren’t at war with ShadowClan. Why would we—”

“You’ll be,” the hag said, “in time. The little slitprick—hush that gasp, golden girl—he’s making ShadowClan more dangerous to live in than it ever has been. Cats have died. Had to run to keep myself safe.”

Bluestar’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And that’s our problem because…?”

Firepaw stared at her, mouth open. Why didn’t she care?

“Isn’t your problem yet, but it will be.” The hag sat down too, sticky and clumped tail waving. “Brokenstar aims for power, more and more of it. He’s got assistants, those not of a Clan, to help in his grand plan. And ThunderClan will want to be ready for him.”

The cats watching the conversation looked at each other and whispered questions. Bluestar and the hag did not appear to hear any of them, just regarded each other silently. It was an odd thing, Firepaw thought, that this tiny former ShadowClan cat had an air of authority that matched Bluestar’s.

“What does he plan to do, then?” Bluestar asked warily.

“Ah.” The hag’s tattered ears twitched and she squinted craftily at the blue leader. “You’ll have to let me in before I say more. Even crows say naught ‘til their bellies are full.”

“She ate,” Lionface cut in. “Firepaw fed her before we got there.”

Bluestar turned her cold gaze on Firepaw. One of his paws scraped against the other leg nervously. She held her focus on him for a long moment before returning to the hag.

“You could be lying,” she said.

“Not.” The hag gave her a “so-there” nod, like she had ended the argument with flawless evidence. “And you hesitate to kick off an aged seer anyway.”

Tigerclaw stepped up close to Bluestar and said quietly, “I don’t trust this rogue. I suggest you make her leave.”

Bluestar hummed and glanced to the side. “Redtail, what do you think?”

Redtail tilted his head, contemplating the little molly. After a moment, he looked at Bluestar. “Perhaps it’s worth at least a mouse or two, just to see what she knows. Brokenstar hasn’t done anything, but that doesn’t mean she’s lying.” His whiskers twitched. “Yet.”

Spottedleaf took a step forward. “Firepaw was sent to find her. I can’t imagine StarClan would have sent an apprentice if they wanted her to be chased away. Especially not him.”

Bluestar didn’t respond. Her nose slowly pointed down, her eyes narrow with thought. The Clan silently waited for her decision, some having scooted back a little from the hag and many staring at her warily.

Finally, Bluestar looked back at her. “We’ll give you a few days. You aren’t leaving camp except to make dirt and you’ll tell me what you know in private.”

“Fine with me,” the hag said, smug again.

“And…” Bluestar turned her head to Firepaw. “You’ll make up for that meal you gave her by taking care of her.”

The hag jerked her head around to stare at the apprentice. “I don’t need anyone to care for me, least of all him—”

“Caring for elders is an apprentice’s job,” Bluestar said. “And as far as we’re concerned, Nameless, you’re nothing but an elderly molly in need of assistance. He’ll keep you fed and escort you out when you need to make dirt.”

Oh, great . Firepaw restrained a sigh. If it had been any other old cat, he wouldn’t complain, but by the scowl the hag was giving him, she wasn’t going to be easy. “Escorting to make dirt”, really?

The Clan muttered, but no one raised their voice to argue. Tigerclaw stepped back, face unreadable, and Redtail looked at the grumpy hag with amusement.

Bluestar stood up and nodded to Spottedleaf. “You can decide where she’ll sleep. We don’t need her causing distress in random places.”

“Oh, we can share a resting spot!” Spottedleaf perked up somehow more than she already was and guided the hag towards the meeting stump. “Here, we have lovely ferns to dream under…”

The hag gave Firepaw and Bluestar a dirty look before hobbling after her, muttering things Firepaw was sure were curses under her breath.

“Now, to your business,” Bluestar said to the crowd. “Our tasks halt for nothing.”

ThunderClan collectively jolted, like they just remembered they should be working, and scattered to return to patrolling or getting prey. Firepaw sighed as several cats passed him with annoyed glares and made his way over to Goldenflower, who was picking out prey.

“I guess I’ll be in camp a lot more,” he said to her as she silently nosed a rodent over for him to pick up, which he did.

Goldenflower grabbed a bird and led him to the nursery. She pawed the bird into the den and turned back to him, taking the rodent.

“We’ll be happy to have you,” she said. “The elders will appreciate the company. Hopefully Murk— that cat will too.”

Firepaw glanced back at where the hag and Spottedleaf had gone. “I just wonder what’s happening in ShadowClan that’s so bad. How can we help them?”

“Oh, don’t worry; that’s not our problem, Firepaw.”

Firepaw looked up at her in alarm. “Not our problem? She said cats have died!”

Goldenflower purred calmingly at him. “If she’s telling the truth, then Brokenstar will have to be addressed. But for now, until we know for sure, we don’t have any business dealing with another Clan’s issues.”

Firepaw gaped at her, just as shocked as he was at Bluestar. He couldn’t even say anything.

Goldenflower must have seen it on his face, because she gave him a lick on the top of his head and continued, “Don’t worry, Firepaw. Everything is fine. You just take care of her for as long as Bluestar tells you to, and don’t concern yourself with the politics.”

Firepaw didn’t respond. Her attempt at reassurance did nothing but make him more upset. He watched his Clanmates as they went about their business, deeply disturbed.

If Goldenflower of all cats thought like that… did everyone else? Was the hag telling the truth? But ThunderClan couldn’t be that heartless, could they? No one could be so apathetic as to not be at least worried for others that were hurting…

Firepaw looked up at Goldenflower again. She was completely at peace.

That didn’t help him at all.

Chapter Text

Since the hag spent the rest of the night in ThunderClan, being shown around and then immediately put into quarantine, with Bluestar speaking to the elders in undertones about what to do with her, Firepaw didn’t have to take care of her until the next night. He felt a little lucky for that, almost forgetting his punishment, only to be woken up from his recovery sleep the next night by Greypaw, who had a look of great anxiety on his face.

“I do not envy you,” he whispered, as if the hag could overhear them from her resting place. “She’s terrifying. I walked past her and she made this face at me…”

Firepaw rose and stretched, a little puzzled. “Her face is just like that, I think. She’s got a flat nose and wrinkles.”

Greypaw fidgeted. “No, but she had a look, like—you know, like a look!"

Firepaw did not know, but he didn’t say anything. He just followed his friend out into the camp clearing. Cats were walking around or eating, but they made a wide berth around the dark grey clump of fur sleeping under the meeting stump. She at least looked marginally cleaner than she did last night—the worst of the grime had been cleaned off—but she still wasn’t an impressive sight.

“Good luck with her,” Greypaw said, hurrying away after his mentor.

With no real direction on what to do, Firepaw went to the prey-pile and rummaged through it to find something sizable for the old cat. He picked up what he’d been told was a “pigeon” and carried it, wings dragging on the ground, over to the hag. She snorted and shook her head like a dog when she heard him approaching, blinking sleep out of her eyes with annoyance.

“Good evening,” Firepaw said, dropping the pigeon in front of her. “Did you sleep well?”

The hag squinted at him.

Firepaw waited a moment for a response. When he got none, he nudged the pigeon a little further forward, explaining awkwardly, “This is for you.”

The hag eyed the pigeon now, sniffing it experimentally.

“It’s fresh,” Firepaw added. “Just caught this morning, I think.”

The hag kept sniffing, looking the bird over. She used a paw to pull apart some of the feathers around the belly and chest, then peered into the open beak.

Firepaw faltered. “Is… is something wrong?”

The hag sighed so raggedly it came out like a frustrated scoff. “Old habit, boy, fret not. Bird’s fresh indeed.”

Firepaw looked away while she gobbled down the pigeon. He caught sight of several cats making disgusted faces at the way the hag ate: hardly even stopping to chew and being exceptionally noisy. He tilted his head apologetically at them and looked back when the gross sounds stopped. Feathers were everywhere and there was still the head, neck, and a considerable amount of the back of the bird left, the skinny little legs sticking up in the air.

The hag licked her chops. “Mighty fine prey you got here in the forest. Too much to eat in one go.”

“Maybe not for a ThunderClan cat,” Firepaw said. “Should I take the rest away—”

“Rot, no!” the hag barked, and everyone who wasn’t already looking her way jerked their heads up. “Plenty of good meat left on this thing. You touch it, I’ll kill you.”

Firepaw, quite startled, looked at the remains. He wouldn’t have said so himself, but it didn’t look like much of anything worth saving was still there. “Um… sure.”

The hag stared him down as if testing whether he would make a move or not. When he didn’t, she eventually harrumphed and pulled the remains to the side without a word.

Another stretch of silence that Firepaw had to break. “I-is there anything you need me to do? Or… want me to do, I guess?”

The hag opened her mouth, shut it, then stuck out her teeth at him. “You can help me get this muck off my coat. Dirty enough without it.”

That, Firepaw had been dreading. Nevertheless, he sucked it up and approached carefully, sniffing at the remains of the grime and stinking stains on her matts.

“Don’t lick it,” she said. “Liable to kill you.”

“Then…” Firepaw looked up at her. “What do I do?”

“Best to do is pull the worst right off this dreadful coat of mine.” The hag squinted one eye again in that half-wink. “Put those kit-teeth of yours to good use.”

“I’m not a kitten,” Firepaw said as patiently as he could. “I lost those teeth.”

“All one to me,” the hag said. “Get to work.”

Hesitantly, Firepaw looked over her coat. He found a matt that was particularly streaked with some dark, sticky fluid and braced himself. Like he had with the tick, he bit around the tangle, unable to avoid getting some of the revolting stuff in his mouth. He pulled sharply and, fortunately, the matt was already on its way out, so it came off fairly cleanly. Still, he got a yowl and a swat across his face for his troubles.

“Trying to skin me!” the hag snapped. “Don’t need to pull that hard!”

Firepaw intended to respond calmly, but a flicker of irritation colored his words as he rubbed at his face with a paw. “We can leave all that stuff on you for you to groom out, if you like. Otherwise, I’m just doing what you said.”

The hag’s creasy face somehow wrinkled even more as she glared at Firepaw. He simply met her stare and waited to see if she’d yell again.

A long pause, then, to his surprise, her eyes glittered with approval.

“You kittypets are an interesting bunch.”

Before Firepaw could ask what she meant, a squeal pierced the air. He turned around in alarm, expecting someone to have been attacked or hurt.

What he got instead was the sight of a pair of kittens, one dark grey and one black with white markings, running out of the nursery and bouncing around, then tumbling over their own feet. Willowpelt was lying just outside of the den entrance, watching them with half-shut eyes. Goldenflower was sitting next to her, purring loud enough to be heard across camp.

“Oh!” Firepaw perked up.

“Ach.” The hag’s froglike mouth stretched to the side in a grimace.

The dark grey molly was all over the place, running up to a random cat and yelling “HELLO!” before spotting someone new and half-sprinting, half-rolling over to them to shout the same greeting. Her brother was trying to follow her, but he seemed more cautious to approach the adults. Firepaw was surprised to see Lizardtail give the little tom a friendly blink and tail-wave, and nod kindly to the molly when she nearly crashed into him.

“Cinderkit, be careful, love,” Willowpelt called. “Remember what we talked about.”

“Sorry!” the molly shouted back to her. She resumed racing around the clearing, making several clumsy jumps like she was just thrilled to be alive. Several cats chuffed watching her go before purring to the tom as he ran after her. Abruptly, she turned around and made a very small leap to tackle him, biting on his ear.

“Funny look on your face,” the hag remarked to Firepaw. “What gives?”

Firepaw blinked and looked at her. “Oh. I— well, I just didn’t really think about getting to meet the kittens yet. I’ve been here since before the last Gathering, but they and Willowpelt have been in the nursery the whole time.” He returned his attention to Cinderkit and her brother wrestling each other. “Now that they’re out here, it’s a surprise, I guess. A good one, though.”

Firepaw’s voice must have caught Cinderkit’s attention, because her head popped up and she released her brother to start her pouncing run over to him and the hag. The tom only made it halfway to them before skidding to a stop and huddling, staring at the hag with wide eyes.

“HELLO!” Cinderkit yelled, barely managing to stop before she hit Firepaw’s legs.

“Hi!” Firepaw regarded her with a tilted head, amused. “Nice to meet you, Cinderkit. Who’s your brother?”

“SWIFTKIT!” Cinderkit yelled. She blinked and looked around, noticing Swiftkit’s absence. When she caught sight of her brother, she made a noise of exasperation. “Come on! ”

Swiftkit shook his head. “Uh-uh. That smells weird.”

“Haven’t much of a pleasant scent yourself, ant,” the hag retorted.

Willowpelt raised her head, lip twitching. Goldenflower gently placed a huge paw on her back and purred soothingly. Slowly, Willowpelt lowered her head again.

Cinderkit scoffed before returning her attention to Firepaw. “Who’re YOU?”

“My name’s Firepaw,” he said brightly. “I’m an apprentice.”

Cinderkit sniffed and scrutinized Firepaw. “You’re weird-looking.”

“Cinderkit!” Willowpelt said sharply.

Cinderkit took no notice. “Why’s your fur short?”

“He was a kittypet,” the hag croaked.

“KITTYPET?!” Cinderkit’s entire front half jumped backwards until she was almost sitting on her haunches and she stared at Firepaw with awe. “You lived in a HOUSE?!”

Firepaw snorted at her amazement. “I did, yes. But I live here now.”

“SWIFTKIT!” Cinderkit bounced on her toes and looked back at her brother. “Look! A kittypet!”

This, evidently, was enough to get Swiftkit’s curiosity. He edged forward, eyes wide and focused on Firepaw, the hag mostly forgotten, though he did glance nervously at her once. Firepaw caught sight of Willowpelt watching the proceedings warily, though he didn’t know what there was to be wary about.

“Are you a kittypet too?” Cinderkit asked the hag.

The hag stuck her fangs out with that odd smirking look of hers. “I’m a monster, child. I gobble up little kittens like you.”

Swiftkit cried out in terror and skittered backwards. Cinderkit, however, only stared at her with even more interest.

“Are you Yrrun?” she asked excitedly. “Did Firepaw catch you? Are you gonna eat HIM?”

“Fool girl.” The hag shook her head disdainfully. “Yrrun’s naked. And much bigger than I. Have I a mouth wide enough for this lump?”

“Who’s Yrrun?” Firepaw asked, feeling foolish that even a kit knew more than him.

Cinderkit gasped and stared at him with bulging eyes. Swiftkit looked just as shocked.

“Uneducated boy,” the hag muttered, but there was a mischievous twitch of her whiskers. She raised her voice and somehow made it gravellier. “A lucky thing you never saw it. It’s a horrid beast, swollen until its skin is bursting with fat and blood. And it loves apprentice meat.”

Firepaw stared at her. “There’s something that eats cats around here?”

“Oh, yes.” The hag struggled to a sitting position, though she was still a little hunched over (probably for the scarier effect, Firepaw figured). “Size of a dog, so we hear. Broken jaw, hanging loose and gaping with a throat so large it could swallow you whole. Eyes almost popping out of its hairless face. Wails and wails and wails until it finds a cat to hunt down and eat.”

Swiftkit was trembling a little and even Cinderkit was visibly unnerved. Firepaw wasn’t exactly relaxed with this description, but it was strange enough to make him more perplexed than afraid.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” he said. “Does it go after kittypets?”

“It’ll eat anything small and fat and young,” rasped the hag. “You’d be prime pickings, boy—your flesh is soft and tasty. Just don’t follow any smell of milk and fresh prey, or you—and certainly these kits— could be tricked and gone with a slurp and a gulp.”

“Enough of that!” Willowpelt got to her feet, shaking off Goldenflower’s paw. She stormed up to the hag and glared her down. “Don’t frighten my kits with these stories!”

“Is that all true?” Firepaw asked her.

Willowpelt answered with a tone like she had her kits more in mind than him to reassure. “No, no, it’s a fable they tell to keep apprentices behind their borders.” To Cinderkit and Swiftkit, she said gently, “Don’t worry, Yrrun can’t get you here.”

“Yet,” the hag said, drawing out every sound of the word. “Merely takes one cat to not pay attention, and then—”

Willowpelt growled, bristling at the hag. The hag’s eyes were nearly shut with how very clearly tickled she was about the frightened kits, but she met Willowpelt’s furious stare.

Abruptly, Willowpelt looked away and herded her kits back over to the nursery, hair on her back still raised. She murmured something to them along the lines of, “time to rest.”

“Ha.” The hag slowly crouched and reclined again. “Never gets old.”

Firepaw watched her with slightly narrowed eyes. “That wasn’t very nice.”

The hag gave him a look of complete disdain. “Right fool if you think I’m nice to begin with.”

“Still, they’re just kittens.”

“And?”

“They don’t need to be scared by something that’s fake.”

“Oh,” the hag said. “We think Yrrun is a lie, do we?”

Firepaw gave her a look back. “It sounds fake to me. I would have seen it before. And Willowpelt just said it’s not real.”

The hag’s mouth broadened until she was almost grinning, all her teeth on display. “We’ll say anything to feel safe.”

Firepaw wanted to argue, but he had a feeling this wasn’t going anywhere useful. He just sighed and shook his head. “Fine, I guess. Here, do you want me to keep getting this stuff out?”

The hag snorted. “An interesting bunch indeed. Be careful, now.”

Firepaw didn’t respond. He stuck to inspecting her pelt for available matts to tear out.

It was almost impressive how poorly-kept her fur was—there were more knots than clean, untangled hair. In some places the knot was right on her skin, which couldn’t have been comfortable. In others, the bottom was clean, but the top had been clumped together by the stinking fluid. The tail was weirdly cleaner than the rest of her body, though that wasn’t saying much. The matts behind her ears and on her neck, Firepaw could already guess, were not going to be fun to pull out.

He was curious about this situation, but he didn’t know how to politely ask why she was such a mess. He turned over the question in his head, wording and rewording it to be as inoffensive as possible. All the meanwhile, he did his best not to swallow any of the hair or fluid as he worked. The hag said nothing, though she growled many times and swatted at him again once or twice, cuffing his ears with a snap of, “Be more careful!” Firepaw’s patience was stretched thin, but he was nothing if not determined.

At last, after what felt like forever, the hag said, “That’ll do for now. Can’t take any more tonight.”

Firepaw tried to hide his relief, sitting upright and gingerly pawing at his mouth to get leftover fur out. He silently congratulated himself on a job well done—even if she was still a disaster, there was a sizeable pile of matts beside her, leaving a large chunk of her (admittedly uneven in length) fur much cleaner. She looked more like a cat now.

The hag sniffed at the clumpless parts of her coat and experimentally licked at it. Firepaw immediately saw why it had gotten that bad: her flat nose combined with her underbite made it nearly impossible for her tongue to successfully reach and straighten any patch of fur. He watched her with a sympathetic head tilt.

“The blast’re you looking at me like that for?” she said abruptly.

Firepaw meant to explain himself, but what came out was a question he hadn’t even thought to ask. “Do you never let anyone help you groom your fur?”

The hag stared at him with open bemusement.

“Or—” Firepaw fumbled. “What I mean is, like— can’t anyone help you clean? It— I mean, you had Clanmates, right? Didn’t anyone offer to assist you? Because I can see that…”

The hag’s bulbous eyes narrowed to slits and he trailed off, very afraid he was about to get another cuff on his ears, with claws out this time. She scowled at him for a long moment, but eventually she answered.

“You’re new, all right,” she said. “Elsewise you’d know no one wants near a cat like me. If they’ve a mite of intelligence. Can’t sense it, can you?”

Firepaw slowly, haltingly answered. “I can sense that you’re a little grumpy, if that’s what you mean.”

The hag barked out a “HA!” so loud that Firepaw jumped. For the second time tonight, eyes were on them. The hag shook her head with a rickety chuff and regarded the apprentice with a modicum of appreciation.

“You’re alright, boy,” she said. “You don’t belong in a Clan like this.”

Firepaw was unsure of what to say. He didn’t have to say anything, it turned out, because the hag grabbed her half-eaten prey and told him, “Be off with you.” With that, she started eating again, chomping like a dog.

Firepaw politely backed away, remembering the fur and carefully brushing it a distance away from the hag so she could eat in peace. While he stared at the pile, trying to decide what to do with it, Speckletail walked by.

“Not bad,” she said, appraising the fur. “You’ve been busy all night, haven’t you?”

Firepaw looked up at her. “How late is it?”

“Only half-over,” Speckletail replied. “I heard from Teaselfoot that she’s been giving you a hard time already.”

“She’s not too bad,” Firepaw said quickly. “It just hurts getting fur pulled out.”

Speckletail shook her head with a small snort. “You’re more patient than I am. Go ahead and get that fur out of the clearing, and then you can eat. It’d be good to get that taste of whatever that stuff is out of your mouth, I imagine.”

“It’d be nice,” Firepaw admitted. He nodded respectfully to her and started sweeping the pile to the closest space out of camp that he was near, which was a patch of grass and loose brambles near the elders’ den. None of the elders appeared to be awake, so he didn’t care to bother them just to say hi. Instead, he got the fur a good distance away from them, so they wouldn’t have to smell the liquid, before trotting off to the prey-pile to get his own meal.

All in all, he decided, even with her unpleasantries, he didn’t change his mind. He could still like the hag. Whether she liked him or not, though, remained to be seen.

Chapter Text

Firepaw stuck to his duties over the next few nights, doing his best not to complain or show any weariness. The hag was not an easy charge to take care of; she growled and glared and grumbled any time he did anything, even things she had ordered him to do. Firepaw was fairly sure that half of the time she was complaining for the sake of complaining—she couldn't hide the amusement in her eyes whenever he obeyed a command that made him redo work he had already done. All the same, he obeyed her and kept his mouth shut, waiting for the night that he could leave camp to train or patrol the border again.

Firepaw noticed with some curiosity that everyone seemed to be avoiding the meeting stump, the foot being where the hag made her home when she was awake. In fact, aside from Bluestar’s rare visits and inquiries, Firepaw was the only cat going near the hag. No one spoke with her or, if they could help it, looked her way. Cinderkit was curious about the former ShadowClan seer and would approach with wide eyes, but Willowpelt always herded her away to play elsewhere. The hag was unbothered, seemingly content with just talking to (and insulting) Firepaw. It was mostly sympathy for her isolation in the Clan that helped him tolerate her bad moods.

After a few slow nights passed - it felt like too many nights to Firepaw - the hag’s behavior changed with the weather, as she curled up in the ferns, refusing to come out and be rained upon. Firepaw could only deliver prey before she shooed him away and curled up tighter, her much cleaner dark gray fur puffed out with irritation at the droplets that got through the fern shelter speckling her body. Not one to force interaction, the apprentice bowed his head politely and trotted back into the center of camp just as Greypaw and Ravenpaw came through the entrance.

“I’m just saying, you’re way faster than me,” Greypaw was telling Ravenpaw as they walked. “You could totally take a rabbit.”

“I mean...” Ravenpaw huffed out a nervous chuff of a sigh. “You have to be strong, too. Rabbits are huge compared to what we usually hunt. You’d be able to actually kill it. I don’t know about me.”

“Well, sometime we should have you chase one towards me, and I’ll catch it and take it down,” Greypaw said. He looked like he was about to say more, but his eyes flickered up and he caught sight of Firepaw. “Hey! You should help us with a rabbit chase when you’re free again.”

“Sounds fun.” Firepaw padded up to them. “You’re home early. I thought you were training today?”

“We are!” Greypaw's tail waved merrily. “We asked our mentors if we could come to camp and train with you, since you’re stuck here.”

“That way you’re not missing anything,” Ravenpaw added.

Firepaw blinked in surprise. “Well, thank you. I’m free to train—the nameless cat wanted to sleep in.”

“Perfect.” Greypaw darted a look towards the meeting stump. “The clearing’s free, then.”

“Honestly, I’m pretty shocked Bluestar let me off,” Ravenpaw said quietly to Firepaw. “And that she hasn’t let you off too.”

Firepaw nodded knowingly. Ravenpaw’s training, he’d heard, had been solely focused on fighting since the battle, and had been non-stop throughout the night. He always came home exhausted, his neck straining and guilt in his eyes, and he always fell asleep very quickly after gulping down a mouse. Greypaw was the only one of the group that wasn’t currently in trouble, but, as he’d admitted to Firepaw, his attempts to help either of his friends by pleading for their cases had nearly resulted in punishment for him too.

At least now we’re allowed to hang out again, Firepaw thought. That was the important part.

The drizzle petered in and out as the apprentices practiced their crouches and pounces, correcting each other to the best of their knowledge and swapping jokes as they crawled and clawed the air, switching between hunting and fighting whenever one caught their attention more than the other. It was wonderful to have such a casual practice time, no one scolding or lecturing or staring them down, not allowing them to talk.

“You must be bored out of your mind here,” Greypaw said after a while. “Or just really stressed out. I would be.”

Firepaw tilted his head, rising a little out of his hunting crouch. “What do you mean?”

“That rogue.” Greypaw jerked his head in the direction of the ferns. “She’s scary as all get-out.”

Firepaw snorted a little, giving Greypaw a funny look. “Her temper isn’t that bad.”

“You mean you don’t feel it?” Ravenpaw asked, staring. “Her whole aura? She’s a ShadowClan seer.”

Firepaw looked at him now, a little bewildered. “Yyyyeah…?”

“Wow.” Greypaw sounded awed. “You kittypets—“ Ravenpaw gave him a look. “—former kittypet, sorry—you’re way tougher than I thought. Didn’t you notice that even Lionface avoids her?”

“I noticed that everyone avoids her,” Firepaw said. “I thought it was just because she’s grumpy. What should I have felt?”

Ravenpaw leaned his head in towards Firepaw, speaking conspiratorially. “Her entire presence. ShadowClan’s seers are so immersed in StarClan’s will that they’re beyond normal cats. Even beyond other seers from other Clans!”

“Yeah,” Greypaw whispered, with another look at the ferns, as if the hag could be listening in. “They’re, like, lost in the spirit world or something like that, right?” Ravenpaw nodded. “Right. I mean, seers are supposed to always be connected to StarClan, but ShadowClan takes it way too far. My mom said that their seers will forget to eat or sleep, and that they’re basically half-ghost at that point, so maybe they don’t even need all that.”

“I think they’d need to eat and sleep, Greypaw,” Ravenpaw said. “I mean, they should, right? Otherwise they wouldn’t be sent Wardens.”

“What’re Wardens?” Firepaw asked, keeping his voice as low as his friends’ for their sake.

“Basically, StarClan doesn’t want ShadowClan seers to hurt or neglect themselves,” Ravenpaw explained. “So a Clanmate is chosen to protect them and take care of them. They’ll bring them prey, and keep their coats clean, and make sure they don’t wander into a dog’s mouth.”

“Huh.” Firepaw looked between them, genuinely impressed. “StarClan really does a lot for warriors, don’t they? Sending dreams and taking care of their seers. That’s awesome of them.”

“They are our ancestors,” Greypaw said. He looked up a little in thought. “I wonder who her Warden was?”

“Had none.”

Ravenpaw and Greypaw jumped and whirled around to see the hag limping out into the clearing. Firepaw, unbothered, turned slower. She scowled at the young toms, tail twitching.

“I’m not a mucked pansy who needs to be coddled,” she growled. “No one takes care of me.”

“I mean…” Ravenpaw murmured to Firepaw, flicking his side with his white-tipped tail.

Firepaw and Greypaw both snorted. The hag’s wrinkled face furrowed into even deeper creases, like she had heard Ravenpaw, and she planted herself in front of the meeting stump.

“Boy,” she said. “Prey. Now.”

“Real independent, her,” Greypaw muttered, which was met with more snorts.

The hag growled, silencing Greypaw and Ravenpaw immediately. Firepaw, amused, just walked off to find something with wings for her.

She liked birds best, he’d discovered. She always quieted down with a pigeon in her paws.

Firepaw was bored.

The night of the Gathering had snuck up on him—before he knew it, the moon was full and the Clan was discussing what might happen if Bluestar confronted Crookedstar about the Sunningrocks situation. Firepaw had wanted to see the WindClan apprentice Wrenpaw again to say hi and inquired about his own training, but Bluestar had made a point of bringing Ravenpaw and Greypaw with her and making Firepaw stay in camp.

“You still have to care for the nameless cat,” she had said. “Your friends can bring you the news.”

Firepaw couldn’t help a sigh of disappointment, but he didn’t argue. He knew that wouldn’t go anywhere but into a pointless fight, and Bluestar was already looking at him very sternly.

“Tell Wrenpaw I said hi if you see him,” he said sadly to Ravenpaw.

Ravenpaw nodded sympathetically and followed the Gathering party out of camp.

Firepaw hung his head for a moment, letting himself be upset for a heartbeat or two, before getting up and heading to talk to the hag. She was chewing on the prey he had just given her—some pretty brown and red thing called a “robin”—but she paused as he approached.

“Do you need anything from me?” he asked dully.

Something flickered in her eyes that he couldn’t quite catch in time before it disappeared. She swallowed her prey and flicked a tattered ear. “My pelt got any dirt on it?”

Firepaw scanned her. “No.”

“Any knots?”

“No. I took the last one out the night before last.”

“Ah.” The hag pulled some feathers off of the robin. “Then I’ve nothing for you. Help your elders, perhaps. Stars know they’d love to scold you.”

Her words were curt as ever, but her tone had a shade of… it couldn’t be kindness, not from her. Pity, maybe?

Either way, Firepaw nodded and left her be, heading for the elders’ den. All of them were lounging around just outside of it, with One-eye trying to climb onto the top of the log that made up their home. Smallstorm was scolding her, while Patchpelt and Halftail looked on in amusement.

“I can do it!” One-eye was croaking, her back leg failing to catch a grip on the bark. “You just wait, shorty, you’ll eat your words.”

“You’ll break your back, idiot,” Smallstorm snapped. “Just stay down here.”

One-eye ignored him, still scrabbling. “Need to scout—”

“I can scout for you,” Firepaw offered.

All of the elders looked at him in surprise. One-eye nearly fell over trying to lower herself down.

“Well!” she said, purring. “Good to see you, varmint. You haven’t visited us in days!”

“I’m sorry,” Firepaw said. “I’ve just been busy with the, uh… with our guest.”

“Yes, we’ve heard her yelling at you.” Patchpelt's whiskers twitched. “You have a lot of patience, not yelling back.”

“Smallstorm bet our comfiest nest that you’d start fighting with her,” One-eye said. “Halftail bet you wouldn’t.”

Halftail’s ears flattened, but he said nothing.

Smallstorm scoffed. “He will, you just wait. Now.” He narrowed his eyes at Firepaw. “What do you want?”

His irritation was a lot easier to bear than the hag’s. Firepaw gave him a friendly blink. “Just coming to see if you want me to look for ticks and fleas again.”

“Check me,” One-eye said. “I’ve been itching on my right back leg. I know there’s something there.”

“I told you to stop rolling in the grass!” Smallstorm glared at her. “But you never listen to me, do you? Bad as an apprentice, you are.”

“Oh, hush.” One-eye gestured with her tail, beckoning Firepaw. “Come on over.”

Firepaw picked his way around the elders to reach her. She laid down on her left side, stretching her leg to be checked. He started parting the fur, searching for inconspicuous black bugs.

“Is Ravenpaw doing alright?” Patchpelt asked, uncharacteristically anxious. “He’s barely been visiting. I thought his punishment was over.”

“I think it just ended yesterday,” Firepaw said. “He’s just ashamed of himself. He hasn’t talked to anyone except me and Greypaw. And Whitecloud.”

“Poor boy,” One-eye said. “Shouldn’t have run, but he’ll learn. He doesn’t need to be driven around like a cloud in the wind to pay for it.”

“If anything,” Smallstorm said, “this one ought to be bearing his punishments.”

Firepaw didn’t respond, hiding his deflating spirits by locating a round black tick. “Here’s one. Hold still, please.”

One-eye did as he asked while he worked at the tick, but she did narrow her eye at Smallstorm. “For such little trouble as he caused? He already feels bad too. Doesn’t he?”

Firepaw pulled the tick out and crushed it distastefully. He looked up to see all of the elders looking at him expectantly.

“What?” he said nervously.

“Do you feel bad for bringing that cat in?” Patchpelt asked gently.

Firepaw took a moment to consider the question, thinking. Eventually, he said, “I feel bad for causing trouble, I guess.”

“You guess?” Smallstorm squinted at him.

“I mean…” Firepaw fumbled. “I mean, I’m not sorry I helped her. She’s hurt and she was hungry. I just feel bad because… well, Bluestar, she didn’t get a warning. I just pushed this on her, in front of everyone. That wasn’t nice of me.” He felt something steady his heart and his nerves. “But I don’t feel bad about feeding the nameless cat. I’m happy to take care of her.”

The elders glanced at each other, communicating something silently. Halftail gazed at Firepaw in silence, face unreadable.

“Even with it meant to punish you,” he said quietly, “you don’t regret it.”

“I don’t.” Firepaw shook his head. “It’s the right thing to do. I don’t care what it’s meant to be.”

He watched with surprise as the elders’ eyes unanimously lit up. They swapped looks again, now looking impressed. Or just shocked at his audacity, whichever one. He didn’t want to assume.

“Quite strong willpower,” Smallstorm said, in a tone that sounded like he was trying to pass the compliment off as a complaint.

Patchpelt’s eyes creased as he regarded Firepaw. “No wonder Bluestar brought you in.”

“I’d love to see her face if she heard that little speech,” One-eye said, and she purred again. “Can’t say much to that, can she?”

Halftail nodded with a faint sort of respect.

Firepaw relaxed at their positivity. “Thank you.” Something in his mind reminded him what he was here for and he straightened up. “Er, is there anything else I can do?”

“Good kid.” One-eye’s whiskers twitched. “Get me and the grouchy son of a badger here some prey. Patchpelt, Halftail?”

“I’m fine,” Halftail said, looking away.

“I’ll take something small.” Patchpelt lowered his chin onto his paws. “Just a mouse for me, please.”

Firepaw bobbed his head and turned around, setting off at a trot. At the prey-pile was Spottedleaf, tilting her head and eyeing a mole at her paws.

“Good evening,” Firepaw said, sniffing around for a mouse.

“You’re feeling cheered up, I hope?” she said, friendly as ever.

Firepaw lifted his head. “Did you hear me talking to the elders?”

“Just murmurs.” Spottedleaf daintily parted the mole’s chest fur with a claw. “But the air around you is alive. You must have singed a few of their pelts.”

Firepaw, unsure of how to answer, just pulled out a mouse and started looking for something that he thought would fill One-eye’s stomach.

“I did hear you say you’re not sorry about the seer,” Spottedleaf continued. Her claw dug into the mole’s flesh and she pulled down a little, making a hole. “And I think that’s good, because you shouldn’t be sorry.”

She beckoned Firepaw over with her tail. He paused his search and joined her, where she pulled the hole open a little, displaying something large for the mole’s size and vibrant in color.

“That’s a heart,” Spottedleaf said before Firepaw could ask. “That’s what beats and keeps us all going, every living thing: a cat, a fox, a mole. This one’s heart is quite large, and it’s healthy. It was steady and powerful, you can see that. Even to the end, that heart never failed its owner.”

Firepaw, a little puzzled, peered at the heart. “Okay.”

“We could all stand to have a heart like that,” Spottedleaf said, oddly soft. “It’s a blessing, even if most don’t think so.” She stood up and pawed the mole over to Firepaw. “You eat this one. It’s good luck. Take that prey to the elders first, of course.”

Firepaw had a feeling he wouldn’t get any clarification if he pressed her on what she meant, so he just obeyed, returning to the mouse and grabbing a squirrel and small bird before heading back to the elders. They offered no comments beyond a thanks, though Smallstorm was very clearly put out that his prey had to come last. When Firepaw was done, he picked up the mole and went over to the apprentices’ den. It was a lonely eating place, but he felt like sitting alone for a bit with his thoughts.

Hearts and moles, he pondered. Why tell me that?

Chapter Text

Firepaw didn't know how many nights passed since his cryptic conversation with Spottedleaf, but after a pawful , Bluestar halted him from heading to the hag’s resting spot.

“You’ve done well,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to be so dutiful without a complaint. Even Ravenpaw would have said something at this point.”

Firepaw gave her a curious look. “Well, I mean… it was a task you gave me, and it helped someone, so… why complain?”

Bluestar’s yellow eyes warmed. “You’re a hard worker. It’s about time you got to take a break and leave camp, don’t you think?”

Firepaw jumped in place, fur flaring in excitement. “Really?!”

Bluestar glanced at the hag, who had fallen asleep. “Get some prey for her and then join me at the entrance.”

Firepaw fairly sprinted to the prey-pile, skidding to a halt and barely remembering to find something good for her instead of grabbing at random. He selected a small brown bird, ran to the hag, and dropped it at her side with nothing but a heavy breath from the sleeping cat. He then whirled around and ran after Bluestar, who, with an amused look, led him through the bramble tunnel and out into the forest.

Firepaw inhaled deeply, wanting to dance in place as the fresh scents of the wild welcomed him back to the outside world. Flowers of many colors had cropped up in scattered clusters while he had been stuck inside. Even with the slowly worsening rain passing through the trees and causing heavy droplets to fall from the leaves catching what didn’t make it to the ground, it was a glorious return.

Bluestar was kind enough to give him a moment to relish the feeling before she tilted her head to the side and started slowly jogging. “Come along. We’ll do some hunting practice.”

“Okay!” Firepaw trotted with his tail high after her. She picked up her pace into a run and he followed suit.

Through all the vibrancy of the forest, the only moving things were two streaks of ginger and a larger blue-grey, ferns parting as they ran through with the rain chasing after them, trying to land on their fur and soak through. Firepaw was very quickly drenched to his skin and shivering a little, but the run helped warm him and the delight of soil under his paws, muddy as it was, was enough to make him forget that rain was generally an annoying thing that kept one under dry cover all night.

Just as he was starting to get tired, Bluestar slowed to a walk again and looked back at him. “Feel better?”

“Very much.” Firepaw slowed down too, allowing himself to breathe heavily and taste the air that he pulled in. “It’s great out here.”

“That it is.” Bluestar hopped up on a fallen log and sniffed. “There’s something around here. See if you can find it and catch it.”

Firepaw knew better now than to respond with a loud affirmative. Instead, he half-lifted himself off of his front feet, tasting the air properly. Everything was dense and rich with the rain, but he caught a trace of squirrel somewhere to his right. Carefully, he crouched and crawled along the forest floor, following the scent-trail. He came upon a tree with wide roots jutting out of the earth, and between two of the roots was a squirrel, its back turned to him. Firepaw bunched up, his hind legs wriggling a little, and lunged.

The squirrel had not been paying attention, so he landed on it near-perfectly. Near, because it had a fraction of space to pull out from under him, dart away and start up the tree, scrambling desperately. Firepaw’s training took over and he leaped high, predicting the squirrel’s spot up the trunk and catching it in his teeth and hooking its sides with his claws. The squirrel was pulled right off the bark, and its shriek was cut off as Firepaw cracked its neck.

He waited, making sure that it was dead before turning and marching up to Bluestar, holding up his catch with pride.

“Very good,” Bluestar said. “Your friends helped you learn that, I assume?”

“Kind of.” Firepaw put down the squirrel. “I just remembered that thing Tigerclaw told me.”

Bluestar nodded wisely. “He’s got a way of getting lessons to stick with you. Find somewhere to bury that squirrel, and we’ll come back this way and get it when we head home.”

Firepaw was a little nonplussed by this, but he did as she said and started looking. “Won’t something steal it?”

“We haven’t had a report of any predators since that fox,” Bluestar said. “The worst is that one of our Clanmates will find it and take it home.”

Firepaw refrained from giving her a doubtful response and dug next to the fallen log, placing his catch in a shallow hole and covering it up with the soil. “We’ll have to clean it once it gets home. It’s got mud all over it now.”

Bluestar made a noise of acknowledgement and jumped down from the log. “Come with me. We’ll look for something else.”

Firepaw followed her again with a last look at where he had buried the squirrel, trying to memorize it perfectly until it disappeared behind shrubs and ferns.

“It’s a shame the sky’s covered up with clouds,” Bluestar remarked, sounding more like she was talking to herself than anything. “The moon would light up our way very well. And it’d be good to see the stars, of course.”

“Yeah.” Firepaw trotted a little faster to walk by her side. “Spottedleaf told me about StarClan when I found the nameless cat. Did you know they tell her the future?”

“They do" Bluestar replied. “Or, at least, they tell her what can happen, even if it might not. She’s the best in the territories, too. She’s never led us wrong once.”

Firepaw’s eyes widened. “The best? Really?”

“Why do you think her name is -leaf?” Bluestar looked down at him, whiskers twitching. “That name means that she’s a seer beyond any other seers. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up in Rokhar’s hall when she dies.” She paused, then added, “Rokhar’s hall is for the best seers in the Clans, by the way.”

“Oh,” Firepaw said. “What are the other two?”

“Suriin’s is for a council of the most intelligent and wisest cats that ever lived,” Bluestar explained. “And Horoa’s is for the finest hunters and warriors looking to serve justice and protect us living cats from whatever monsters and ghosts may try to hurt us.”

Firepaw nodded thoughtfully, thinking. After a bit, he asked, “The seer name is -leaf?”

“Correct.”

“Why isn’t it -star?” He looked at Bluestar, barely avoiding tripping on a loose root. “I mean, seers are all about StarClan, right? Why are you and the other leaders named -star?”

“Because we serve StarClan and the Three too, just in a different way.”

“What do you mean?”

“A seer is in constant communication with StarClan, because that’s their role.” Bluestar smoothly jumped over a smaller log, Firepaw half-hopping, half-climbing after her. “They serve as the voice of our ancestors, and our guiding light. Leaders are the ones who take advice from the seers and lead the living according to wisdom and the law. We don’t just listen to the seers, either—we talk with our elders, our senior warriors, our deputy, everyone who lives in the physical, living world, and has learned how this part of existence works.” She gave Firepaw a wry look. “We aren’t in StarClan yet, after all.”

Firepaw hurried to keep up with her long strides. “But why -star, then?”

“It’s an old tradition from when StarClan first spoke with us,” Bluestar said. “Leaders were just as immersed in their guidance as seers were, and to honor the fact that we took on the heavy task of leading a whole Clan of cats while listening to StarClan, we were given -star. Seers didn’t have their special names until later. And even then, they have to be very good at what they do to be named with them.”

“Oh.” Firepaw’s eyes narrowed a little in thought. “That doesn’t seem very fair, that you get to be -star by default and they have to earn -leaf.”

“Ideally, if you’ve made it to leadership, you’ve already earned -star,” Bluestar replied. “You’ve mentored an apprentice, you’ve served time as deputy, you’ve helped lead your Clan well. It’s been proven that you can be a -star.”

“What if you’re a bad leader?”

Bluestar’s whiskers twitched. “Then you’ve pulled a magnificent trick on StarClan, if the seer or your Clanmates didn’t catch you by the time you get there.”

Firepaw didn’t respond for a bit, mulling things over. Another thought occurred to him and he asked, “So does the old leader change your name? Because you’re a warrior by that point, right? You already have a name that isn’t -paw.” He paused. “What were you, actually?”

“Bluedusk.”

“Then you became the leader,” Firepaw said, and Bluestar nodded. “So how did you change to -star?”

“You’ll be seeing her soon enough,” Bluestar said. “We go to the Mother and sleep by her heart. When we wake, she and StarClan have gifted us with -star.”

“The Mother!” Firepaw perked up. “I know her! She’s the one that made all life. Whitecloud said she’s asleep.”

“She is,” Bluestar affirmed. “And all apprentices go to visit her before they become warriors, to hear a story and be blessed with strength and fortune.”

“Wow…” Firepaw looked into the woods ahead of them, as if the Mother was going to be passing through now. “That’s awesome.”

“That’s a way to put it,” Bluestar said fondly.

Firepaw wanted to ask more questions, but a rustling close by made him stop. Bluestar halted and shifted her right foot so it was slightly in front of Firepaw, blocking him from whatever was out here. The rustling continued ahead of them, briar and bracken shuffling.

“Someone here?” a voice called.

Bluestar relaxed and stood straight again. “Just me and Firepaw.”

Two brown cats immediately came through the underbrush—small, dusky Mousefur and dusty, brindled Speckletail. Both of them nodded respectfully to Bluestar and in a more friendly way to Firepaw.

“I thought I heard you talking,” Speckletail said. “Were you saying something about StarClan?”

“I was giving Firepaw a bit of a history lesson,” Bluestar said. “A bit about our names and such.”

“Ah,” Mousefur said. She gave Firepaw a cheeky look. “Still haven’t learned about all that? It’s a lot, don’t worry. It’ll take a while.”

“She told me about -star and -leaf,” Firepaw said excitedly. “What they mean—leadership and seer stuff. Does every name mean something?”

“Of course,” Mousefur said. She huffed an amused breath. “Well, not mine. It just means I’m a warrior now and I have long fur.”

“Not that that’s bad,” Speckletail said, with a pointed look at the smaller molly. “You’re not defined by what you were named.”

“I mean, you kind of are,” Mousefur said. “That’s the point of a name in general.”

Firepaw interrupted the gentle debate, too eager to learn more. “So what does -tail mean?”

“We’re on a hunt for birds,” Speckletail said. “If you want to come with us, I can show you.”

Firepaw turned to Bluestar, green eyes shining.

“We were just hunting a little ourselves,” she said. “Lead on. I’d like Firepaw to see how tree-hunting works.”

“You’ll be impressed,” Mousefur murmured to Firepaw as they started to walk together. “Speckletail’s got her name for a reason.”

Firepaw was bursting to ask what -tail meant right now, but seeing it in action was even more interesting. He trotted along with Mousefur, glad that he could at least match paces with her, while Speckletail and Bluestar took the lead, speaking quietly to each other.

Soon enough, Speckletail stopped, looking up into a tree. “Here we go.”

The other cats stopped with her. Firepaw followed her line of sight to a nest tucked into a higher branch, a ball of feathers just poking out of it.

“That pigeon’s asleep,” Mousefur whispered, leaning in so Firepaw could hear her better. “Now watch this.”

Speckletail approached the tree, half-sitting—then she was in the air, higher than Firepaw had ever seen anyone jump before, and was climbing up the tree in perfect silence. Firepaw watched in awe as she scaled the bark even better than the squirrel he had hunted earlier, hardly pausing whenever she reached a branch, winding through the leaves until she was on the branch with the pigeon. She crawled a few steps, then darted her head forward and had the pigeon’s neck in her jaws. The pigeon got two flaps of its wings off before its life ended, and Speckletail was scaling down the tree again, tail curling over her back as she approached the makeshift hunting patrol again.

“That,” she said to Firepaw, putting down the pigeon, “is why I’m named -tail.”

Firepaw was shivering now, but more from excitement than the cold and wet of the rain. “That was amazing! Do you hunt in the trees a lot?”

“Not as much as I should.” Speckletail licked her chest casually, but she looked pleased with herself. “Usually I prefer to leave bird nests alone—they usually have eggs that need to grow into birds themselves. But I’ve marked that nest, and that pigeon didn’t have anything yet.”

“Think something else will take that nest?” Mousefur asked as Speckletail started digging into the earth, like Firepaw had.

“It’s a very fresh one,” Speckltail responded. “I’m sure one bird or another will. We better leave it alone for now, though.”

“That’s another thing you’ll learn about,” Mousefur said to Firepaw. “We have to be careful about where we hunt to keep prey from running out.”

Firepaw blinked. He hadn’t considered that there was a finite amount of prey in the territory. He asked Bluestar, “Should I have not hunted that squirrel, then?”

“This area’s fine for now,” the blue-gray molly assured him. She added to Speckletail, “He did a bit of tree-work himself earlier. He caught a squirrel just as it was climbing away.”

“Well now.” Speckletail gave Firepaw a warm look. “You’ve got potential after all.”

“Speckletail,” Bluestar said.

“She’s teasing.” Mousefur tapped Firepaw’s side with her tail. “You’re doing good so far, chrii. Don’t worry. Aside from bringing in strangers, I mean.”

Firepaw chuffed. “I’m not perfect, I guess.”

“You’ll get better,” Speckletail said, pulling the last of her dug-up soil over the pigeon. “Even if it takes a moment.”

Bluestar nodded her approval to Speckletail. “Shall we continue?”

“Might as well.” Speckletail took the lead now, walking with Bluestar close behind. Mousefur and Firepaw, still side-by-side, followed.

“I’d like to tree-hunt sometime,” Firepaw said to Mousefur. “I think that’d be cool.”

“We’ll teach you to climb a tree first,” Mousefur said. “Kitten-steps.”

Firepaw could agree to that. He was soon distracted by looking at every tree they walked past, already trying to figure out which of them he’d have the best chance of climbing to hunt a bird himself.

Chapter Text

The rain was persistent, but eventually the wind coaxed it into moving on, with fog taking its place. And what dense fog it was; when Firepaw woke up early to make dirt, he could barely make out Goldenflower’s giant golden form across camp, huddled like she was trying to stay warm.

He could, however, hear just fine, and what he heard was an argument.

“You’re a proper idiot,” the hag’s voice rasped.

Firepaw stretched as he left the apprentices’ den and walked in the direction of the camp entrance. As he got closer, he could see Spottedleaf was standing across from the hag, who was huddled like Goldenflower and, by the extra-protruding jaw she was aiming in the seer’s direction, having quite a bit of fun.

“It’d be more idiotic to spite StarClan,” Spottedleaf responded… and was her tail twitching? “Our ancestors have never led us wrong once. They know the future.”

“Uh-huh,” said the hag. “Sure.”

“I am sure.” Spottedleaf’s voice was uncharacteristically testy. “Every cat must follow the path StarClan sets down for her. Fate can’t be avoided.”

“Even with a path of disaster, eh?” The hag squinted one eye at Spottedleaf. “You’d kill yourself if you thought StarClan told you to, I’ll wager.”

Spottedleaf didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was low and tense. “I will follow what fate has in store for me.”

“Hah.” The hag shifted a little to be more on her side. “Think StarClan never makes a mistake?”

“Never,” Spottedleaf said firmly.

“You’re stupid.” The hag tapped her tail with authority, as if passing judgement on Spottedleaf like a leader. “They aren’t gods, girl, just us but dead now. They make all sorts of errors, all the time.”

Firepaw, a little hesitant to intrude but anxious to stop the argument, stepped a little closer. “Is something wrong—?”

“Like that!” The hag jerked her head sideways in Firepaw’s direction. “Tell me that StarClan planned for him to be here, of all places. Here? In the place he’ll be doubted the most? Soft little fool living with you giant barbarians?”

Spottedleaf narrowed her eyes, and if Firepaw wasn’t mistaken, the hair on her back was twitching upwards. “He’s meant to be with us. I saw the sparks in the sky—“

“As did I,” the hag drawled. “Could’ve been for anyone. Not my fault you got to him first.”

Spottedleaf’s beautiful face hardened with anger. Firepaw hurried to step closer and calm things down.

“What sparks?” he asked.

Spottedleaf appeared to just now realize his presence. Quickly, she straightened up, smoothed out her fur, and looked at him with a sweet expression that very obviously took great effort. “When Bluestar was deciding whether or not to invite you to ThunderClan, StarClan sent a sign to me—“

The hag chuffed.

“—that came in the form of flickering sparks, dancing across the sky.” Spottedleaf’s eyes darted in annoyance to her fellow seer. “That’s what told us it was time for you to come join our family.”

“Oh.” Firepaw looked between the two and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know StarClan… I didn’t know they’d send anything about an outsider like me. I thought they were just about Clan cats.”

“Are,” the hag said. “If you didn’t have potential here, they wouldn’t have cared.” Her jaw stuck to the side, giving her a sneering smirk. “Could’ve been a hero to save the outside world; they would’ve spoke not, if you weren’t a warrior.”

Firepaw blinked.

“Meant it when I said it, boy,” the hag continued. “You ought to be somewhere better.” She turned that smirk on Spottedleaf. “RiverClan, perhaps?”

Spottedleaf did bristle then, and she turned with her mouth open and ready to argue. There was a heartbeat of silence, all three of them still.

Then she shut her mouth, turned and stalked away, heading into her fern-surrounded nest.

The hag looked very pleased with herself. She curled her tail over her back and shut her eyes. “Now, you. Some prey.”

Firepaw watched Spottedleaf’s tortoiseshell pelt disappear into the undergrowth, halfway between impressed and appalled. “You… actually made her mad.”

“Easy enough,” the hag said. “Everybody’s got a wound to press on.”

Firepaw looked at her with a slightly sardonic tilt of his head. “You’d know, huh?”

“Would.” The hag’s jagged teeth somehow managed to almost glow without a sun to reflect on them. “A tip for you, boy: sooner you learn about those wounds, get a little attitude, sooner you’ll be stronger. Sooner you’ll be a real force to be reckoned with.”

Firepaw huffed a slightly tired breath. “Do you tell everyone that?”

“Nah.” The hag opened one eye a sliver and looked at him. “Just you.”

Firepaw had a few responses to that—mostly questions—but he said none of them and walked away to get prey for her. He returned with a bird and was mercifully dismissed to return to bed after making dirt.

When he woke up again, the den was empty, and conversation buzzed outside. He got up and emerged, stretching and looking around. Everyone was in camp, and most of them were chatting to each other with some degree of excitement. He caught mentions of Sandpaw and Dustpaw, and when he saw the two older apprentices, they looked quite smug.

“There you are.” Greypaw trotted up from the prey pile, two large mouse-like things dangling by their tails from his jaws. Ravenpaw was behind him, carrying a mole.

“Is something going on?” Firepaw bumped heads with both of them in greeting.

“It’s an assessment day,” Ravenpaw said, setting down the mole. “Sandpaw and Dustpaw will be tested to see if they’re ready to receive their warrior names.”

“Oh!” Firepaw looked over at the two again. “Well, that’s exciting. Will we get to watch them be named?”

“Oh, yeah.” Greypaw half-tossed the mice-likes, letting one land at Firepaw’s feet. “The whole Clan watches. It’s tradition, or whatever. Here, you hungry?”

“I am…” Firepaw sniffed the prey. “This is a huge mouse.”

“Rat,” Ravenpaw said quietly. “They’re basically the same thing, though. Rats are just bigger.”

“And meaner, if ShadowClan has anything to say about it,” Greypaw said.

Firepaw didn’t miss the look Ravenpaw was giving the rat in front of him, so he nosed it closer to his friend. “I’ll take that mole, if you don’t mind. You can have this.”

“Oh—” Ravenpaw turned his surprised eyes on Firepaw. “Er— sure, thank you. Are you sure? This has more meat…”

“I don’t need much,” Firepaw said. “You’re both bigger than me. You have more of a chance of finishing these rats.”

Ravenpaw went through his mandated nervous fidgets before accepting and moving to take the rat. Firepaw exchanged it for the mole and the toms sat down together, starting on their prey.

“So what’ll be their assessments?” Firepaw asked as he chewed at the mole’s foot.

“No idea,” Greypaw said. “Could be a lot of things. There’s a lot of tests.”

Ravenpaw hummed. “I’ll guess that Dustpaw’s going to do something with Redtail. Maybe a patrol? Something that goes with his dutifulness.”

Firepaw swallowed the foot. “How do you figure that?”

“Just makes sense,” Ravenpaw said, thoughtful. “He’s the apprentice of the deputy. He’d probably love to organize things like Redtail does. I’ve noticed he’s pretty focused on order, anyway.”

Greypaw and Firepaw gave each other a slightly surprised, mostly impressed look. Greypaw said to Ravenpaw, “You’re observant.”

Ravenpaw’s ears folded and his eyes darted down bashfully. “I just guessed, that’s all.”

The toms continued to eat, all of them half-listening into the various conversations around them. Firepaw watched Sandpaw and Dustpaw as Redtail circled them, tail high and expression delighted.

“It’ll be a challenge for you two today,” he was saying. “I don’t doubt for a heartbeat that you’ll do well, of course, but don’t slack anywhere.”

Sandpaw had her head high—and, weirdly, Firepaw thought he could hear her purring. “It’ll be fine, Arpam . We’ve been ready for a long time.”

Dustpaw nodded, adding, “I can take on whatever Bluestar has in store for me.”

Tigerclaw was standing a little to the side to allow Redtail to keep circling them. He said something quietly to Sandpaw that Firepaw barely caught. Something about “confidence”. It must have been positive, because Sandpaw’s chest puffed out in pride.

“What do you figure their names will be?” Firepaw said to his friends.

“Sandpaw’s totally getting -storm.” Greypaw’s eyes squinted in amusement. “If she gets anything else, I’m calling rot. I don’t know about Dustpaw.”

“He’ll probably—” started Ravenpaw, but then Bluestar called for the group. Puzzled, they all looked at each other before getting up and padding across the misty clearing, where she was standing with the soon-to-be-named apprentices.

“The three of you will be needed today,” she said. Even up close, she nearly blended in with the fog. “You’ll be helping in an assessment. Firepaw, do you know what that means?”

Firepaw nodded. “Ravenpaw just told me. They’re testing to be warriors.”

“Good.” Bluestar nodded and looked to Dustpaw and Sandpaw. “We’ll start now. Dustpaw, your assessment is to organize a patrol and lead it around our border. Redtail will be going with you to observe.”

Dustpaw jolted, like he was about to jump up onto his feet with excitement, and he nearly did. Quickly, he caught himself, sat back down, and nodded seriously.

“Sandpaw…” Bluestar looked at her now. “You’re going to be teaching the younger apprentices a move. You can choose either hunting or fighting.”

Sandpaw’s expression twisted into some kind of shocked offense. She whipped her head around to stare at the toms, who were all just as surprised as she was.

Redtail chuffed. “You’re up to the challenge still, of course?”

“I—” Sandpaw’s mouth was open for a moment. Then she shut it, shook herself and gave her father a challenging stare. “Of course I am. This will be easy.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Bluestar said, with a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Let’s head out to the training hollow now. Dustpaw, Redtail, get started with the patrol.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Dustpaw jumped up properly this time and trotted into the center of camp, all stiff and business-like (but not being able to fully conceal his eagerness). Redtail gave his daughter a lick on the ear, told her “good luck”, and followed after Dustpaw.

Sandpaw wasn’t nearly as happy, but she got up and started for the entrance. Tigerclaw, Bluestar, and the younger apprentices went with her. Firepaw peered at Ravenpaw and Greypaw to gauge their reactions; Greypaw looked like he was hiding a snort, and Ravenpaw’s head was down a little like he was expecting to be struck.

They reached the hollow quickly. Tigerclaw murmured something again to Sandpaw, who took a breath and gave him an appreciative look. The adults went and sat together on the edge of the sandy pit, leaving the apprentices in the center.

“Alright,” Sandpaw said, uncharacteristically uncertain. “We’ll… I’ll teach you, uh… a more advanced battle move. Have you all gotten to the half-turn rake yet?”

“No,” the boys said together. Firepaw added, “I’m not sure what that is.”

“You wouldn’t,” Sandpaw muttered. She cleared her throat before anyone could react to that response and tried to look authoritative, but that uncertainty still remained in her voice. “It requires you to be fast and efficient with your movements. What you do is—” She looked at Bluestar. “Can Tigerclaw be an example? He just needs to stand still.”

Bluestar glanced at Tigerclaw. “It’s up to you.”

Tigerclaw slowly stood and walked up to Sandpaw, where he stopped and went completely still.

“So what you do—” Sandpaw suddenly half-rolled onto her side right as she was ducking under Tigerclaw’s belly. The long fur made it harder to see, but Firepaw caught sight of her raking her unsheathed paws against her mentor’s stomach and the back of his front legs before she darted out from beneath him and rolled onto her feet. The whole move was quick enough that Firepaw had hardly a chance to complete a breath before it was over.

“That—” she said, not without a little pride “—is the half-turn rake. You get down, pushing yourself with your back feet along the ground, and attack whatever you can reach on your side. Then you push yourself back out and get up. It’s a good move to disorient your opponent on where you are. Alongside that, if you hit the stomach and back of the legs, you can do a lot of damage and—at least, momentarily—you can disable them. The back of the legs are ginger when they’re clawed, and the stomach can make them fall if it’s hurt.”

Firepaw had to admit that her demonstration was impressive. He nodded and said, “That was really fast for such a complex move.”

Sandpaw looked conflicted on whether to take the compliment or dismiss the former kittypet’s words.

Luckily, Greypaw spoke before she could do anything. “I’m pretty big, myself. Would I be able to do that?”

“Anyone can,” Sandpaw said, darting a look at Bluestar, like she was checking to see if she messed up. “Here, uh… Firepaw, you try it first on me.”

Tigerclaw backed away as Firepaw hesitantly approached. He had been helping the hag with her fur again, and now getting too close to a cantankerous molly readied his muscles to flinch away from a swat. Still, he went up to the larger golden molly’s side, focusing. He leaned his head a little towards hers to ask, “What’s the best way to push myself with my back feet?”

“You just brace them on the ground and move yourself along,” she said, with very obvious restraint on an insult. “It’s easy enough once you’ve practiced.”

Firepaw took a step back, waiting. Then he plunged forward, rolling as well as he could and almost ending up on his back in the wrong direction. He pawed her belly, swatted at whatever leg he could reach, and clumsily scooted himself out from underneath her, getting to his feet again.

“I went the wrong way,” he admitted when she looked at him.

She sighed. “First try will always suck. Ravenpaw, then Greypaw, you’re next.”

Ravenpaw did a little better than Firepaw, and Greypaw struggled the most, mostly because he was big enough to almost topple Sandpaw from below. Sandpaw repeated the move a few more times, doing a fantastic job of reigning her impatience in beyond a twitch of the lip. Gradually, the younger apprentices improved, until Bluestar lifted her tail.

“That will do,” she said.

All the apprentices turned to her now, anticipating her judgement. She shared a glance with Tigerclaw, who nodded, and regarded Sandpaw for a moment. Firepaw saw Sandpaw swallow hard.

“You did very well.” Bluestar dipped her head with respect. “You’re ready.”

Sandpaw almost sagged and sighed with relief. Tigerclaw had a rare warmness in his amber eyes as he stood to meet his apprentice, repeating Bluestar’s gesture.

“We can head home now,” Bluestar said. She got up and led the rest of the cats out of the clearing.

“Congratulations,” Firepaw said to Sandpaw as they started walking. “I hope you get a good name.”

The golden molly looked down at him. She still seemed irritated at him, but all she said was, “Thank you.”

Firepaw’s tail swayed cheerily. He slowed to let her walk ahead, trying to show some respect to her new authority.

When the party returned home, Dustpaw’s patrol of Redtail, Teaselfoot, and Darkstripe were just behind them. All of the cats walked through the entrance and spread out before Bluestar turned to Redtail.

“He’s ready,” Redtail said proudly. “How did my girl do?”

“Much better than I anticipated,” Bluestar said. “She might do well as a mentor in the future.”

Sandpaw lowered her head a little in…modesty? An unusual look on her.

Redtail gave her a headbump to her shoulder as Bluestar hopped onto the meeting stump. She turned to the Clan, calling, “ThunderClan, gather around.”

As the Clan assembled with excited murmurs, Tigerclaw and Redtail went to sit on either side of the stump. Dustpaw and Sandpaw sat down a few body-lengths away from the stump, the center of a ring of space.

“It’s time for a long-awaited ceremony,” Bluestar said. “Tonight, two of our apprentices will be joining their seniors as warriors. StarClan, I call upon you to watch over these cats and bless them with strength and long, healthy lives under their new names. Sandpaw, step forward.”

Sandpaw stood quickly and obeyed, taking a few steps and looking up at Bluestar, eyes wide with a mix of emotions.

“Sandpaw, do you promise to uphold our code and defend your Clan, no matter the cost?” Bluestar asked.

Sandpaw nodded once. “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name.” Bluestar’s raised her voice a little more until it rang through the clearing. “From this night forward, you will be known as Sandstorm. ThunderClan honors your ferocity and focus, and we welcome you as a full warrior of the Clans. Tigerclaw, we thank you for training her in our ways.”

The dark tabby stood, approached the new warrior, and bowed his head, a gesture she repeated. He moved to join the crowd, where Goldenflower made space for him. Sandstorm backed away to sit with Dustpaw again.

“Told you,” Greypaw whispered to Firepaw and Ravenpaw. “Couldn’t have been anything else.”

“Dustpaw, step forward,” Bluestar said.

The brown tabby jumped to his feet and trotted forward, tail waving. He puffed out his chest, darting a glance at his mentor.

“Do you, too, promise to uphold our code and defend your Clan, no matter the cost?”

Dustpaw’s voice was unusually loud and enthusiastic. “I do!”

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name.” Bluestar regarded him with affectionate amusement. “From this night forward, you will be known as Dustpelt. ThunderClan honors your diligence and honor for the code, and we welcome you as a full warrior of the Clans. Redtail, we thank you for training him in our ways.”

“That was almost the exact same speech,” Firepaw whispered to Ravenpaw as Redtail went to meet his former apprentice, bursting with pride.

“It’s a script,” Ravenpaw explained in a hushed voice. “It changes a little sometimes, but it’s usually the same every ceremony.”

“Huh.” Firepaw blinked and watched Redtail enter the crowd like Tigerclaw did.

Bluestar jumped down smoothly from the meeting stump. “Sandstorm, join us.”

Sandstorm marched up, tail high. Bluestar touched her nose to Dustpelt’s head, and he licked her shoulder. She repeated the gesture with Sandstorm, who did the same as Dustpelt.

“Welcome, Dustpelt and Sandstorm, to warrior life,” Bluestar said.

The crowd burst with a cheer. “Sandstorm! Dustpelt! Sandstorm! Dustpelt!”

Firepaw jumped in surprise, looking around. Even Greypaw and Ravenpaw were chanting. Firepaw didn’t get a chance to join in before it fell away and turned into general words of congratulation, cats moving forward to talk with the new warriors.

“I didn’t know we chanted,” he said to Greypaw. “Was that rude?”

“Nah, you know for next time,” Greypaw replied. “No worries. Hey, where’s the old cat? She’s usually in front of the stump.”

Firepaw belatedly realized she was gone too and reared up a little to look over the crowd. He found her sitting away from the crowd of ThunderClan cats, a short distance from the nursery. Cinderkit, Swiftkit, and Willowpelt were sitting by the den, Willowpelt trying to shield Cinderkit from the hag.

“When do we get OUR ceremony?” Cinderkit asked her mother excitedly. “I wanna get my name!”

“You need to be an apprentice first, love,” Willowpelt said with the patience of a mother being asked a question many times over. “Then you’ll become a warrior.”

“She won’t,” the hag croaked suddenly.

Willowpelt shot her a glare, but Cinderkit broke free from her paws and bounced over to the hag.

“I won’t?” She crouched like she was about to pounce on the ShadowClan cat. “Then will I be a leader?! Oh! Oh! I know what I’ll be! I’ll help Spottedleaf, like a Warden! Like Firepaw’s helping you!”

The hag gave her a dry, if somewhat amused look. “ThunderClan seers haven’t Wardens, fool girl.” She squinted one eye at the kit. “Perhaps you could help her anyway.”

Cinderkit cheered with a squeaky yowl. This was evidently too much for Willowpelt; she got up and pawed at Cinderkit, herding her back.

“Leave her be,” Willowpelt said testily. Firepaw wasn’t sure if she was talking to Cinderkit or the hag.

“Miii , no,” Cinderkit whined. “The yellow fang’s telling me stuff!”

“Don’t call names.” Willowpelt kept pawing her. “You shouldn’t be talking to her anyway.”

“Fair trade for my names, methinks,” the hag said, with that underbite-smirk of hers. “You needn’t know everything yet anyway, kit. Go annoy your brother.”

“Awww…” Cinderkit hung her head and obeyed her mother’s gestures, walking back to Swiftkit with a very dramatic moping slink.

Firepaw twitched his whiskers and went to join the hag. He waited until he was close enough to ask her in a low voice without being overheard, “You were a seer, right? Do you know the kits’ future? Does Spottedleaf?”

“Ach.” The hag rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t matter. That twit won’t tell the queen what she saw.” She gave Firepaw a dark wink. “I would, though, if I knew everything. Could be fun to watch her reaction.”

“You’re mean,” Firepaw said, without any bite in his words.

“The future isn’t always bright, boy,” the hag said. “Remember that. Even if things seem good, even if the signs shine and glitter, that guarantees nothing. Ought to be prepared for everything.”

Firepaw wasn’t sure about this piece of advice either, but he bobbed his head, adding with a false tinge of sarcasm, “Is that another thing you’re just telling me?”

“I try telling everyone that.” The hag gave a rickety sigh. “No one listens. Hope you will.”

“I will,” Firepaw said. “You’re mean, but you’re not dumb. I trust your advice.”

The hag stuck out her yellowed fangs with a snort, but she appraised him with a slightly approving look. “Atta boy.”

Firepaw gave her a friendly blink, and the two fell silent, watching the dispersing crowd, and Dustpelt and Sandstorm talking to each other with rare joy. Fog or not, it was a nice night.

Chapter Text

The next evening, Firepaw was on his way to bring the hag another bird when Bluestar stepped in front of him and stopped him in his tracks.

“That will be enough for now,” she said.

Firepaw blinked and set down the prey. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Bluestar was curt enough to make Firepaw worry that he had indeed made a mistake, but then she looked over at the hag dozing at the foot of the stump. “I need to speak with her first.”

Firepaw watched as Bluestar walked with a severe expression up to the hag and loomed over her. The hag barely opened one eye to look up at the leader.

“You’ve sat around eating our prey for long enough,” Bluestar said. “I think we’ve more than earned your good graces. It’s time for you to tell us what you know.”

“Fine by me.” The hag stretched and got to her feet. Firepaw noted with relief that her injured paw had healed up enough to put weight on it. “Mayhaps you’d like to speak privately.”

“That’s the plan.” Bluestar started for the camp entrance, where Redtail was waiting. He nodded respectfully to the hag as she ambled past him, to which she responded with a grunt, before following the two mollies outside.

Firepaw stood in the center of camp with the bird,  having no idea what to do with himself now that he was bereft of his usual tasks. The adults in camp were talking with each other (most of them discussing what the hag might have to say), Ravenpaw had gone outside, and Greypaw was sleeping in. Firepaw considered going to talk with Goldenflower, but just as he turned her way, a loud purr made him look behind him.

It was Spottedleaf, coming up to him with shining eyes and a happily waving tail.

“You should be very excited,” she said to him cheerfully. “Tomorrow is a special day!”

Firepaw would have been delighted to be excited for anything, but he had no idea what she was talking about. Spottedleaf knew he was confused, clearly, because she continued.

“You, Ravenpaw, and Greypaw are coming with me tomorrow,” she elaborated. “We’re going on a journey to the Mother, all the way across the territories.”

“Wait, really?” Firepaw fully turned around, eyes wide. “I’ll actually see her?”

“You will!” Spottedleaf’s eyes were nearly shut with delight. “You’ll even see her heart, and if we’re lucky, all of us will receive a dream from her.”

“Already?”

Firepaw and Spottedleaf looked up and saw Ravenpaw approaching. He seemed just as surprised as Firepaw was. Spottedleaf nodded to him.

“You three ought to get as much rest as possible,” she said. “We’re leaving at daylight. Don’t worry, you’re off your apprentice duties for tonight. Just relax and eat, then sleep early.”

Ravenpaw let out a shaky sigh. “Yes, ma’am. Here, Firepaw, we can get some prey. Er— do you want to?”

“Sure.” Firepaw picked up the bird and trotted with Ravenpaw to the prey-pile. He decided to switch the bird out for a somewhat small rat, while Ravenpaw picked up a pigeon. They took a squirrel with them for Greypaw and went to their usual spot by the apprentices’ den. As they ate, Firepaw mused on how big the den seemed inside without Dustpelt and Sandstorm to share it with.

His musings faded off when Greypaw shifted the leaves and pushed through them out of the den, blinking sleepily. Ravenpaw made a small mew to get his attention and motioned to the squirrel. Greypaw yawned, nodded, and plopped down with a thud beside Ravenpaw, munching on a haunch with his eyes almost completely closed.

“We’re going to the Mother at daylight,” Firepaw informed him.

“Oh?” Greypaw swallowed, yawned, then jerked his head up, suddenly awake. “Oh! Awesome. Already?”

“That’s what I said.” Ravenpaw parted some feathers to get at his pigeon’s belly. “We have the night off to rest.”

“Man, that’ll be a long walk,” Greypaw said. “But we’ll get to see the other territories, so that’s not so bad. And the Mother, of course.” His eyes brightened. “The creator herself… can you imagine how intense it’ll be to walk through her body?”

“We what?” Firepaw squinted at him.

Greypaw gave Firepaw an amused look. “That’s how we get to her heart. What did you think we were going to do?”

“I don’t have any idea of anything,” Firepaw said. “I don’t even know which way we’re going.”

“You’ll see.” Greypaw flicked a paw. “Don’t worry, it’ll be cool. You’ll love it.” 

It seemed like hardly half the night had passed before Firepaw and his friends were sent to sleep early. It also seemed like Firepaw had barely shut his eyes when Spottedleaf woke him up. Once again, he was too sleepy to argue with her, so he stumbled out of his nest and followed her, Ravenpaw, and Greypaw out of camp. He thought he vaguely heard some cats wishing them luck, but couldn’t grasp the words.

It was sunny out, even with patches of clouds dotting the sky. Light filtered through the trees and dappled the ground, making the cats’ pelts shine as they passed through more clear parts of the woods. Dew sparkled from every leaf and flower and blade of grass. It was all very pretty, and entirely too bright. Firepaw’s eyes were nearly squeezed shut as he walked along after his friends and the seer, which did not help his tiredness. Combined with the warmth of daylight, Firepaw was certain he was going to fall on his face and sleep again at any second.

He was grateful that no one was really speaking. He wasn’t confident in his ability to keep up a conversation.

With his mind afloat in drowsiness, Firepaw was caught off-guard by the edge of the forest into the open grasslands. He winced at the searing light and stopped in place, swiping at his eyes with a paw.

“Are you alright?” Ravenpaw asked, the first to speak this entire time.

Firepaw shook his head and forced his eyes open, gradually hating it less as each heartbeat passed. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Just… bright, is all.”

To his relief, when he looked up, he saw that he wasn’t the only one that was tired. Ravenpaw and Greypaw’s tails were low and their eyes were just as bleary as his. Spottedleaf seemed to be the only one truly awake, but she had kindly paused in her walking.

“Take a moment, boys,” she said. “Shake your pelts and feel the sunlight. It won’t do to fall asleep on our way.”

The apprentices were more than happy to obey. Firepaw did as she said and shook his fur out—and, to his surprise, it helped wake him up quite a bit. His eyes finally adjusted to the light and he scanned his surroundings to get an idea of how far they had walked.

They had made it out of the forest; the clearing of Fourtrees was visible in the distance, its boulder dully glowing in the center of the square of trees. The sloping, peaty hills of WindClan territory rose ahead of them, with shimmering ripples washing over the heath and heather. Firepaw still couldn’t see any cats there, but he was certain there had to be at least one. Perhaps, he thought a little hopefully, someone was out there, and he’d get to say hi to them.

Spottedleaf raised a paw and pointed it towards WindClan’s moors. “We’ll be going along the edge of the border that way. After that, we can stop at the Barn and rest.”

“Barn?” Firepaw asked.

“Like a house, but for…” Spottedleaf’s eyes glanced upwards as she thought. “Well, cats can live there instead. There’s a lot more mice.”

“So we can eat when we get there?” Greypaw sounded hopeful.

Spottedleaf nodded. “The loner there is very gracious with warriors. He’s used to seeing us go in all the time. Now, are we all ready to continue?”

The toms made various (still rather sleepy) sounds of affirmation, so Spottedleaf started off at a trot. They hurried after her with a yawn or two.

“A house for cats…” Firepaw said aloud, mostly to keep himself awake. “I wonder if it’ll look like the inside of a human house.”

“It’ll have more prey, at least,” Greypaw said. “And not fake ones, like that whatever-it-was you were talking about.”

Spottedleaf turned her head and tilted it curiously.

“Oh, I told these guys about this slab my old owner had,” Firepaw said to her. “It would show things on it.”

“Like reflections in the water,” Ravenpaw added.

Spottedleaf’s ear turned a little to the side. “It wasn’t, perchance, visions from ancestors, was it?”

“Nah.” Firepaw shook his head. “Just images. They were fake.”

Spottedleaf blinked. Then she huffed a breath. “I suppose nothing humans do makes much sense. Their houses, their cars, all such mysteries.”

“Cars aren’t too mysterious,” Firepaw said. “Once you’ve been in them and moved around, they’re not much to talk about.”

The other cats stopped in their tracks and turned fully to him, eyes bulging.

Firepaw looked between them nervously. “What?”

“You’ve been in a car?” Greypaw asked slowly.

“I mean…” Firepaw tilted his head a little, considering how to describe the concept. “Every house cat has. You have to go to the vet once in a while, or you get adopted into a new house. My old owner had one, and, well, I didn’t know how it worked, but I know what it’s like inside one.”

He paused, mostly to hold back a snort at how even Spottedleaf was staring at him in amazement.

“Don’t leave it there!” Greypaw lifted a paw and stomped it on the ground. “Tell us! What’s it like?”

“Oh, well…” Firepaw rolled a shoulder. “It’s pretty small, and the floor is made of stuff that kind of feels like moss. Then it has chairs—like stumps, for sitting on—and those are really smooth and slippery. And it’s got windows made of glass, that see-through stone, and you can lift your head up and watch the world go by. It’s kind of scary at first, but you get used to it.”

He left it there, because any further information he had would reveal that he had wailed like a newborn the entire first ride, and the next he had been in a panic trying to escape through the windows. He didn’t need to add that; he’d probably lose some of the awe the Clanborn cats were gawking at him with.

“It didn’t hurt you at all?” Spottedleaf asked.

“No, it’s just uncomfortable.” Firepaw took a step forward, trying to hint that they should keep moving. “It’s noisy and it shakes a little the whole ride.”

Spottedleaf took the hint and started walking again. The apprentices trotted along, though all of them kept darting looks at Firepaw. He decided to add on a little bit for flavor.

“I mean, in certain areas it shakes less,” he said. “It depends on how fast the car’s going. Where I lived, they all stayed slow. Which was lucky, since there were other cats living there.”

Ravenpaw tilted his head, observing Firepaw. “I’ve never really heard you talk about the other kittypets. Didn’t you have friends?”

“I had one,” Firepaw replied. His heart went a little heavy as he thought of Smudge. “But, you know, I’m not allowed to talk with him again. I don’t think the others would miss me, anyway.”

“It sounds like you don’t really miss them, to me,” Ravenpaw said. “I mean, you don’t seem to miss kittypet life in general.”

Firepaw blinked as he considered this. “You’re right, actually. I thought I’d miss it, but I’ve hardly even thought about it since I came to ThunderClan. It’s a lot better out here. Just— you know, like... it’s colder, sure, but I feel more alive out here. Really awake. You’re always half-asleep when you’re a kittypet.” He lowered his head a little, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s just how it feels.”

Spottedleaf looked at him approvingly. “It does make sense. You were wise to come live with us. This is certainly where you belong.”

Firepaw relaxed and raised his head again. “I’ve never wanted to go back, honestly. I’ve been missing way too much in the world.”

“And you’ve got a lot more to see,” Greypaw said. “So keep sticking around.”

Firepaw purred a little. “Will do.”

Silence fell over the party again, but it was one of silent contemplation rather than exhaustion. Firepaw watched the landscape as they trotted through it, adoring the breeze bending the grass and heather around him and carrying distant, strange scents to his maw. The sun itself was a luxury, warming him to the core and drying the peat enough that he wasn’t stepping in mud. The beauty of the wild surrounded him.

It couldn’t get any better than this.

Spottedleaf led the apprentices towards the moor of WindClan, only pausing once to warn them to stick close to her before continuing on. They were close enough to the road for its rank to reach them, but they were still on the grassy slope a good distance above it.

“Will we be in trouble if they see us?” Ravenpaw asked anxiously. “Shouldn’t we stay down there?”

“Oh, don’t worry, chrii,” Spottedleaf soothed. “We’re on our journey to the Mother, and you’re with me. We can go wherever we like.”

The wind picked up, bringing with it the earthy scent of WindClan. Spottedleaf stopped and lifted her tail to get the apprentices to do the same, which they did. Firepaw looked around, searching for whatever she’d noticed, but couldn’t see anything until the shrubs close to him shifted. He jumped in surprise as a group of toms pushed through—all tall and lean.

Spottedleaf blinked and turned to face them, bowing her head respectfully. “Well! I didn’t expect to see you today, Rookstar.”

The angular black-and-white tom didn’t say anything at first. His eyes slowly roamed over her and the young toms, slightly narrowed. Firepaw caught sight of Wrenpaw and waved his tail, a little nervous until Wrenpaw calmly waved back.

“Hello again, Spottedleaf,” the last tom said. He was grey and faintly striped, with one ear ruggedly split down the middle. Firepaw’s own ear twitched as a phantom pain mirrored the WindClan cat’s injury. “Mother?”

Spottedleaf nodded. “I didn’t want to risk walking by the road. I hope that’s alright.”

“Seer business,” said Rookstar quietly. “Go where you like. Would you prefer an escort?”

“Oh, no,” Spottedleaf said cheerfully. “We’ll be alright, as long as your friends aren’t around.”

“They aren’t.” Tornear’s chin lowered a little, but his eyes were trained on the tortoiseshell. “The badger’s gone.”

“Been gone for a while,” Wrenpaw added. His voice was just as flat as the older toms’. “We handled that.”

“Good!” Spottedleaf curled her tail. “Then, if it’s quite alright, we can go alone. We’re stopping at the Barn and hunting there.”

Rookstar gave her one slow nod. He looked over the apprentices again and his gaze lingered on Firepaw for a moment. Firepaw met his eyes and tried to make his blink as friendly as possible. Rookstar looked away and at his followers.

“Deadfoot’s patrol should be done in the east by now,” he said. He added to Spottedleaf, “You’re free to roam.”

“Thank you, prra .” Spottedleaf bowed her front half and gestured to the apprentices. “Let’s not scare their prey. Come along!”

Greypaw hurried after her, almost nervous, and the WindClan cats turned and started to walk away. Firepaw made a few steps before noticing silence behind him. He looked back—Ravenpaw was staring after the WindClanners. Firepaw couldn’t see his face, but he seemed quite focused.

“Ravenpaw?” he asked.

Ravenpaw jolted, shook his head and almost ran after Firepaw. “Sorry, sorry.”

Firepaw waited for him to catch up to him before asking in a low voice, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Ravenpaw said, almost before Firepaw had finished talking. “Just thinking. That’s all.”

Firepaw tilted his head, but he didn’t push. Ravenpaw looked very embarrassed, and he picked up his pace, overtaking his friend. Firepaw decided to let it go and followed along, glancing back one last time at where the leader and his crew had walked away.

To his great surprise, they were completely gone. Not one blade of grass rustled or bent, no scent anymore, nothing.

Curious.

Bluestar was right. They were quite stealthy after all.

Chapter Text

The group marched on through the grass and up the slope, the sun warming their backs. When they reached the peak of the hill, Spottedleaf let them stop for a moment to catch their breath. Firepaw looked around at the landscape, which was a lot more colorful than he had noticed from a distance before—various flowers and short brush cropped up along the hillside, coloring what appeared to be a dull moor from far away. He noticed that while most of the grass was the same length and color, there were streaks of lighter or darker grass zig-zagging along the moorland. His eyes followed the lines all the way to their roots, which were suddenly blocked off by a large, square-edged bush, stretching along the end of the moor for some distance.

“Is there a reason the grass is like that?” he asked Spottedleaf. “All… different?”

“It’s not all grass.” Spottedleaf shook out her fur, which had a few seeds and strands stuck to it. “There are plants that look like grass, but they escaped from the Barn. They’re from humans.” She gave a tiny sigh, as if disappointed with herself. “I can’t tell you much more than that. Only WindClan really knows the differences.”

When they continued walking, Firepaw looked closely at the grass they walked through, trying to catch any odd blades or different colors. White puffs and seeds from certain grasses tried to grip his pelt, but his short, sleek fur escaped them easily. The same could not be said for his friends—even Ravenpaw was quickly spotted with white and gold. 

As the sun crossed the sky, they eventually reached the bush, which Spottedleaf called a “hedge”. She led the apprentices alongside it until she found a hole in the leaves and squeezed underneath. Greypaw cursed under his breath when his fur got snagged and tore off on one of these branches. Firepaw went last, having little issue, and paused when he was through to gauge his new surroundings.

This place was like a softer version of his old neighborhood—the ground was flat and smooth, though it was pleasant-feeling earth rather than stone and gravel, and there were two buildings close to each other. One was a large house, dark brown in color, and the other was red and much bigger. It had one large opening in the center of its face, wider than any doorway Firepaw had ever seen, which was rimmed with white. He could see more than one window, but they didn’t appear to have any glass in them. More noticeable was the smell, which was nose-clogging and entirely unfamiliar. Firepaw almost sneezed immediately from the thickness of this scent: something like dry grass but much denser and richer. He thought he caught a trace of mouse and some other animal to go with it.

As if on cue, his stomach rumbled and his mouth watered. He looked at Ravenpaw and Greypaw, and saw their tails swishing back and forth and ears perked, mouths chittering like they were already on the hunt. Spottedleaf glanced back at them and chuffed.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll eat soon. First, though, we need to make ourselves known.”

“Already did, lass, don’t worry.”

Everyone looked left. Through an expanse of not-grass, a cat stepped into the open. He was quite hefty, black-and-white patched and tall enough to stand evenly with Spottedleaf. His wide paws made it look like he still had growing to do, but his fading blue eyes and worn face had the weariness of age in them.

Spottedleaf turned to him and waved her plumy tail delightedly. “Good afternoon!”

“Near evening, really,” the tom said, “but hello to you too.” He nodded to her and looked curiously at the apprentices. “Another round-up to the Mother, I take it?”

“Indeed.” Spottedleaf pointed with her tail to each apprentice. “This is Greypaw, Ravenpaw, and Firepaw. Boys, this is Barley. He lives here in the Barn.”

“Hello, kids.” Barley slanted his head a little in a half-sideways nod. “Been traveling all day, I’m guessing. You must be hungry.”

Greypaw’s stomach was the one to sound off now. He winced in embarrassment, but Barley seemed amused and motioned with his tail, thick but short-haired, before walking away towards the biggest building’s wide doorway. Spottedleaf and the apprentices went after him in silence, the taste of mouse in the air growing stronger.

“This is my home,” Barley said once he crossed the threshold. “There’s plenty here to eat here in this Barn, so hunt all you like.”

Firepaw stared into the expanse of the Barn. Unlike a house, it was only one big room with a wide ledge along the top, where bundles of yellow grass sat in shaped stacks. All around them on the floor, the dry, thick-scented grass loosely rested, with an occasional pile here and there. Some weird car-like thing stood in a distant corner in total silence, and it was easy to find random human items littered on the ground, but other than that, it was entirely different to a house.

And the smell of mouse was everywhere.

Exhaustion forgotten, Firepaw started to stalk towards the biggest pile of grass, his friends spreading out on either side of him.

It turned out that they didn’t even need to be sneaky; the mice were practically pushing each other around for room in the loose grass, fully exposed in the dim light of the Barn. One could pounce on a mouse, miss, swing a paw to the side, and accidentally catch a different one. In no time at all, every cat had a meal to their name—Greypaw had two—and conversation was put on hold to let everyone eat, soft squeaks and rustling filling up the empty air.

Barley waited politely for dinner to be over before speaking again. He shifted to tuck his paws underneath himself and said, “It’s been a while since I’ve had ThunderClanners come by here.”

“Our oldest ones just became warriors,” Spottedleaf said proudly, eyes almost shut with happiness. “They’re Dustpelt and Sandstorm now. These three are the last bunch for a while, I’d say.”

“Ah.” Barley took a moment to gaze at each apprentice sequentially, pausing the longest on Firepaw.

Firepaw could see that he was trying to find a polite way to inquire about the little short-haired ginger amongst the massive furballs he was traveling with, so he decided to get it over and done quickly. “I joined ThunderClan a while back, so this is all new stuff for me. This is the farthest I’ve gone out of the territory.”

“Ah!” Barley’s eyes lit up briefly with understanding and he nodded approvingly. “I see. Were you in the Houses?”

“Yeah.” Firepaw relaxed a little, relieved at the lack of judgment. “This is an awesome life compared to being a kittypet.”

“Good, good.” Barley huffed an amused breath. “I’ve been to your old neighborhood. It’s dull as dust there—if you don’t mind me saying. Life out here, with wild cats, is a great deal better.”

Ravenpaw tilted his head. “Erm— excuse me, sir, but don’t you live with humans?”

“Not quite,” Barley said. “I stay here in the Barn or out in the fields. These humans haven’t even touched me before—I don’t let ‘em.” He tapped his tail thoughtfully. “They do toss me a snack here and there, of course, but that’s about it.”

“Then why aren’t you in a Clan?” Greypaw asked, then seemed to realize his brusque tone, blinked and quickly added, “I just mean, why stay here where humans are?”

Barley seemed tickled by his blunt question. He made a wide sweep with his tail, encompassing the Barn. “You’d want me to leave all this food behind? The warmth in the winter, the coolness in the summer?” He twitched his whiskers. “Having the place to myself isn’t too bad, either.”

“He has a purpose here, Greypaw,” Spottedleaf said, with a slightly pointed patience. “Not just for himself, but for us. Any kemeran that come by, he spots first.”

“They like to stop here for rest and a meal.” Barley gave one proud nod. “I see ‘em coming, I report it to WindClan, WindClan reports it to you. Make sure to thank those rabbits for keeping you all informed and safe, because I don’t do the fighting or negotiating.”

“WindClan fights loners and kemeran?” Firepaw stared. “They seem so peaceful!”

“They are,” Ravenpaw said. “They make friends with outsiders and other animals, and that way we’re all kept safe. They don’t fight until they have to, I think.”

Firepaw looked at Ravenpaw. “Other animals? Like what?”

“Ohhh, he hasn’t been here too long, has he?” Barley said to Spottedleaf. The tortoiseshell-tabby shook her head and Barley continued to Firepaw, “Any meat-eating animals that wander close to us. Foxes, badgers, weasels, eagles, all sorts of things. WindClan’s very fluent in Fang, you know. I always thought every apprentice should learn some of it for safety, but no one’s asking me.”

Firepaw must have had his curiosity written all over his face, because Barley added, “Fang’s a pidgin used for animals that eat meat like us. That’s what we call it around here, though; it’s got other names out in the rest of the world. Heavens know how many, honestly…”

Firepaw turned to Greypaw and Ravenpaw. “Did you guys know all about this?”

“Vaguely,” Greypaw said. “I just know WindClan runs fast and they talk to dangerous animals. That’s all I’ve got.”

“About the same for me,” Ravenpaw added. “But I would like to learn some Fang, too. It’d be interesting to learn how a fox thinks, you know?”

“We don’t need to know how those things think,” Greypaw snorted. “They take our prey and kits if they can. All we need is to chase them off.”

Ravenpaw shrunk a little. Greypaw noticed and awkwardly tacked on, “But, I mean, it could be useful, in, uh… whatever way it’s needed.”

Firepaw opened his mouth to try and help Ravenpaw recover, but Spottedleaf moved first. She stood up and stretched, her belly-fur coated in yellow grass.

“Well,” she said, “it will be getting dark in a while. If you three want to nap before we head off, now’s the time! We’ll sleep more in the Mother, but I’m sure you’d like to rest for a bit.”

Firepaw glanced at Ravenpaw again to make sure he was alright (he seemed to be much less embarrassed now) before curling up in the dry grass, which had warmed up quickly under him. Greypaw and Ravenpaw shuffled and shifted to relax as well. The weariness of the journey from the forest to the Barn caught up with Firepaw, and he quickly fell asleep.

Seemingly just as quickly, Spottedleaf woke him up with a gentle shake. Halfway between sleep and consciousness, Firepaw had a brief idea that he was in his old bed at his old house again and the light, lilting voice was his human trying to call him for dinner. A prod of grass stalks reminded him of the present. Just for an instant, he was disappointed. That disappointment woke him up sharply and he internally scolded himself, getting to his feet.

“We won’t be hunting right now,” Spottedleaf said, completely unaware of Firepaw’s thoughts. “Otherwise we may be late to the Mother.”

“Okay,” Firepaw said with a yawn. He still had his mouse settled comfortably in his stomach, but from the looks of Ravenpaw and Greypaw, they weren’t satisfied with this decision. Greypaw in particular kept scanning the Barn, ears swiveling to where any squeaks came from.

“We really should be coming here more often,” he remarked, tail swishing back and forth. “There’s so much to eat here. My mice were amazing.”

“They were good,” Ravenpaw agreed. “But it’s a little far for hunting. Plus, WindClan wouldn’t like us crossing their territory all the time.”

“Bugger to them. We could—”

“Mind your language,” Spottedleaf said lightly.

Greypaw winced and his ears slid back. “Sorry. I’m just hungry again.”

“You’re free to come on back this way and rest again,” Barley said. “The Barn’s always open to the Clans.” He lowered his head a little to Spottedleaf. “Good to see you again, lass. I hope these three don’t cause you much trouble.”

“They never do!” Spottedleaf paused, then winked at Firepaw. “Well, they don’t cause me any trouble.”

Firepaw shuffled his feet a little in mildly frustrated embarrassment as Barley’s eyes landed on him. Firepaw started, “It wasn’t my idea to find her—”

“Not quite time for that,” Spottedleaf said, lifting a paw a little for silence. “We can tell Barley about that later.”

Barley gave the seer a half-squint, scrutinizing. “You got a secret I’m not privy to?”

“Every Clan does.” Spottedleaf purred and waved her tail. “Once things have settled down, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it.”

“Ah, well,” Barley sighed. “I won’t pester you on it. Getting anything out of seers is like trying to pull a bug out of sap, especially nowadays. You lot sure do love your mysteries.”

“All in the business of speaking with StarClan, Barley.” Spottedleaf gave him an amused look. “Everyone from ThunderClan to ShadowClan should keep their visions and tasks to themselves. You risk muddying the signs otherwise.”

Barley’s ears twitched, like he’d remembered something. “Speaking of ShadowClan, I haven’t seen them here in a long time. Send my regards to Murkpelt and her apprentice, will you? I’ve been missing that crotchety bag. Seeing her yell at those tiny apprentices is always fun.”

Spottedleaf, to her credit, only hesitated for a heartbeat before answering. “Once it’s time to see them again, I most certainly will.” She glanced at the apprentices, a slight shade in her eyes that made it clear that they were to keep quiet. “Well, we ought to be going. Thank you for letting us stay here, Barley. We may come back this way, and if we do, it will be good to see you again.”

“Always a pleasure.” Barley took a step back and made a slight bowing gesture, which Spottedleaf snorted at. “You boys behave for your seer. I hope you’ll see something good tonight.”

“Thanks,” Greypaw said.

“We will,” Ravenpaw added. “I think.”

As they started to leave, Firepaw paused beside Barley, looking up at the tom’s aged face and saying his usual goodbye. “It was nice to meet you, Barley.”

“Good to meet you, as well, little lad.” Barley gave him a friendly blink. “Congratulations on joining ThunderClan. They’re guaranteed to keep you safe.” He tilted his head a little, joking, “Hopefully you won’t need it, but you are rather small, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Firepaw huffed a breath and said quietly, like he was sharing a secret, “I’m only bigger than the kits right now, and I don’t think that will last.”

Barley barked a “Ha!” and purred. “Well, they always underestimate the little ones. You’ll have an advantage wherever you go.”

“I hope so, sir.” Firepaw started to say something else—a question about Barley not being a Clan cat— but Spottedleaf politely cleared her throat, so he hurried after her, shouting over his shoulder, “Have a good night!”

“Will do!” Barley called back. “Safe travels, everyone.”

“You just make friends with everyone, don’t you?” Greypaw asked Firepaw as he caught up.

“To be fair, he’s already friendly with the Clans,” Ravenpaw said. He gave Firepaw a cheeky look. “And it’s not the worst friend he’s tried to make.”  

“Who’s the worst?” Firepaw asked, trotting alongside him. “The old molly?”

Ravenpaw suddenly looked self-conscious. “Well, no, but she’s close. I mean, when we had that fight with RiverClan, Mousefur told me you were trying to be friends with another apprentice.”

Firepaw was confused for an instant before remembering the tortoiseshell he’d talked with. “Wh— I wasn’t trying to be friends with her!”

“I heard you were chatting her up,” Greypaw teased. “Did you get her name?”

“No!” Firepaw shook his head harder than he needed to. “I just asked why we were fighting over Sunningrocks, that’s all.”

“And you chatted her up after that?”

Firepaw spluttered. “I did not! She was the one that changed the topic!”

Spottedleaf glanced back, a twinkle in her eye. “I believe Mousefur had to attack her for you, from what I was told.”

“I just asked a question!” Firepaw protested. “I swear! I was going to fight her after that!”

“Sure, sure.” Greypaw turned his head forward again with a dismissive flick of his tail. “I believe you.”

“I’m telling the truth!” Firepaw knew very well he wasn’t telling the truth. He would have tried to find another reason not to fight that molly.

Not that they needed to know that.

Greypaw chuffed and Spottedleaf trilled. Even Ravenpaw had his head turned the other way like he was trying to hide a snort. Firepaw sighed, half-frustrated.

Luckily, they were kind enough to drop the subject as they turned the corner of the Barn and came onto a gravelly path. There was a bulky, rusty car there, but it was off, so they passed it with no trouble. The hedge ended here, leaving a wide gap for cars to go through, and exposing something across the road. Firepaw couldn’t quite make out what this massive shape was supposed to be, but he felt Ravenpaw and Greypaw tense up beside him.

Spottedleaf paused at the edge of the road and looked back at the apprentices, her eyes catching the last of the evening light.

“Ready?” she said.

Firepaw didn’t know what he was supposed to be ready for, but he nodded along with his friends.

“Very good.” Spottedleaf turned away, tail curling over her back. “Then let’s go see the Mother.”

Chapter Text

Firepaw stared, awestruck.

The Mother was massive—enough so that only the front half of her was visible from her side of the road. Her legs, raised and grassy like great mounds of earth, stretched out almost to the road itself, and, if Firepaw could count properly, he’d be able to count the toes on each paw. Altogether, they perfectly blocked the view of the world on either side of the Mother, giving one the feeling of being completely surrounded by her being.

The face was… it was hard to make out, truthfully. Firepaw didn’t see eyes or ears, just ridges on what he supposed was her back and top of her head, standing straight and sharp like rocks (were they rocks? They kind of looked like rocks). There was no well-defined snout, or nostrils, or anything like that. There was just that mouth.

That very wide, very dark mouth.

“We’re going in there?” he managed to ask Spottedleaf nervously.

“We are.” Spottedleaf’s fur was fluffed out with excitement. “And right on time, too!”

Firepaw looked up; the moon—or at least what part of it was open—hovered overhead, cheating the dimming light from the remnants of dusk. Stars had appeared, and the clouds had sailed onwards after the sun. Except for some chirping thing far enough away to be barely audible, there was no sound around them. Not even a car had come by.

“When we go in, I’ll be taking the lead,” Spottedleaf said to the apprentices. “I want you all to listen to me and keep close. It’s darker than sleep in there, and if you’re not careful—” she leaned a little towards them, emphasizing “—or respectful enough, you could get lost, and the rest of us may not have any way to find you.”

The toms glanced at each other, unanimously unsettled.

“The Mother doesn’t want to hurt us, remember,” Spottedleaf added. “But she’s much older and much stronger than any of us. Even when one knows the way, one should be careful when they enter. Understood?”

Scattered affirmations. She looked pleased.

“Come along, then!” She turned and started off for the mouth, tail level with her body. “Keep your whiskers to someone’s tail as we go, please.”

There was a moment of hesitation before, surprisingly, Ravenpaw was first to follow the seer. Firepaw went next, and Greypaw was last, all of them within a whisker’s breadth of the tail in front of them. Too soon, they stepped through the mouth and into the Mother.

At once, all noise from the outside world ceased. It was indeed pitch-black inside, even with the eyes of a cat, and there was no sensation to give one an idea of where they were. The ground was cold and vaguely moist, with a faint smell like the petrichor of the forest, but Firepaw had no idea what was in front of him or around him. Ravenpaw’s tail brushed against his nose occasionally, forcing him to resist a sneeze, and that was all he could grasp of his surroundings.

The walk to wherever they were going could have been endless, for all Firepaw knew. Every step took at least a night, and Ravenpaw would randomly turn left or right, jolting Firepaw’s already tenuous grasp of time.

A faint, noiseless breeze grazed his fur and he shivered violently.

“Almost there,” Spottedleaf whispered. “Is everyone still with us?”

The toms each sounded off, equally as quiet as the tortoiseshell-tabby. She purred in response. It did not soothe Firepaw in the slightest.

Timeless and countless steps later, Ravenpaw made one more left. Firepaw turned after him and almost flinched at a sudden brilliant white light. He stumbled into a wide cavern and squinted, blinking rapidly.

“This is it,” Greypaw breathed. “That— that is it, right?”

“It is!” Spottedleaf’s chest, when Firepaw squinted her way, was puffed out with joy. “This is the Mother’s heart—the Moon Stone.”

His eyes adjusted to the light, Firepaw opened them more. Then he blinked, confused.

In front of him was not a heart like the one Spottedleaf had once shown him. She was gazing adoringly at a tall, jagged white rock. There was an opening above the stone where moonlight shone through, causing the glow. It was very beautiful, to be sure, but it looked nothing like a heart.

He glanced over at his friends to gauge their reactions. They were both in awe, eyes wide and reflecting the white light. Firepaw was self-conscious for a moment, unable to see what his friends were seeing—another reminder that he wasn’t Clan-born.

“Now, you three.” Spottedleaf nodded to the apprentices and gestured with her tail to a spot where a touch of the moon’s rays sliced the floor. “Sit here. Be silent, please.”

The boys obeyed, with Firepaw in the middle and Ravenpaw and Greypaw to his right and left. All of them had their eyes glued to Spottedleaf as she moved forward, sat down, and raised a paw, placing it on the stone.

“Greetings again, Mirra ,” she began, her voice faintly echoing in the cavern. “I come to you tonight with three apprentices in need of your and your children’s blessings. I ask that I be allowed to speak for you and the Three, to teach these young toms about you and what you mean for the Clans.”

There was a pause, long enough that Firepaw was tempted to speak up to break the silence. Just as he had that thought, Spottedleaf’s brindled fur flared. Individual hairs caught the light of the Moon Stone, her silhouette glowing.

Firepaw felt Greypaw flinch beside him. He tapped his haunch with his tail in reassurance.

Spottedleaf’s fur smoothed again and she removed her paw from the stone, murmuring, “Thank you.” She turned around and Firepaw froze looking at the almost ethereal shine in her eyes and the serene beauty of her face. She sat down, facing the apprentices, and breathed in deeply, shutting her eyes for a moment before opening them again and speaking.

“Two of you have grown up listening to tales of the Three and the Mother,” she said. “But our newcomer has heard only a little, and you two have not heard all there is to know. Tonight, you will learn more, and there will come a shift in your souls—it is one of the many steps of growing into warriors. You will be able to speak in a bit. First…”

She turned her gaze on Ravenpaw, who shivered a bit.

“Rokhar, the Tiger,” she continued. “I ask that you join us here, in the company of your mother’s heart, to give your blessing to Ravenpaw.”

Ravenpaw shivered again, stronger this time.

“The Twilight is all-encompassing.” Spottedleaf sounded graver than Firepaw had ever heard her before. “What his siblings do not reign over, he can be found, in the in-between places—in the dusk, the dawn, the space between being awake and falling asleep. He is unseen, but he is felt and known in the heart of every warrior and seer who has their mind open to the world. The soul finds him and his power, not the eyes and ears.

“And so—” She bowed her head just a fraction to Ravenpaw. “I pray, Rokhar, that you bless our Ravenpaw with the courage to act as big as his spirit truly is—to speak proudly and move with confidence.” Her eyes creased a bit as she regarded the black tom. “You’re greater than you think, little raven. I hope you will realize that after tonight.”

Ravenpaw said nothing. Firepaw watched his eyes stretch wide and grow wet with some emotion Firepaw couldn’t place. He quietly hoped that the prayer would be answered for his friend.

Spottedleaf now looked to Greypaw. “Suriin, the Leopard, I humbly beg your service, and that you visit us just for a moment to give your blessing to Greypaw.”

Greypaw’s fur flared and he almost vibrated with excitement.

“Our lady, the Pathcarver, is, perhaps, a bit fickle.” A bit of mirth leaked into Spottedleaf’s voice. “Her wisdom is beyond that which we normal cats can grasp. One can understand her frustration with our trivial problems. Her coat changes with the moon’s shape, and she is the one to send clouds to the Clans, whether she means to feed the plants and river with rain or to cover the moon on a waking night when mortals dare to argue during a Gathering. She guides us, even when she does not speak.”

Now a slight bow of the head to Greypaw. “And thus, Suriin, I pray that you bless our Greypaw with wisdom that protects him and guides him along the right path—wisdom to listen to his elders and glean from their lifelong experiences, to be able to listen to instincts that do not rely on complicated feelings and observations. Greypaw, you are bold and quite happy in your heart, and I know that, with proper guidance, you can become a young warrior that ThunderClan could not be prouder of.”

Firepaw twitched his whiskers a little at the implications of her prayer. Greypaw did not appear to catch them; he simply looked delighted and raised his head with confidence.

“Now.” Spottedleaf’s eyes turned on Firepaw. “For our newest member of ThunderClan.”

Firepaw suddenly couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even move. Under her stare, he was little more than stone himself.

“Horoa, the Lion,” Spottedleaf said, and somehow her voice rang stronger in Firepaw’s ears. “You are always with us, but tonight I ask that you come to us and give your blessing to young Firepaw.

“The Endless Watcher is hard to gaze upon, truthfully. His brilliance, especially in his eyes in the sky and in his head, can burn the eyes of a mortal to blindness. And he uses that brilliance, the power in those eyes, to hunt eternally for that which can harm a Clan cat—monsters, wraiths, the villainous living. He and his hall’s members run with joy and heroic bravery after their quarry, with enough merriment to make one want to join in their chase.”

As she spoke, a warmth bloomed in Firepaw’s chest. It slowly spread through his body, warming his freezing paws and making him forget the cold of the cavern. Something was watching him, he knew instinctively, and it wasn’t Spottedleaf.

“And now, Horoa, though he was not born of us, I ask for you to bless him with the full power of a Clanborn warrior,” the seer said. “I ask that, in that powerful heart of his, he is given the strength of the sun.” Her own eyes were proud. “Firepaw, I have seen for myself that, even in the face of trouble and punishment, you do not second-guess yourself. You do what you know is right, and you do not regret it. That, even if some question it, is the mark of a warrior. I ask that Horoa merely fuels the fire that you were named for in your heart, and keeps it strong for as long as you live.”

Firepaw couldn’t even swallow. The warmth turned to a blazing heat, and flashed throughout his body. His heart pounded.

Spottedleaf looked skyward, speaking now to the heavens. “And with that, I thank you all—Rokhar, Suriin, Horoa, and Mirra —for joining us here in this ceremony. Return from where you came, and may peace go with you.”

She looked back down at the toms, and her voice was now as floaty and kind as it had been before her prayers. “Now, the task is on you three to hold to these blessings, and grow to be the best cats you can be. For this night, of course, you just need to be yourselves.” She tilted her head. “How do you all feel?”

“Pretty awesome,” Greypaw said, in a slightly weak voice, like he had been running all day and was exhausted. “I felt Suriin—I know she was here.”

“Good!” Spottedleaf purred.

Ravenpaw spoke next. “Me too—with Rokhar, I mean. I-I’m going to do my best to honor the blessing, Spottedleaf. I’ll try, at least.”

“I know you will.” Spottedleaf looked to Firepaw now, as did his friends. “And what about you? How do you feel?”

With all the attention on him, Firepaw tried to find an answer. He opened his mouth, closed it, and thought for a moment. His answer came to him, and he said quietly, “I feel like a Clan cat.”

Spottedleaf looked pleased. She blinked happily at him and stood up. “It’s been a successful night for all of us. Now, to close out, each of us will touch our nose to the Moon Stone before we go to sleep.” She eyed all of them. “You’ll very likely experience a dream of some kind, and when you awake, if you’re comfortable, I’d be delighted to hear about it and offer guidance on what it could mean.”

“Hope I get something good,” Greypaw mused, sounding more like he was talking to himself than anything. “Who knows, though…”

“It’s all in the paws of StarClan now.” Spottedleaf beckoned with her tail. “Come!”

Firepaw followed along after Greypaw, who touched his nose to the stone and shook out his fur with a noise of astonishment, and then Ravenpaw, who had no reaction beyond the slightest wince.

The stone was colder than anything Firepaw had touched before in his life, and the shock of it coursing through his body, drowning out the heat, nearly made him jump backwards. How anything related to a living heart could be so freezing, he had no idea, but he forced himself to stay still and then calmly step away. Spottedleaf was watching him with some amusement—she must have known what he was thinking.

With that, the apprentices did as they were instructed and laid down to sleep. Spottedleaf curled up, as did Ravenpaw, and Greypaw spread out on his side. In very little time, their breathing deepened and slowed, and they were asleep.

It took Firepaw a lot longer. The ground was very hard, and very cold, and the glow of the Moon Stone burned through his eyelids. He shifted many times, struggling to get comfortable. When he at last fell asleep, he awoke before anyone else, disappointed that he had dreamed of nothing. He turned this over in his head, trying to figure out why and if he was the only dreamless one, while waiting for everyone else to wake up.

Eventually, they did, but Spottedleaf instructed them to stay quiet as she led them out of the cavern and back through the tunnels, which were as suddenly dark in daytime as they were during the night. Firepaw was directly behind her this time, and her tail tickled his nose worse than Ravenpaw’s. He stalwartly refused to sneeze until they were back outside, at which point he did, and rather explosively.

“You alright?” Greypaw asked him.

“Nose tickles,” Firepaw said, and sneezed again.

“My tail did it, I’m sorry,” Spottedleaf sighed. She looked back at the boys. “Well! How did your nights go?”

“I dreamed!” Greypaw almost hopped to a taller standing position. “It was weird. I saw, like, overcast water, like it was grey? And I chased around some ishmet. Didn’t think I’d ever see those.”

“What are ishmet?” Firepaw asked.

“They’re a sort of spirit that live in the water,” Ravenpaw said. “RiverClan sees them, usually, but I’ve heard of them in ShadowClan too.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Greypaw gave him a funny look. “I’ve never heard that.”

“At the last Gathering we went to.” Ravenpaw gave a noncommittal flick of his tail. “I overheard a RiverClan cat talking to a ShadowClan cat about them, and she mentioned seeing some in the marsh-water.”

“A fascinating world we live in, isn’t it?” Spottedleaf said. “Did you two dream of anything?”

“I didn’t,” Firepaw admitted. “I just slept.” Poorly, he wanted to add, but he kept that tucked in.

Ravenpaw gazed somewhere into the sky, looking thoughtful. “I thought I might’ve seen a clearing with some water in it, but… it’s really blurry. I don’t remember very well, sorry.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” Spottedleaf picked up her pace into a trot. “If you like, I can speak to StarClan about these dreams and see what they mean.”

“I mean…” Greypaw rolled a shoulder. “I think mine was just a fun dream. I didn’t feel anything special. It was one of those things where I just was playing around like a kit. Don’t know why ishmet were there, though.”

Spottedleaf hummed thoughtfully. “They’re pretty playful, too. Perhaps that’s why you saw them.”

Greypaw didn’t answer. His eyes flickered down and narrowed for a moment, like he was thinking. He seemed to dismiss what he was thinking, because he looked back up with his usual casual expression.

“I’ll pass, too,” Ravenpaw said, sounding a little sheepish. “It’s just not enough to go on. A clearing and water could mean anything, right?”

“There are many meanings to even the thinnest of stray twigs.” Spottedleaf nodded. “Well, if you change your minds, let me know.”

They crossed over the road after ensuring no cars were coming, landing back on the side of Barley’s home. Greypaw licked his lips and Spottedleaf, with a little trill, led them up to the Barn again.

Barley was asleep in the sun when they approached him. Spottedleaf called to get his attention and he opened one eye before lifting his head entirely.

“Hello again,” he said, getting to his feet. “I won’t ask the sacred details, but did it go well?”

“It went beautifully,” Spottedleaf informed him proudly. “I sense a good future for all of these boys.”

Barley nodded, looking philosophical. “I’ve got confidence in your instincts, Spottedleaf. You lads hungry?”

“Starving,” Greypaw said immediately. Ravenpaw chuffed and nodded.  

Barley purred and took the lead in the walk to the inside of the Barn. “Then let’s get you fed before you leave.”

The rest of the Clan cats trotted in excitedly. Firepaw walked along silently behind them, lost in thought over whether that heat he felt the night before had been canceled out by the lack of a dream. But surely other cats hadn’t had dreams before, right? Spottedleaf had said “if”…

“You alright?” Barley murmured to him, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Firepaw looked up at him. “Ehm… I think so, yeah. I was just thinking. It’s… it’s an experience in the Mother. It’s a lot to go through.”

Barley huffed a small breath. “It’s all beyond me, truthfully. But you’re with the Clans, now. You’ll see much more of that than I ever will.”

Firepaw nodded once, watching Greypaw sprint after a particularly fat mouse. Quietly, he admitted, “I didn’t dream. I don’t know if that’s bad or good. I’m hoping it’s not a bad sign, at least.”

“Ah.” Barley hummed thoughtfully. “I reckon you’re alright. You’d’ve gotten a nightmare if something wanted to send you a bad sign.”

Firepaw didn’t respond beyond a dip of the head. Instead, he just trailed after his friends and started stalking around for prey, focusing on catching a mouse. He half wondered to himself as he went along if Horoa was watching him now, and if that blessing really was his touch.

He hoped it was. Nothing had made him feel anything that intensely before in his life. He didn’t want that memory to be built on false assumptions.

Chapter Text

The sun was sitting high in the sky when the ThunderClan party left Barley’s home for the second time. Barley saw them off with well-wishes and offers of more mice, to which Spottedleaf politely (and slightly forcibly) declined, much to Greypaw’s despair. Their bellies were full enough, as far as the seer was concerned, so off they went, through the hedge and back down WindClan’s hill.

Clouds were slowly returning eastside, but the air was still warm and gently breezy. Firepaw shook his fur once or twice to let that pleasant breeze through, and a couple times more to get the last of the grass (Barley had called it “hay”) off of him. Greypaw and Spottedleaf were still coated in the stuff, with Ravenpaw occasionally pausing to tug a straw out around his neck. If the smell were not pleasant by this point, Firepaw would have been annoyed. As it was, the hay was more amusing than anything else.

They didn’t run into any more WindClan patrols, though the dusty smell of them was everywhere. Spottedleaf, as usual, was unbothered, and that spread to the apprentices. The entire walk down the slope was quite pleasant, occasional chatter fluttering back and forth about nothing in particular. Firepaw was gradually blinking back sleepiness before Ravenpaw suddenly stopped and peered into the distance.

“What?” Greypaw stopped too. “Smell something?”

“Seeing, rather…” Ravenpaw squinted, tail slightly raised. Firepaw and Spottedleaf stopped and watched him as he chattered his teeth a little in focus. “Who’s that?”

Firepaw followed his line of sight. Barely close enough to make out any details, a large grey cat stood with their back to the road. They were facing the marshes of ShadowClan, tail swishing back and forth as they stared down at something that was hidden by the mounds of gravel all along the road.

“That's…that’s, uh…” Greypaw tilted his head. “Huh. I don’t know. Spottedleaf?”

Spottedleaf didn’t respond. She was completely still, down to the tip of her tail, like a stone.

Firepaw offered, “It must be someone in ShadowClan, right?”

“Not anyone I’ve seen.” Ravenpaw’s neck craned forward. “They’re way too big to be a native.”

Greypaw came to stand beside Ravenpaw. “And they’re pretty pale for a marsh cat, too. But what would a loner be doing on the ShadowClan border?”

“Maybe they took in someone,” Firepaw said. “Like you guys did me.”

“Maybe,” Greypaw said doubtfully. “They’d have to be desperate if they wanted to be in ShadowClan, of all places. Their territory sucks for hunting, everyone knows that.”

Firepaw blinked. “It does?”

“Sure. Why d’you think they’re so tiny and skinny?”

The memory of those skeletal little cats now made perfect sense to Firepaw. He nodded thoughtfully, mulling this over with immediate sympathy for how hungry ShadowClan must be. He opened his mouth to ask why the other Clans didn’t help feed them when his eyes drifted to Spottedleaf.

Her face was barely visible from this angle, but she looked… it was hard to tell what she was thinking. Her eye that Firepaw could see was dull and unfocused. She was still stiff as a stone, the only movement being what small breeze rustled her fur. Her ears were turned back and her tail hovered halfway to the ground.

Firepaw took a worried step forward. “Spottedleaf?”

Spottedleaf’s eye blinked and she jolted. Her tail raised to its usual high position, but Firepaw didn’t miss the slight tremble it had. Her ears swiveled forward again.

“Yeah, Spottedleaf, do you know who this is?” Greypaw looked over at her. “Or have a guess?”

The tortoiseshell-tabby returned the glance with a small sigh. “I have a feeling I know.”

“Is it something we should warn ShadowClan about?” Firepaw asked.

“Oh, no.” Spottedleaf turned back towards the forest. “They know him. We don’t need to do anything except get home before your mentors scold us for taking so long!”

Ravenpaw and Greypaw seemed content with that and followed her as she picked up into a trot. Firepaw trotted as quickly as he could without running to catch up to her, his friends a way behind them.

“Is something wrong?” he asked in an undertone, trying to catch her eye. “You looked like you were—”

“Everything’s fine, chrii,” Spottedleaf purred. “Thank you for checking on me, though.”

Firepaw balked a little at the interruption. He wanted to press, but the memory of her rare anger when talking to the hag kept him quiet. Besides, if she didn’t want to talk, then he shouldn’t force her. He instead fell silent and let her take the lead so he could walk with Ravenpaw and Greypaw, who were currently debating on whether a frog was even worth the hassle of hunting. Firepaw did not offer any part of this argument; he just let it coast through his ears while he tasted the heavy lavender scent they were walking through.

It was a long, exhausting, unremarkable walk beyond the sighting of the loner. The sun moved just ahead of the cats, sinking beyond the forest by the time they reached ThunderClan’s border. Firepaw noticed with mild disappointment that the stars had popped out just in time to be mostly blocked by the trees overhead. Did that mean StarClan couldn’t see them? The moon was mostly gone, too—was that a sign also? He had a lot more learning to do about the Clans’ ancestors.

It would have helped if they’d said something to him in a dream.

He was about to collapse as he passed through the camp entrance, and by the looks of it, so were his friends. Spottedleaf happily kept up her pace and went to greet her brother, Redtail. Several cats looked her way, then back to the apprentices, with a round of greetings.

“Glad to see you all made it back in one piece,” Teaselfoot said. “Greypaw, you smell like Barn-mice.”

“He ate a lot of them,” Firepaw said.

Teaselfoot snorted. “Figured.”

“Welcome back,” Speckletail said, with a slightly stern look Teaselfoot’s way. “Get some rest before your mentors find you.”

Greypaw yawned. “Will do.” As he walked past Teaselfoot, he jokingly batted at his chest. Teaselfoot, equally joking, stared at him with mock-offense and leaned back like he had been slapped across the face.

Ravenpaw kept his head low and nodded to whoever looked his way, but no one said anything to him. He scooted along to the apprentices’ den without a word.

Firepaw yawned, saying “hello” to everyone who gave a greeting, disheartened by Frostfur barely looking his way as she leaned against Lionface, who grunted at Firepaw. He was about to follow Ravenpaw when a trill caught his ear. Goldenflower was sitting outside of the nursery, purring as Firepaw trotted up to her.

“Did you have fun?” she asked, greeting him with a touch of her nose to his head.

“I did!” Firepaw’s exhaustion was forgotten as he recalled the adventure. “WindClan’s territory is huge, and it’s way prettier up close. And this cat I know, Wrenpaw, he showed up with the leader of WindClan, and—”

Before he knew it, he was raving about the whole trip, Goldenflower’s eyes creased in amused endearment as he went on about the walk, Rookstar, the Barn, and the return trip. At the mention of the supposed loner in ShadowClan territory, the matriarch tilted her head curiously, but she didn’t interrupt, letting him run out of breath as he concluded, “And then we reached the forest, and, well, we’re home now.”

“I’m happy for you, Firepaw,” she said warmly. “You got to see a lot of the world, didn’t you? How did you do in the Mother?”

“Oh—” Firepaw belatedly realized he had forgotten to mention that entire part. “Um… am I allowed to say? I don’t know.”

“You can talk about whatever you like,” Goldenflower replied. “It’s up to you what you want to keep to yourself.”

“Okay. Well…” Firepaw’s left ear swiveled as he considered this. “Well, the tunnel inside is dark—I have no idea how Spottedleaf knows where to go in there! And the stone—the heart? The Mother’s heart?” Goldenflower nodded. “Yeah, that. That is the coldest thing I’ve ever touched in my life— and it was really cool, because Spottedleaf did these speeches about all of us getting blessings—”

Goldenflower leaned forward a little. “I was wondering about how that would go for you. Did you feel it?”

“I felt it!” Firepaw’s tail danced above his back. “This heat in my chest as Spottedleaf was talking, it was amazing. I swear, the Three really were in there with us! I mean, I didn’t see them, but it felt like it, you know?”

Goldenflower purred loud. “They always are, even if we don’t know. You’ve been recognized by the Three, Firepaw. That’s wonderful.”

Firepaw shivered as an echo of the heat he’d felt in the cavern flowed through his body, disappearing before it could linger. Goldenflower chuffed affectionately, then looked over the little tom’s shoulder. Firepaw twisted his head around; Tigerclaw was walking up to them.

“Hi,” Firepaw said, turning quickly to greet the behemoth. “Sorry I didn’t say it before, I was telling Goldenflower about the trip…”

“That’s fine,” Tigerclaw said quietly. He bumped his head against Goldenflower’s and looked down at Firepaw. “How did you fare?”

“I’m really tired, but it was a lot of fun. The Mother’s huge, and it’s really cold in there, and the ceremony was really cool, and…” Firepaw was interrupted by a yawn. “…and I think Horoa likes me—or at least I got blessed by him, I’m pretty sure.”

“Good.” Tigerclaw nodded once. Though his tone was a little flat, his eyes were warm. “You should get some rest. You’re wobbling on your feet.”

Firepaw didn’t protest this, though he hadn’t noticed until just now. He admitted, “I could sleep a little.”

“Go ahead and sleep,” Goldenflower suggested, seeing him off with a lick to his head. “We’re glad you came home safe.”

Firepaw glanced around, catching sight of Bluestar sitting with the elders, Redtail and Spottedleaf close to the apprentices’ den. “Do—” he yawned “—do we train when we come back?”

“Bluestar should give you the night off,” Tigerclaw said. “I can talk to her if she doesn’t.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Firepaw nodded respectfully to the pair and headed for the den, his exhaustion catching back up to him. The massive tabby said something to his mate, but Firepaw didn’t quite catch it, so he let it go.

As he passed Bluestar, she paused in her conversation and said to him, “Spottedleaf tells me your ceremony went well.”

Firepaw paused and tried to stand straight. “I think Horoa blessed me.”

Bluestar gave him an approving look. “Welcome back, then, little hunter. Get some sleep while you can.”

Firepaw yawned and nodded to her as well. Right as he passed through the den’s entrance, he caught her talking again.

“Her words are questionable,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t believe her to be a liar, but I’m not sure what to think.”

Patchpelt spoke next. “I have to wonder why ShadowClan hasn’t come looking for her yet. If a cat went missing from ThunderClan, we’d all be searching hard throughout the territories.”

“She’s ditched her name, too, so she says,” Smallstorm growled. “Can’t be a good sign, even if she’s telling the truth.”

“The loner you saw,” Redtail said, presumably to Spottedleaf. “You’d never seen him before?”

Spottedleaf responded slowly, with the slightest hesitation. “I’m sure they know him, but I’ve never spoken to him before, at least.”

Firepaw curled up close to the entrance, ears angled to listen in. Ravenpaw was already asleep far in the back corner, his gentle breathing barely audible over what Firepaw could hear.

“They’ve got loner friends in the Aulmir, no?” One-eye piped up. “Probably an ambassador of some kind.”

“He was awfully far from the Aulmir, is the only thing,” Redtail said. “Right?”

“We weren’t off of the moor yet, yes,” Spottedleaf said.

“That’s something to keep an eye on, then,” Halftail muttered. “Missing a seer, nameless, and a random loner on the border.”

Bluestar hummed in thought. “What she said, I don’t know that we can trust. She has her reputation and safety to regain by speaking poorly of Brokenstar.”

Patchpelt now. “She’s not a liar, like you said. I think we can at least keep an eye out and follow up on what she’s told you if anything unusual comes along.”

“Until then, are we really going to let her stay here?” Smallstorm groused. “She’s eaten enough of our prey.”

There was a pause, before Bluestar spoke again. “Spottedleaf, I want you to speak to StarClan about her again. And if you can, test to see if she still has their favor. That will decide a few things.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spottedleaf said softly. “But I believe we should keep her with us. She’s going to be useful soon, I can feel it.”

“If you believe that, I trust you,” Redtail replied, then added, “My vote is to keep her. I think she can be trusted by now. She freely gave up that information once she knew she was safe. We could have someone accompanying her if we need to, but I don’t think we will.”

Not me again , Firepaw thought. I want to go back to training!

“I say we keep her too,” One-eye said.

“As do I,” Patchpelt agreed.

Smallstorm grumbled something and Halftail grunted, seemingly in agreement.

“I can watch her,” Spottedleaf said. “Give Firepaw some time to train again. She’ll be all right with me.”

Bluestar sounded vaguely amused. “She certainly got under your fur the other night. Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Very well, then. I’ll have a talk with her now. Redtail, Spottedleaf, come with me. Thank you for your input, my elders.”

“Just make sure she doesn’t sneak off and betray us,” Smallstorm growled.

“She won’t,” One-eye said. “We’ve been too kind.”

No one responded to this; Firepaw assumed they were all going back to their business. Bluestar walked past the den, accompanied by her deputy and seer. Firepaw shut his eyes and rested his chin on his paws. He hardly had a heartbeat to ponder this conversation before he was dead asleep, deaf to the world outside.

Chapter Text

“Dodge him!” Bluestar barked.

Firepaw blinked stupidly and tried to shake himself awake, muscles complaining as he struggled to his feet. One heartbeat he had been in his nest, and every beat after that had him somewhere new— dragging himself along after his mentor, then stumbling into the training hollow. Now he was being knocked around by Greypaw. His eyes were too bleary to see through and a single step took every ounce of the dearth of energy in his body.

He blinked again, fiercer, finally able to make out his friend standing across from him. Greypaw didn’t look much better off, but he was standing straight and his yellow eyes were open and focused. That was the only clear part of him; his stripes spun and melted together with the lighter grey parts of his pelt.

“Firepaw!”

He turned his head towards Bluestar’s voice, but stars help him if he could see her properly. Her own yellow eyes were much less friendly.

“You need to focus,” she said sharply.

“Sorry…” Firepaw mumbled, and shook himself again. It didn’t help. “I’m tired, is all…”

“You had plenty of rest this morning, didn’t you?” Bluestar’s blurry tail lashed. “Wake yourself up and dodge him .”

Firepaw looked to Greypaw, who had now crouched, ready to charge again. His own tail was stiff and low, and his ears folded back nervously. Firepaw tried to prepare himself to leap to the side, leaning towards the right. Hesitantly, Greypaw jumped forward, but even at his most careful, he bowled Firepaw over and sent the little tom rolling backwards (though still to the right).

“Firepaw!”

He didn’t get back up immediately—he had to pull himself from the welcome soft sand, still warm from the recently-set sun and soothing his tired and aching body. Greypaw approached, perhaps to help, but he jerked back and quickly cowed before an approaching, angry Bluestar.

“What are you doing?” she snapped. “I told you to dodge him. You didn’t even try!”

“Did,” Firepaw mumbled. With great effort, he got up and looked at his leader. “The walk took a lot out of me, I think, and—”

Bluestar’s paw shot up for silence. “Greypaw and Ravenpaw made that walk with you, and they’re doing just fine. You slept throughout the rest of the day and part of tonight. I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

Firepaw searched for something helpful to say—an apology, a positive remark, a promise to do better. What came out of his mouth was the exact opposite of that.

“Well, you’re getting them,” he said. “I’m tired. I can’t help it.”

Bluestar’s eyes flared. She loomed over her apprentice, tail lashing hard enough to blur out of his vision. “You need to remember who you’re speaking to.”

“I remember,” Firepaw said, much more calmly than he felt. “But I don’t think you’re being fair, that’s all. I’m not Greypaw or Ravenpaw. I’m me, and I need more rest than them, I guess.”

Out of the corner of his eye, the other cats in the hollow were all staring at the mentor-apprentice pair. He couldn’t focus on their faces, but he could guess they were all a lot more nervous than he was.

Bluestar’s teeth bared themselves in his face. “You are out of line .”

Firepaw’s eyes squinted a little on reflex, but he forced them back open to stare the leader down. “I’m sorry I’m making a good point that you don’t like.”

Ravenpaw gasped quietly somewhere to his left.

Bluestar snarled. Firepaw met her eyes, not in challenge, but in observation—and then he realized it, clear as the blue sky.

She was embarrassed of him.

And that stung more than any strike across the face she could have given him.

A lump formed in his throat and his stomach rolled nauseously. He searched her eyes, silently pleading that he made a mistake seeing that, and she was only angry…

No. Embarrassment. Regret, even. Regret of what? That she’d brought him in? Let him argue with her?

Firepaw’s stomach urged him to be sick.

When Bluestar spoke next, it was in a low, threatening growl. “If you’re going to do so poorly in fighting, perhaps you should hunt instead.” She lifted her head out of his face and jerked a nod a little backwards. “Go. Don’t come back to camp until you’ve caught something.”

“Bluestar, can’t he—” Greypaw moved forward again, only to flinch back when her glare turned on him.

Surprisingly, Ravenpaw lifted a paw and said meekly, “M-maybe we can hunt too?”

Bluestar turned his way now and he cowered. Whitecloud stepped up to him and gently placed a paw on his back.

The leader, tall and bristling to twice her size, glowered at Firepaw. “I said go .”

Firepaw’s eyes fell. Silently, paws and tail dragging, he walked past her, not looking at Lionface, Whitecloud, Ravenpaw, or Greypaw. The ferns brushing against his pelt hardly registered to him.

It was still fairly early in the night, the moon barely a claw’s width and the stars glittering cheerfully where the foliage didn’t block the sky. Firepaw glanced up at them once, but lifting his head too high made him dizzy, so he stuck to focusing on what was in front of him.

It was tempting to wait until he couldn’t hear or smell the cats in the hollow before finding a spot, curling up and sleeping his emotions and weariness away. Very tempting. But Firepaw shook his head aggressively and stalked on. He was going to catch something, no matter how long it took. Otherwise, he wasn’t allowed back in camp.

Not that I haven’t broken a rule before…

His nose, at least, was kind to him, sharp enough to catch the trail of a mouse. Firepaw crouched to stalk and instantly regretted it—his sleepiness caught up with him and tried to pull him onto his side for rest. He forced himself, hard as it was, to crawl forward. He barely made a few steps before his paw crunched down on a twig and the unseen mouse scuttled away, twitching a few blades of grass as it went.

Firepaw sighed and shut his eyes. He sensed this was going to be a pattern. With great difficulty, he stood and kept moving, nose in the air and sniffing away.

On any other normal night, the air would feel crisp and bring his feet a little bit of dancing energy. The soft soil would delight him with its rich scent, and the soft rustles of leaves and ferns would ignite his senses like nothing else. As it was, he was cold, his feet were damp and slightly muddy, and he could barely pay attention to anything going on around him, let alone enjoy it all.

Again, he scented prey—a mole this time—and again, he only had to take a step or two forward before he ruined the hunt, now by scraping the ground with his tail. The mole was gone before he could blink. He shut his eyes again, tighter, willing himself to be positive and focus.

Time seemed to halt in its tracks as he continued, finding and scaring away more prey than he could count. Cold breezes nipped at his ears and nose, his feet weren’t even lifting off the ground anymore, and his tail collected mud. There was no point in trying to make out details in the bark of trees or individual leaves; he was seeing blobs of colors now. His mind had the barest of clarity, allowing him small snippets of thoughts here and there. Otherwise, he might as well have been in a dream.

Who knew how much time passed before a stray tree-root snagged Firepaw’s front paw. He couldn’t react in time to save himself, so he fell forward, landing on his chest. He didn’t have it in him anymore to stand back up. Instead, he sank the rest of the way onto his side, head half in the moist earth, and shut his eyes.

He’d be back up in a moment…

“Honeymouse?”

Firepaw cracked open an eye, turning his head ever-so-slightly to a golden form above him. His mind woke up now, and his vision cleared enough to make out Goldenflower’s worried face.

He raised his head up and squinted—it was much brighter than it had been a moment ago. He was confused, to be sure, but he remembered to be pleasant. “Hi, Goldenflower.”

The matriarch sniffed at the side of his head that had been on the ground. “Oh, stars, you’re all muddy. How long have you been lying here?”

“Um…” Firepaw squinted harder, thinking. “What time is it now?”

“Almost dawn.”

“Then, uh…when it was dark, I guess.” He yawned, stretched, and slowly stood up, much easier this time. “I was too tired to keep track of time.”

“You little thing…” Goldenflower’s massive paw gently brushed away the scrapes of soil on his face, though some was stuck to his fur. “I was so worried when you didn’t come back. Bluestar told me what happened, and…” Her amber eyes narrowed just a bit, but it was enough to completely change the tone of her face—Firepaw suddenly had the urge to back away from her paw. “We had a conversation.” Her eyes softened again, the change reversed. “I hurried to find you, but it still took me a while. I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh.” Firepaw blinked and looked around. It was most certainly almost dawn—the sky was turning gold in the distance and the forest was yellow and night-sky-blue in a striped pattern of light and shadow. “Thank you for coming for me, but… I don’t think I can go home yet. I didn’t catch anything.”

Goldenflower shook her head. “That’s all forgotten. You’re free to come back whenever you want.” There was a slight pause before she softly added, “And I’ll stay out here with you if you’re not ready.”

The change to kindness from anger and morose failure to hunt was a little drastic for a still-waking Firepaw. He took a moment to absorb it, and another to shake himself. This time it definitely woke him up. Refreshed again (to some degree, at least), he looked up at Goldenflower and blinked gratefully.

“I can come back now, I think,” he said. “If Bluestar’s okay with it.”

“She will be,” Goldenflower replied sweetly, “whether she likes it or not. But here, hold on, let me dust you off.”

She gave Firepaw no time to argue—in a heartbeat, she was circling the apprentice, gently pawing the right side of his body as free of the soil as he could be. Some of the wetter parts had clumped up stray clumps of hair, but she did quite a good job, leaving him mostly presentable.

“There.” Her eyes crinkled, pleased with herself. “That will do for now. Let’s get you home.”

“Bluestar really said I can come back?” Firepaw asked as they turned and started in the direction of camp.

Goldenflower nodded.

“Huh.” Firepaw looked ahead, considering. “She was really mad at me. But I guess it’s fair. I made her look bad in front of everyone else.”

“You didn’t do anything, love,” Goldenflower said firmly. “Your friends told me exactly what happened. She should have handled that better.”

Firepaw was thankful for her support, but the image of Bluestar’s embarrassment in her eyes made him reconsider going home. It was ice in his belly, the kind that would make him sick if he’d eaten recently. His head and tail lowered in shame.  

Goldenflower noticed and gave his ear a lick. “You won’t be in trouble when we return, I promise. I made sure of that. Let’s get a meal in you and you can keep resting in your den.”

“Thanks,” Firepaw said quietly. “I don’t know if I’m still that tired, though. It’d be better than talking to Bluestar, I guess, but… I don’t think I should avoid that.” As he spoke, he raised up his chin a little and looked to Goldenflower. “That’d be wrong, right? To just not talk.”

Goldenflower looked down at him with great affection. “You two will talk, I’m sure. But it’s very late, and most of the Clan is heading to bed by now. You just need to eat and rest again.”

That didn’t really answer his question, but Firepaw let it go for now. He just walked alongside her, her maternal aura soothing him.

The pair made it back to camp without incident. When they entered, several cats looked up expectantly… and a little nervously? Odd. Firepaw nodded to them and they relaxed a little, though they still eyed Goldenflower apprehensively. The matriarch did not acknowledge them; she simply returned to the nursery, where Brindleface was waiting outside of the den. Firepaw watched as Brindleface almost skittered away from Goldenflower, who acknowledged her with a pleasant “thank you” before sitting back down in her usual place.

Firepaw didn’t have more time to ponder this—Redtail was approaching, flanked by Lionface and Whitecloud. He quickly stood straight, self-conscious of his dirty coat.

“You alright, chrii?” Redtail asked quietly, lowering his head to Firepaw’s eye-level.

“Oh…” Firepaw nodded quickly. “Yes, thank you. I-I didn’t catch anything, if Bluestar…” He paused and looked around. “Where is she?”

“Our guest wanted to speak with her,” Whitecloud said. “She’s been in her den since then.”

Firepaw glanced at the hag’s spot. Sure enough, she wasn’t there.

“Where’ve you been?” Lionface peered at Firepaw, sniffing. “You’re half-mud.”

Sheepishly, Firepaw looked up at the toms with his head low. “I, um, might have fallen asleep out there.”

Lionface snorted and Whitecloud gave him a sympathetic blink. Redtail shook his head disappointedly. Firepaw feared that he’d made a mistake before the deputy spoke.

“We should have given you the night off,” he sighed. “I’m glad Goldenflower found you. She was insistent on doing it herself.” He grimaced. “I’d be surprised if Bluestar showed up again tonight after that whole thing.”

“Well, it’s over now.” Whitecloud nodded to Firepaw. “You must be hungry. There’s a mole on the prey-pile. I hear you like those.”

“I do!” Firepaw perked up, paused, and then asked, “Am I allowed to eat, Redtail?”

“Go ahead,” Redtail said, sounding amused.

Firepaw bobbed his head to each tom before trotting off to snag his prey. He still didn’t feel very hungry, but it had been dusk since he’d eaten, and he knew he needed something. He took the mole and moved a little away to make room for others before sitting down and eating. The mole tasted like nothing, though the chewy feet brought some small comfort.

After his meal, he silently picked himself up and went straight for the apprentices’ den without speaking to any of the few cats left outside. Greypaw and Ravenpaw looked to be asleep when he came in, but Ravenpaw lifted his head when Firepaw’s shadow crossed him.

“Are you okay?” he whispered. “We were worried, you were gone for so long.”

“I’m alright.” Firepaw bumped heads with his friend. “I just fell over and went to sleep out there. I think I’ll continue now, if I can.”

“Oh, good.” Ravenpaw sagged a little with relief. “Well, I guess we can talk tomorrow, then. Sleep well. I mean, keep sleeping well, I guess.”

“You too.” Firepaw moved past him to his nest with a tail-flick. Ravenpaw curled up again as Firepaw flopped into his moss-bed.

He didn’t expect that he would be tired enough earlier, but the comfort of being home and having a meal soon shut his eyes and relaxed his heartbeat. Still, he went in and out between sleeping and waking, hardly thinking clearly enough to tell the difference between the two.

Chapter Text

Firepaw had expected that his rest, uneven as it was, would lift his mood. Instead, he instead woke up feeling worse.

Regretting every step, he hauled himself out of his nest and slunk past a still-sleeping Ravenpaw and Greypaw, emerging into the camp clearing. A few cats were up, but it was still quite early, and even Goldenflower looked to be asleep. The hag lifted her head just as Firepaw looked her way; she blinked her squinted eyes and caught sight of her caretaker. Firepaw dipped his head and fetched her a small bird, presenting it to her silently.

She didn’t take the bird right away. She first cocked her head and appraised him, jaw stuck to the side in thought.

“Something wrong?” Firepaw asked, trying to sound cheerful and coming out with poorly-veiled moroseness.

There was a slight pause before the hag answered. “Chin up.”

Firepaw blinked. “Sorry?”

“Keep your chin up.” She shifted from her side to her stomach, a little taller. “You’re depressing me.”

“Oh.” Firepaw cleared his throat and raised his head, adding, “Sorry.”

“Ach, none of that.” The hag waved a paw dismissively. “Heard the events yesterday. Quite fun, the reaction.” She winked at him. “Your matriarch’s earned her spot.”

Firepaw tilted his head. “Redtail said something when I came back. About a ‘whole thing’. Did something happen?”

“Ha!” The hag’s teeth jutted forward. “Ought to have seen it. Lovely row.”

Firepaw glanced back at Goldenflower, who was still asleep. “Did… did she get mad, or something?”

“Oh, hey!”

Mousefur walked into view, blocking Goldenflower. She was looking at Firepaw with surprise.

“You’re up early,” she said. “I thought you’d sleep more.”

“Good evening,” Firepaw said, again failing to sound cheerful. “I just woke up, I guess.”

Mousefur’s amber eyes softened and she inclined her head, regarding him sympathetically. The two brown tabbies, Teaselfoot and Lizardtail, emerged from the warriors’ den and approached her.

“Evening, ant,” Teaselfoot said, “and old Yellow Fangs.”

Lizardtail gave him a dry look. “That’s not her name.”

“Really? I thought I heard the kits calling her that.” Teaselfoot turned to Firepaw like he was expecting an amused reaction, but he immediately straightened up and his face went neutral.

The hag snorted. “Better than my old name. Right tired of hearing you all call me ‘our guest’.”

“Would you prefer ‘prisoner?” Lizardtail asked, voice snippy.

The hag stuck her tongue out at him and he bristled. Firepaw tried to find amusement in that, but his heart was still too heavy.

“Well, whoever you are,” Mousefur said to the hag, “would you mind if we snagged the kid for a bit? How would you like to come on border patrol with us, Firepaw?”

Lizardtail whipped his head around to look down at her. “We don’t need—”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” Teaselfoot said over him. “Yeah, come with us. You look like you could use a good jog.”

Firepaw didn’t know how to respond to the offer—they really wanted his company of their own volition? He looked back at the hag for permission, for guidance, for anything.

She gave him a nod. “Go on with them. The fat boy can bring me what’s needed.”

“‘Fat boy’?” Mousefur squinted at her.

“Yes, the fat one,” the hag said with a flick of her tail. “Whatever his name is. The big grey one.”

“…You mean Greypaw?”

“Sure.” The hag rolled her shoulder. “Off with you to your patrol, now. I’m eating.”

She pulled her bird to her chest, and her disgusting snorts and grunts started up again as she tore into the back. Firepaw looked away quickly and nodded to Mousefur. She jerked her head towards the entrance in a “come on” gesture and led the toms off and through the short tunnel.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Firepaw said once they were out in the forest. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

Lizardtail’s eyes slid back to give him a disdainful look, but Teaselfoot gave him a friendly tap on the side with his tail. “We wouldn’t have brought you along if you were intruding!”

“Yeah, and you don’t need to be stuck in camp taking care of her all night,” Mousefur said. “Especially after yesterday.”

“Hoooo.” Teaselfoot shook his pelt. “That was something.”

“What happened?” Firepaw asked. “No one’s told me yet. It sounds like there was an argument.”

“Oh, was there ever,” Teaselfoot chuffed. “Goldenflower was furious with Bluestar when she came back without you. Ravenpaw and Greypaw explained it where we could all hear and I swear Goldenflower was about to swat Bluestar.”

“She’s quite fond of you, our matriarch,” Mousefur said. “You’re lucky to have her on your side. Even Tigerclaw said something!”

Firepaw stared at her. “Really?”

Lizardtail sniffed. “All he said was that he’d suggested you get to rest after your trip. It wasn’t anything like Goldenflower yelling.”

“And did she yell!” Teaselfoot stomped a foot, scattering loose soil. “That’s the maddest I’ve seen her since Darkstripe scared Ravenpaw when he was a kit.”

“It was quite a scene,” Mousefur said. “I’m just glad she went out to find you herself, Firepaw. If she’d made Bluestar do it, I don’t know how that would’ve gone.”

Firepaw blinked at her. “She can’t order Bluestar to do anything, can she? Bluestar’s the leader.”

“And Goldenflower is the matriarch,” Lizardtail said. “What’s your point?”

“I… don’t know.” Firepaw looked ahead, trotting to keep up with Mousefur. “I just figured that Bluestar was in charge, and she can’t be told what to do.”

“Anyone can do anything, chrii,” Teaselfoot said with a twitch of his whiskers. “That old seer could bark orders to her, and she doesn’t even have a name. Leaders aren’t untouchable. No one is.”

Mousefur hummed. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to question Goldenflower.”

“By law, I mean,” Teaselfoot corrected. “Legally, no one’s untouchable.”

“Kits,” Lizardtail said.

Teaselfoot huffed. “Okay, you two are ruining my point—”

“Apprentices, too, technically,” Mousefur added, with a wink to Firepaw.

“Can you please —” Teaselfoot thwapped her with his tail. “You’re confusing the kid.”

“Are you confused, Firepaw?” Mousefur asked innocently.

Firepaw tried not to chuff. “I’m following okay.”

Teaselfoot groaned with great exaggeration, eliciting a snort out of Lizardtail. “Gee, thanks.”

Mousefur’s tail waved over her back as she made a right, the toms following her. “On a serious note, keep an eye out, guys. Frostfur said she saw an adder up this way.”

“They’re already awake?” Teaselfoot complained.

“It’s the middle of spring,” Lizardtail said. “Of course they’re awake.”

“I thought we’d get lucky, is all.”

“On what, snakes oversleeping this far out?”

“Well, you never know! Maybe StarClan was kind to us.”

“What’s an adder?” Firepaw asked. “And a snake?”

Lizardtail already had his mouth open for a presumed snarky response, but Mousefur cut him off. “Have you seen a worm before?”

Firepaw thought for a moment. “Those slimy little pale things? Like, the ones that look like a mouse tail?”

“Those are the ones.” Mousefur nodded. “Snakes are that, but way bigger and tougher and usually brown, and an adder is a type of snake. They have fangs like us, too, but the fangs have venom in them.”

Firepaw squinted a little. “Venom?”

“Horrible stuff,” Teaselfoot put in. “A single bite will kill a cat, especially one your size.”

“So we need to be careful going this way.” Mousefur glanced around as if she was expecting a snake to come out at them immediately. “They usually stay by Snakerocks, but still, if Frostfur saw one out here…”

Firepaw had the vague image of something long, like Lizardtail’s tail, with a mouth bearing horrible fangs. He shivered. “Do they attack a lot?”

“Oh, no, not a lot,” Teaselfoot said quickly. “Only when they’re disturbed. We’re too big for them to eat, so usually they just hiss at us and slither off. Still, if they’re antagonized—”

“You’d have to be an idiot to antagonize them,” Lizardtail said dryly. “We’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” Teaselfoot tilted his head in a half-nod. “But if we see an adder, I’m pushing you in front.”

Lizardtail looked grumpier than he sounded. “I could overpower you, easily.”

“You’d have to catch me first!” Teaselfoot trilled, like a songbird. “Get Mousefur instead.”

“She can overpower both of us.”

Teaselfoot made a face at his sister. “If we were apprentices, maybe. But then we couldn’t touch her, could we?”

Mousefur rolled her eyes. “I’ll fight you in the hollow anytime.”

“No thanks,” Teaselfoot said. “I’m not looking forward to being humiliated.”

A chuff bubbled out of Firepaw’s chest and he ducked his head to hide it, almost tripping as he did.

“There we go!” Teaselfoot beamed, looking quite pleased with himself. “Feel better, Firepaw?”

Firepaw nodded, a little sheepish at the sudden attention.

“Then our real work is done.” Teaselfoot gave a self-satisfied nod to Mousefur. “Now we just have to mark the border.”

“Let’s do it,” Mousefur said. “Everyone up for a run?”

At the sounds of agreement, she picked up her pace into a half-lope that somehow still managed to be fast enough that Firepaw almost had to sprint to keep up. Teaselfoot easily outpaced everyone, but he was polite enough to stay close, and Lizardtail kept to the back of the patrol, with Firepaw by Mousefur.

They reached the northern border—that by the road—and the male warriors went to work marking as Mousefur climbed up the gravel to peer over the road and into ShadowClan territory. Firepaw took the moment to catch his breath, but the run energized him more than exhausted him. Mousefur called a report that the border was safe before climbing back down (much more smoothly than Firepaw ever could) and returning to the lead of the patrol.

The rest of the patrol was pleasant—Lizardtail kept his snark to a minimum, thankfully, and Teaselfoot and Mousefur chatted with each other and Firepaw. Firepaw only really spoke when spoken to, but it was often enough that he wasn’t left out of the conversation. The longer the patrol went on, the more cheer filled up his chest, and by the time they had finished their route and were on the way home, he had completely forgotten about his depression from earlier.

To his surprise, the patrol only marked half of the border; they made it within sight of Fourtrees before turning and heading back into the forest. By the sounds of it, there was another patrol to mark the rest of the border, but Firepaw was a bit disappointed (and anxious) that he had to go back home, even though it was the middle of the night and his belly growled for food.

They entered camp in single-file, and few cats were around—the rest must have been on the other patrol. Teaselfoot was the one to lead the way to the prey-pile, licking his lips.

“I saw a particularly fat squirrel this evening,” he said, “and if it’s not here, I swear—”

“Darkstripe took it,” Lizardtail said, pawing out a rat. “Saw him before we left.”

“Aw, the utter—” Teaselfoot sighed. “I’ll bet anything he didn’t even finish it.”

 “Will you move?” Mousefur nudged her brother, surprisingly pushing him harder than Firepaw had expected. “We’re all hungry. Firepaw, what do you want?”

“Um…” Firepaw floundered for a second at the sudden question. “If there’s a mole or a mouse, I’d like that.”

“Boy, you don’t eat much.” Mousefur pulled at a wormy tail and pried the mouse out of the stack, tossing it his way. “You need more food if you’re going to get big and strong like us.”

“Let him stay tiny,” Teaselfoot said. “It’s funny.”

Mousefur bopped him. Firepaw chuffed, picked up the mouse with a “thank you” and turned to find somewhere to eat.

He almost dropped his prey in surprise. Bluestar was two steps away from standing over him again.

Firepaw stood straight and cleared his throat, putting the mouse down. The conversation faltered behind him; the others were watching. Bluestar stopped when she was close enough to touch Firepaw with her nose and lowered her head to his eye level.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then spoke evenly. “Did you enjoy your patrol?”

Firepaw focused on keeping eye contact and nodded.

“Good.” Again, a heartbeat of hesitation, like she wasn’t sure what to say. “I thought you might like a private patrol tomorrow as well. With me.”

Firepaw blinked. “…What are we doing?”

“We’ll be hunting,” Bluestar said. “And perhaps checking the Sunningrocks border.”

Firepaw initially started to decline, or at least question if that was a waste of her time—but he caught a flicker of emotion in her eyes. Not embarrassment this time. Something close to apologetic. Perhaps shame?

She wasn’t apologizing out loud, but she was offering something to make up for the argument and punishment.

Immediately,the lingering dark cloud of negativity in his stomach settled. Firepaw, relieved, nodded. “I’d like to do that.”

Bluestar relaxed a little herself. She gave him a single nod and straightened up. “Go on with your meal. You only need to check on our guest tonight once in a while.”

Firepaw dipped his head to her and retrieved his mouse in one motion. He passed Bluestar with a tail-flick and picked out his usual place by the apprentices’ den.

Ravenpaw and Greypaw were out, and there wasn’t really much activity in the camp, but Firepaw appreciated the quiet and solitude this time. He munched on his mouse, observing Bluestar as she walked past the hag. She paused for a moment to look down at the bundle of dark fur, who gave her a smirk before grooming herself (Firepaw would have to remember to check her for knots again). Bluestar’s face showed nothing, and she continued on to the entrance.

Another thing to remember: he should ask the hag what the two of them talked about the night before. Hopefully it wasn’t as serious as exactly what Goldenflower had said when arguing with Bluestar.

Chapter Text

Firepaw was allowed to sleep in the next evening, which he was grateful for. Those in camp when he awoke and went for food didn’t speak to him, just glanced his way and then nervously ducked their heads when Bluestar came into the clearing. After breakfast, Bluestar led him into the forest in silence, heading towards the border by Fourtrees. Firepaw didn’t know what to say himself, but he felt compelled to speak—the noises of the forest could not stifle the awkward air emanating off of Bluestar.

“So where are we going?” he asked, and perhaps his brightness was a bit forced, but it worked well enough.

Bluestar was visibly thankful for the broken silence. Her head lowered a little and her ears went forward. “I thought we might try hunting on the neutral grounds tonight.”

“Oh!” Firepaw hopped over a fallen branch in his way and trotted faster to catch up to her. “Are we allowed to hunt there? I’ve never seen any patrols go near that area.”

“Generally, we don’t.” Bluestar ducked her head further to get past a tall fern (Firepaw did not have to, of course). “It’s not illegal, technically, but it’s good to leave that place alone unless we have no prey left in the forest. The same goes for all the other Clans.”

Firepaw thought for a moment before responding. “But we have plenty of prey right now, don’t we?”

“We do,” Bluestar said. “I don’t expect we’ll catch anything tonight. I would like to see you practice hunting in a different place than the forest, though.”

“Okay!” This brightness was much more genuine. “It’s good to learn, at least. Are we still going to the Sunningrocks tonight?”

“I think we will, yes.”

Firepaw’s tail curled. “Sounds like a good night to me.”

Bluestar’s eyes slid down to look at him. Her face had its usual stern, stony expression, but her eyes were warm.

They went quiet again, and for a moment Firepaw struggled to think of more to say before realizing that this silence didn’t require saving. It was a pleasant night-walk and Bluestar had lost the stiffness in her stride. Things were fine for now.

The grassland of the neutral grounds welcomed them with a sky bursting with stars and a stiff, warm breeze. Firepaw took a deep breath through his nose, tail dancing at the mixture of fresh grass-scent and the nectar of colorful plants he had seen and scented on the trip to the Mother. The grass rippled, and the air was quiet enough for him to faintly catch the sounds of the Aulmir in the distance.

“What lives here?” he asked Bluestar.

“Anything that wants to escape the forest for a while.” Bluestar looked down at him and tilted her head in the direction of Fourtrees. “They always like to disappear from this place on a waking night, oddly enough. The moon’s closed, so we should be fine. Try to trace something here.”

There was quite a lot to trace, but Firepaw did his best. He opened his mouth and tasted the air, focusing hard. He caught something he hadn’t tasted before, and immediately regretted it—something somewhat foul, coated in dust and grass. He looked questioningly at Bluestar.

“Rabbit,” she murmured. “Their ears are the sharpest of any animal, so stalk it carefully.”

Firepaw obeyed, ducking low and creeping into the tall grass. The wind covered his footsteps and rustles, but he stayed cautious and slow as he closed in on the source of the smell. Through the veil of blades, he caught sight of something bending stalks over and chewing on them, and he paused.

Yes, he had seen these before at his old home, on the slab. It was a rabbit—tall, tall ears and long back legs, with a puffy tail and anxious eyes. He watched in fascination as it yanked a piece of grass out of the ground and munched on it, ears swiveling.

The breeze was blowing Firepaw’s way, and the rabbit clearly hadn’t seen him, so he had an advantage. If he could just catch it with its back turned…

Firepaw waited for several long heartbeats before the rabbit lowered its head, eyes facing away, to chew on more grass. He bunched up, braced his back legs, and leaped as hard as he could.

Dustpelt had not lied; this thing was fast. Firepaw landed on it but was kicked away with a blow almost as hard as being tackled by Greypaw, and when he looked up from the ground, the rabbit was gone. The grass tattled where it was heading, but the rustling soon faded away.

Firepaw coughed, slowed his breathing, and stood up. He glanced back to see Bluestar trotting towards him, nodding.

“You did well for your first time,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to catch it, but you got closer than an average ThunderClan warrior would have.”

“That’s good.” Firepaw coughed again, wincing. “That rabbit has a powerful kick.”

“That it does.”

“Are they all that strong?”

“And that fast, yes.” Bluestar gazed in the direction the rabbit had gone. “It’s a marvel WindClan can catch them at all. But I suppose they’re stronger than they look.”

Firepaw breathed slowly, relieved that a cough didn’t force its way out of him this time. He stood straight and said, “I can try again, if there’s another rabbit.”

“You can, but there’s probably none out here,” Bluestar said. “They like the daylight more. I’m surprised we found one so quickly at this time.”

“Oh.” Firepaw deflated. “Then… what now?”

Bluestar looked at him. “You can still practice. There should be a bird or two out here.” Firepaw started to turn away to obey when she twitched her tail. “If you see a big black one, don’t go for it. That’s a crow.”

Firepaw tilted his head. “Why not?”

“They’re sacred,” Bluestar said. “And they like this area during spring. They won’t get in the way of you hunting something else, but they will sound the alarm if you try to catch one of their own.”

Another piece of Clan life to learn about! Firepaw made a mental reminder to himself to ask about that when he had the time. For now, he tasted the air again, caught a trace of bird, and ducked back down, following the trail.

This time, the breeze betrayed him, and before he even saw the bird it burst out of the grass—a rather plump thing he hadn’t seen before—and clumsily flew away. Firepaw watched it go, intrigued again by this unusual little thing and how hard it had to flap its wings to get anywhere, before returning to Bluestar, once again empty-mouthed.

Bluestar didn’t look bothered. “That was a quail. We can hunt those, if we need to.”

“But no crows,” Firepaw said.

“No crows.”

Firepaw nodded and sighed, looking back at where he’d come from. “Well, I have a lot of practice to do if I ever want to catch something here. Or anywhere, really—”

“You’re doing well,” Bluestar said, not a little quickly. “It’s fine to struggle with hunting.”

Firepaw blinked, looking back at her. Uncertainty was not a good look on her; awkwardness, even, flickered across her face and diluted the cool authority.

“You’re not expected to be the best,” she continued, more haltingly, like she had no idea what she was trying to say. “Greypaw is strong, but he isn’t much of a hunter either. Ravenpaw can hunt, but he’s not a fighter. We all have… we have places where we’re at our best, and where we’re at our worst.”

Firepaw inclined his head just a little and watched her. Bluestar struggling to get her words out was a bizarre sight.

“I should at least be able to contribute to the prey-pile, right?” he asked. “Or just in general.”

“You do.” At this prompt, Bluestar settled a little and her voice became much more confident. “You have a good heart, Firepaw. You may not have noticed, but a lot of the Clan likes you. The elders especially. You work as hard as you can and you’re friendly with everyone, even your Clanmates that give you the cold shoulder. Even if you couldn’t catch a single mouse, you’d be contributing by virtue of your kindness.”

Firepaw’s chest fluttered with warmth.

“We don’t count our worth by the blows we can take, or the amount of prey we bring home,” Bluestar went on. “Those are valuable traits, but they’re not everything. Clan cats take care of each other regardless of some idea of ‘worthiness’. Otherwise, why would we keep our elders, or let anyone with a bad leg or missing eye live with us?” Her voice steadied completely, and she regarded Firepaw more fondly. “You understand better than almost any of our native ThunderClanners that caring for others is the right thing to do. Even if it makes our lives a little—or a lot—more difficult. That’s where your value lies.”

Firepaw knew what she was trying to say. He straightened up, tail curled over his back. “Thank you.”

Bluestar ever-so-slightly relaxed, relief in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something else, but she stopped. Her expression became wary and she tasted the air. Firepaw copied her, puzzled, but he found his answer quickly.

There was another cat nearby. Someone that didn’t smell like ThunderClan.

Silently, Bluestar motioned with her tail for Firepaw to follow her and turned back to the woods, somehow running and slinking at the same time. Firepaw couldn’t mimic the movement, but he managed to stay quiet and keep up with her.

The breeze was coming their way, but occasionally changing direction left or right. Bluestar seemed to know what she was doing regardless, and continued through the forest’s edge, the scent getting stronger. When they were near the road, she stopped.

“Who is it?” Firepaw whispered.

Bluestar sniffed deeply and wrinkled her muzzle. “Whoever they are, they’re gone now. Sniff around with me. We need to know how far they came into our border.”

Firepaw obeyed, putting his nose to the ground and following whatever trails he could find. Disturbingly, they did lead into the forest—not far, but far enough in that it would take more than one cat to touch the end of the trail with their nose and the border with their tail. He gave Bluestar a worried look when a familiar, slightly sickly scent hit his nose.

“ShadowClan?” he asked.

She nodded gravely, eyes narrowed. “And rogue.”

Firepaw stared at the endlessly stretched mound leading up to the road. “Why would they come over here?”

“Especially with outsiders.” Bluestar took a few steps, sniffing, before lifting her head up and glaring where Firepaw was looking. “Taking a big risk to cross the road and wander where we could find them.”

An idea occurred to Firepaw. “Maybe they’re looking for the old molly?”

“If they were, they should have waited for a patrol to come by,” Bluestar said, with an edge in her voice. “And they shouldn’t be bringing their friends from the Aulmir over here.”

Firepaw didn’t respond. His tail nervously tapped the ground and his ears were back.

Bluestar sniffed around a little more, her good mood gone. She lashed her tail once.

“RiverClan taking our territory,” she growled, seemingly to herself, “and now ShadowClan intruding on our borders. And rogues, to go with it.”

“What do we do?” Firepaw asked.

Bluestar paused in her walking and looked over at him, ears pinned back. “We’ll head home and warn the rest of the Clan. Come on.”

She turned away again and strode into the depths of the forest. Firepaw had to almost run to catch up to her, and this time he didn’t fill the silence out of a fear of making her even more upset.

In seemingly an instant, they walked through the entrance to a half-filled camp. Any conversations going on immediately died upon Bluestar marching to the stump and jumping on top of it. She didn’t sit down as everyone gathered around.

“ShadowClan and rogues have been scented on our border,” she announced, to the surprised noises and angry growls of the crowd. “I have investigated for myself. The two scents are intermingling by the road and partway into our territory. Spottedleaf reported a stranger by ShadowClan’s border the other day, and I believe these are connected. Has anyone seen or smelled anything unusual recently?”

Something told Firepaw to look the way of the hag. She was watching Bluestar, her bulbous eyes narrowed.

“We didn’t catch anything when we were there last night,” Mousefur said. “No markings but our own.”

“So it was today or later last night that they came!” Frostfur bristled. “Are they waiting for us to not be around before tramping in our woods?”

More cats raised their voices to shout suggestions or theories, but as far as Firepaw could tell, none of them had useful information, up until Whitecloud said, “Ask our guest if she knows anything.”

Every eye went immediately to where the hag lay beside the stump, and all talk fell silent.

The hag snorted. “Told you thrice now. The prick is on the move.”

“Which…” Whitecloud started, then cleared his throat. “Which cat is this?”

The hag squinted an eye at him. “Brokenstar. Who else?”

The present cats all looked at each other or Bluestar.

“As said nights ago,” the hag continued, not waiting for Bluestar’s reaction, “his friends are pushing their way into the territories. Testing their limits. What you’ll allow.” She shot a look straight at Bluestar. “Hadn’t a need to believe me before, did you? Well now, I say, keep an eye on your prey.”

Bluestar didn’t say anything at first. Her claws sank into the soft wood of the stump, and her silvery-blue fur bristled. When she did speak, it was in a low, growl. “He won’t touch our borders again, or our prey.” She turned to everyone else and spoke louder. “We’ll double patrols by the road until the next Gathering. If you see anyone that isn’t a Clan cat, drive them off by whatever means necessary. ShadowClan will be dealt with in time.”

The crowd evidently liked this, by their firm nods and determined faces. The hag, unimpressed as she always was, rested her head on the ground again and shut her eyes, wrinkled face grimacing. Bluestar jumped down from the stump, inquiring where some hunting patrol was and ordering Teaselfoot to go fetch them.

Firepaw stood to the side, listening in on everyone’s talk about this new situation. He didn’t know exactly what Bluestar meant by “dealt with”, but he had a very strong feeling that peaceful chats at the Gathering were going to be considered an alternate plan. With a sigh, he made his way over to the hag. When he sat down by her, she opened her eyes and looked up at him with the weariness he felt.

“They never listen,” she muttered. “No point in this seer business. Nary an ear turned my way, whichever Clan I find myself in.”

“Yeah…” Firepaw sighed again. “I hope we don’t have to fight anyone.”

“You’ll have to.” The hag lifted her head a little to smirk at him. “The idiot won’t harken anything said unless his ears are slashed open.”

“Brokenstar?” Firepaw asked, and she nodded. “He seemed so nice when I was at the Gathering.”

“And Yrrun smells like a wonderful meal, ‘til you’re the meal yourself,” the hag retorted. “Eyes wide, ears perked, boy. Can’t trust anyone from ShadowClan right now.”

“Except you?” Firepaw asked innocently.

She made an ugly underbite smirk. “Have I the look of a liar?”

“No, but Brokenstar doesn’t either.”

“Ha!” The hag thumped her tail on the ground. “Awful quick. Be quicker and fetch me a meal.”

Firepaw didn’t offer a return. Instead, he went for the prey-pile, thankful for the hag lightening his mood, and trying not to let the trouble of another potential battle bring him down.

Chapter Text

The moon gradually waxed open again, and Firepaw was prepared to wait for news on the events of the Gathering when Bluestar quietly informed him he would be going. He barely restrained a full ecstatic leap in the air, forcing himself to stay still and nod as seriously as he could. He waited exactly until Bluestar walked past him before running to his friends and giddily sharing the news.

“Finally!” Greypaw bumped his head against Firepaw’s shoulder. Firepaw barely kept on his feet. “You stopped getting in trouble long enough to actually see a second Gathering!”

Ravenpaw gently swatted Greypaw with his tail and nodded to Firepaw. “We’re going, too. I just hope it stays peaceful tonight.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Greypaw tilted his head.

“Bluestar’s bound to ask about the scents on our border,” Ravenpaw replied. “Whatever explanation Brokenstar can give, I don’t think it’ll satisfy her.”

“Ah.” Greypaw’s mouth stretched back on one side. “…Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Bluestar isn’t dumb enough to start a fight on a waking night. Come on, everyone’s waiting.”

Firepaw followed along after his friends as they trotted to meet up with Bluestar and a few other cats who were waiting with her. Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he looked to the right. Spottedleaf was approaching him, fluffy tail straight out behind her.

“You’re going to the Gathering?” she asked softly.

“I am!” Firepaw stood straight and curled his tail over his back. “Are you coming with us?”

“No, no.” Spottedleaf shook her head with a forced purr. “I just wanted to say goodbye, and I hope you have fun.”

Firepaw tilted his head. Her copper eyes lacked their golden shine and her plumy tail was smooth and stiff.

“Did you want to join?” Firepaw asked, a hesitant guess. “I can ask Bluestar—”

“Oh, no, don’t you worry. I’ve got business to attend to anyways; StarClan sent me a sign this morning.”

“Oh!” Firepaw perked up. “Are we finding another cat? Do you need help?”

Spottedleaf looked down at him fondly. “You’re a sweet thing. I’ll be alright. Just enjoy your Gathering.”

Abruptly, she turned and walked away. Firepaw watched her go, ear swiveling thoughtfully. He had the briefest flicker of some sensation he couldn’t name… then Bluestar called his name and the feeling left him. He continued on his way, catching up to the Gathering party. Along with his leader and friends, Darkstripe, Tigerclaw, Frostfur, Sandstorm, and Dustpelt were going. Firepaw knew enough at this point about how most of these cats would talk to him, so he kept his mouth shut and just walked with his Clanmates.

“Brokenstar better have a good explanation for what he thinks he’s doing on our side of the road,” Darkstripe growled as they emerged through the entrance and into the forest. “With rogues, on top of it.”

“Whatever his reason is,” Tigerclaw said quietly, “we’re not going to fight over it tonight.”

“I know, I know.” Darkstripe waved his tail in uncharacteristic casualness. “I’m just thinking aloud, sir.”

Tigerclaw’s lips twitched into a wry smirk not unlike the hag's. “Just don’t think aloud when we get there.”

Darkstripe actually seemed amused. “Of course not.”

Firepaw stared. It was like an entirely different cat was walking in front of him, chatting with Tigerclaw and not even scowling. Leaning in to Ravenpaw, Firepaw whispered, “Look at Darkstripe.”

“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know,” Ravenpaw whispered back. “Tigerclaw was Darkstripe’s mentor. He’s the only cat I’ve ever seen Darkstripe be nice to.”

“Wow.” Firepaw blinked. “Not even Goldenflower?”

“She just tolerates his bad attitude,” Ravenpaw whispered. “I mean, if he’s not anywhere close to the nursery.”

Firepaw watched Darkstripe and Tigerclaw chat, eyes occasionally scanning the rest of the Gathering party. There was a lot he still had to learn about everyone, wasn’t there? How many of them had friendships with each other that he wasn’t aware of?

The walk went a great deal faster than Firepaw’s first trek to Fourtrees, now that he knew where he was going. They broke out of the treeline and approached the Gathering-place at the same time RiverClan did. To Firepaw’s relief, no one bristled or made faces as the two groups met under the shade of the Fourtrees. In fact, Greypaw noticed the silver molly he’d talked with at the first Gathering and broke off to approach her.

“ There’s Silverpaw,” Firepaw said to Ravenpaw. “That is her, right? I’ve only heard her name the one time.”

“That’s her, yes.” Ravenpaw sighed. “She and her friends love insulting Greypaw. I think he likes it, too.”

“Huh.” Firepaw tilted his head, watching the two apprentices chat. “I’m glad he’s got a friend in RiverClan. We should be friendly with them.”

Ravenpaw didn’t say anything. Firepaw opened his mouth to continue, or query about that silence, but his eye caught a familiar, tall brown apprentice.

“Hey!” Firepaw trotted straight for him, tail waving. “Wrenpaw! Hi again!”

Wrenpaw, who was sitting with a tiny grey tabby tom, slowly looked Firepaw’s way. His eyes barely widened and he ever-so-slightly dipped his chin. “You survived your trip to the Mother.”

“I did!” Firepaw said, tucking his front feet together and puffing out his chest. “It was an amazing experience; I wouldn’t mind going back there again.”

“Mm.” Wrenpaw’s eyes shifted to the grey tom. “You’ll like it there.”

“I’m sure I will,” the little tom said in a pleasant, soft voice. “Whenever I do go.”

Firepaw remembered his manners and dipped his head to the tom. “Are you a friend of Wrenpaw’s? I’m Firepaw, from ThunderClan.”

“Rainpaw.” He echoed the gesture. “A blessing to meet you.”

Firepaw gave Rainpaw a friendly blink, utterly delighted at the politeness of this new cat. “I haven’t gotten to talk with a ShadowClan cat yet! You all look so interesting.”

Rainpaw kneaded at the ground and affixed his gaze at his paws, voice light with amusement. “Mayhaps not that interesting, but thank you all the same.” He hesitated before adding, “I'm rather intrigued by you, truthfully. I heard of you from Wrenpaw.”

Firepaw chuffed. “It seems like everyone’s heard of me at this point. I was a kittypet, if that’s what you wanted to ask. But that was a long time ago.”

“Ah!” Rainpaw nodded sagely. “Wrenpaw told of a rather tiny ThunderClanner, earlier.”

“Not one to talk,” Wrenpaw said, jerking his head to the right.

Firepaw and Rainpaw followed the line of the gesture, which was aimed at a cluster of kittens huddling together and trembling like they were soaked to their pelts on a drafty day.

They’re so tiny, Firepaw noted with a tilt of his head. Smaller than Swiftkit and Cinderkit. Should they even be here?

“Ah—” Rainpaw cleared his throat. “Merely a small season for us. Our cats don’t get big anyway.”

“Huh.” Firepaw tilted his head. “Are they okay? They look scared.”

“It is their first Gathering,” Rainpaw said. “Can’t rightly blame them, I say.”

Firepaw hummed thoughtfully and glanced at Wrenpaw for his reaction. Wrenpaw’s eyes were a bit wider than normal and he blinked several times. Firepaw opened his mouth to prod, but a yowl rang over the chatter and the gathered cats fell silent.

The dark tabby, Brokenstar, looked even smaller sitting between Bluestar and Rookstar. Still, he sat up straight with his bent tail swaying back and forth, eyes nearly shut with bliss.

“It’s good to see you all again,” he said. “My sincere hopes that all has been well with you.”

“We’ve been fine,” Rookstar said curtly. He looked down at Brokenstar. “Save for odd scents on our border. If you’re starting, you can begin with explaining that.”

Brokenstar blinked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Rookstar did not look amused. “ShadowClan scent is on WindClan’s border.”

“And ThunderClan’s,” Bluestar said, eyes narrowed. “With rogue in the bargain.”

Several cats muttered, and several more growled. The few ShadowClan cats not swallowed up by the crowd and blocked from Firepaw's view had their heads low and ears back.

“Ahh, right.” Brokenstar nodded and bowed his head. “I apologize. Our territory has been troubled recently. Fewer things to eat than ever. We’ve had to expand our hunting range to feed our queens and kits. Toeing the border has been the best we can do.”

“And you couldn’t hunt here, in the neutral grounds?” Crookedstar said, speaking for the first time. He didn’t sound nearly as suspicious as the other two leaders, but his gaze wasn’t exactly friendly. Firepaw wondered if ShadowClan would stretch into RiverClan’s territory as well.

“We’ve tried,” Brokenstar said. “Alas, we aren’t quite as skilled chasing things our size, as rabbits are.”

Bluestar’s eyes were narrowed to slits. “You’re much better at chasing things in our forest, then. Are you teaching your rogue friends some tricks?”

Brokenstar didn’t miss a beat. “That would be part of our trouble. The cats in the Aulmir seem to have lost their hospitality. They’ve pushed back against our visits, and so we’re going hungry.”

Firepaw looked at Rainpaw. The gray tabby was a skeleton, just like his Clanmates, but the hollow cheeks and bone-thin frame rattled the ginger tom’s spine. His jaw clenched tightly and his eyes were dark with worry.  Sympathy stabbed Firepaw’s heart as he returned his attention to the leaders.

“I apologize,” Brokenstar was saying. “We don’t intend to cause trouble with our neighbors, but we are desperate. And we have only chased prey across the border as far as the code allows. Four body-lengths, no further.” He looked to Bluestar earnestly. “I have no idea why the rogues would humor going into your land of all places. Rest assured that we do not approve.”

Bluestar hummed.

“And, among those rogues…” the dark tabby leader spoke now to the crowd. “We’ve been on the hunt for a former member of ShadowClan.”

Firepaw stiffened.

“She ran from her punishment after she allowed an apprentice to die,” Brokenstar said gravely. “Her name was taken from her, and her title. The former seer of ShadowClan once known as Murkpelt has disappeared, and we cannot track her down.”

A ripple of startled and confused noises from RiverClan and WindClan. Not so with the ShadowClan cats, who Firepaw could smell fear off of. Many of them ducked their heads or hunched their shoulders.

“I ask that you all keep an eye out.” The ShadowClan leader tucked his angled tail around his legs as well as he could. “She’s been gone for a long time, and we have tried to search the Aulmir as well as we could with our former friends growing hostile towards us. If you find her, chase or kill her on sight. She will lie to escape her fate. She cannot be trusted.”

Crookedstar made a noise of surprise. “Your folk are in all sorts of trouble, my lad.”

“Things have been building up, certainly,” Brokenstar agreed. “But I hold my trust that StarClan will care for us, and peace will be restored to our home. Now, in what I hope is better news… Crookedstar?”

Firepaw did not hear what Crookedstar said. His mind flashed to camp, to the unkempt hag likely dozing under the meeting stump, whiskers twitching in her sleep.

That's not the cat I know. Sure, she doesn’t like chriil , but surely she’d never allow one to die if she could help it. The ginger tom blinked at the leaders atop the Great Rock, vaguely aware of Crookedstar wrapping up his report. Plus, she said she’d abandoned her name.

But what if that’s a lie? A part of him argued. Is she truly a criminal and ShadowClan has good reason to look for her?

She left because of Brokenstar; it wasn’t safe for her there.

But Brokenstar’s report was in earnest. Surely it was honest, and none of ShadowClan had argued against him…

He deliberated back and forth on the hag’s and Brokenstar’s conflicting testimonies. His head spun with weighing their arguments against each other, trying to detect the falsehoods.

Even then, a small part of him whispered, what will Bluestar say about this? Will she deliver her to ShadowClan? He refocused on the leaders, Rookstar delivering his report while his own leader’s face, tracked on the black and white tom, was unreadable. Brokenstar’s face didn’t seem pleased or angered; just like Bluestar, he was listening to Rookstar’s report.

Glancing over at his Clanmates—Tigerclaw, Darkstripe, and Dustpelt next to several ShadowClan toms, one a black and white tom considerably larger compared to his Clanmates—his mind drifted back into his reverie. And what will the Clan think? Will they kill her or demand Bluestar to give her over?

He tried refocusing on his initial thought trail, but the worry of his Clanmates’ reaction nagged at his mind.

Who do I believe?

“ Firepaw! ”

“What?”

“We’re going,” Ravenpaw said. “And, uh… your friends said ‘bye’, but you didn’t respond.”

“Oh—” Firepaw twisted his head around to no sight of Wrenpaw or Rainpaw. “Shoot, I was thinking, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

The black tom swayed his tail in a shrug. “They didn’t seem to mind, from what I saw, but we do need to go, so…”

Firepaw hurried to his feet and cantered after his friend. The two of them joined back up with their party, some of whom were kneading the ground in idleness or impatience.

“Sorry, sorry. I was elsewhere in my head.” The moment Firepaw was within their ranks again, Bluestar started off at a walk, the party following her. Firepaw trotted to catch up to her and added in a hushed voice, “Did you mention anything about… you-know-who?”

“No,” Bluestar murmured back. “She’s going to stay our secret for now, until we have more information. But I suspect we don’t have anything to worry about from her.”

Firepaw sighed a relieved breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Okay. I hope Brokenstar wasn’t telling the truth.”

His leader didn’t respond. She just kept striding, ears back and eyes narrowed in thought. In the late spring chatter of birds and bugs, the scent of his Clanmates’ anxiety mixed with the scents of blooms and herbs.

Firepaw fell silent too, all through the long march home, until they were back in camp. The Gathering party spread out to greet their Clanmates, while Bluestar went straight for the hag, who was surprisingly awake.

“I want a word with you,” Bluestar said.

“Ah.” The hag squinted an eye. “The slitprick finally spoke of me, I assume?”

“He did.” Bluestar cocked her head sideways. “Come. We can talk in my den.”

With a grunt, the hag got to her feet. Firepaw noticed a new knot or two in her fur; he’d have to get those later. Bluestar led the way, the hag ambling after her. Several cats seated by those that had gone to the Gathering glared suspiciously at the old seer. She didn’t even look their way as she disappeared through the briar tunnel.

Firepaw didn’t waste time in gossiping or theorizing. Instead, he ducked into the ferns behind the stump and sniffed around. Finding nothing, he returned to the clearing just as Brindleface was walking by.

“Where’s Spottedleaf?” he asked her.

Brindleface paused and twitched her jaw to the side with a blink. “You know, I have no idea. Didn’t you talk with her earlier? I could have sworn she said something to you.”

“She said that, um…” Firepaw thought. “She said StarClan sent her a sign. ‘Business to attend to’, I think? I just thought you might have seen her.”

“I haven’t, sorry.” Brindleface shook her head. “If she comes back soon, I’ll tell her to come find you. But if she’s on seer business, she’ll be gone for a while. You know how she is.”

“Yeah…” Firepaw hummed. “Well, thank you anyway. I hope she’s back soon.”

“Me too, honestly,” Brindleface said in a low voice. “Feels like she wards off that old cat’s creepiness, doesn’t it?”

Firepaw blinked. “I don’t think she’s creepy.”

The pretty tortoiseshell-tabby purred an amused mew. “Well, you’re a special case. It’s a good thing you’re the one taking care of her, otherwise poor Ravenpaw might have died from a fear-fit talking to her.”

“Huh,” Firepaw said to himself. To Brindleface, he replied, “Cinderkit likes her.”

“That little magpie’s a special case all on her own. I wouldn’t be surprised if she eventually took over your role of caring for her, once you become a warrior. Not a speck of fear.”

Firepaw nodded. Brindleface flicked her tail in a farewell gesture and continued walking until she reached a half-asleep Willowpelt just outside of the nursery, with Goldenflower sitting beside her. The mollies all started chatting about something that Firepaw didn’t pay attention to. He just eyed the camp entrance, hoping that Bluestar let the hag stay, and turned away to grab some prey.

Chapter Text

The cloud-patched sky was stubbornly holding on to the last bit of daylight when Firepaw woke up. Too alert to fall asleep again, he stood, stretched and left his nest, poking his head out of the apprentices’ den and scanning the rain-drenched camp. It looked like no one else was awake.

Firepaw curled his tail in delight and he stepped out into the open. A kitten-like excitement at being the first one up for the night bubbled within him. He tip-toed like he had a secret to the prey-pile and sniffed it for something fresh. Most of the prey was from yesterday and stiffening up, but he found a fresher little bird whose color reminded him of Wrenpaw. He grabbed it and automatically went for the hag— but was he still supposed to be taking care of her at this point? He hadn’t had to for days.

Oh well. Might as well feed her anyway.

Firepaw approached her, his steps a little less excited as he got closer. Leaves had fallen around her, clinging to her sodden fur, and she was twitching all over, ears flat against her head, lips snarling, and tail bristling. Whatever she was dreaming, it wasn’t pleasant. Concerned, Firepaw gently prodded her with a paw.

“Ma’am?” he whispered.

The hag sprung to life with a snort and a gasp. He jumped back several steps, dropping the bird. She whipped her head around, claws out like she was expecting a fight.

“It’s okay,” Firepaw said quickly. He remembered to keep his voice low. “Sorry, I know it’s early, but you looked like you were having a bad dream, and I have food, and I thought I’d get those knots out before I do anything else today, so…”

The hag didn’t reply. She looked down at the leaves around her and then stared at him with even more bugged-out eyes than normal. “Where is she?”

Firepaw blinked. “Who?”

“The loon. Spottedleaf.” The hag’s breaths were quick and shallow. “Is she in camp?”

Firepaw took a slight step back before answering, “I haven’t seen her since last night. Maybe she came back—?”

The hag leaped up faster than Firepaw had ever seen her move and whirled around, ducking into the ferns behind the stump. She rustled around frantically, tail even more bristled, rasping to herself, “Stupid girl, that stupid, stupid girl…”

“Is something wrong?” Firepaw followed a few steps, his heart beating a little faster.

The hag turned and pushed past him. “Couldn’t have told me sooner—”

From the edges of camp, sleepy warriors growled at the commotion.

“Bluestar!” she croaked as loud as she could. “Bluestar!”

Firepaw trotted after her as she stormed for the camp entrance. “What’s going on? Did you get a sign, or something?”

“Did,” the hag growled. “One too late. Trouble with StarClan is that they don’t account for idiots! BLUESTAR!”

Cats poked their heads out of the warriors’ den, and Goldenflower, now awake herself, was scrutinizing the hag in confusion. Firepaw bobbed his head apologetically to them and hurried after the hag as she ran out of camp, her limp barely slowing her down. She turned sharply as soon as she exited the tunnel and went straight for Bluestar’s den.

Firepaw’s voice betrayed his anxiousness. “What’s wrong?”

The hag didn’t answer; she pushed past the draping lichen that covered the entrance of the leaders’ den, shouting, “Up! Up with you! Now!”

Bluestar grimaced as she opened her eyes, teeth flashing for a moment. The irritation disappeared when she caught sight of the hag and Firepaw. She lifted her head. “What’s going on?”

“Your seer is in the river,” the hag said. “Send a patrol to Sunningrocks. Now.”

Firepaw didn’t have a chance to ask for clarification before Bluestar was on her feet and the hag was rushing back inside of camp, fur bushy. Several warriors were waiting, their faces all lined with worry, as Bluestar went straight for them.

“Teaselfoot, Whitecloud and Speckletail,” she said. “Come with me. Nameless, where specifically is Spottedleaf?”

The hag heaved a noisy breath. “Sunningrocks. Should be stuck on stones.”

Teaselfoot’s eyes were wide. “Spottedleaf? Is she okay?”

“No.”

The hag’s single word reverberated through camp. Firepaw’s fur stuck up, his worry congealing into fear. Everyone around him was silent, on the verge of bristling themselves.

The hag looked at Bluestar. “It’s too late for anything but goodbyes. Go. Before she’s gone forever.”

Bluestar didn’t respond. She motioned with her tail to her patrol and darted back out of camp, her chosen warriors close behind her. Frostfur took a step or two, like she wanted to chase after them, but she stood back again and leaned against Lionface. His fluffy tail curled around her as he watched the entrance silently.

“What does she mean?” Firepaw asked him, half-pleading for a reason he didn’t understand. “What’s going on?”

Lionface shut his eyes tight and grimaced. Slowly, he looked down at the apprentice. “I think she means we’ve lost our seer.”

Firepaw froze.

“Stars above, I hope not…” Frostfur shivered, eyes wet. “I pray whatever the old cat dreamed was wrong.”

“Wasn’t,” the hag said quietly. “They told me so.” She gestured limply to where she had been asleep earlier. “And they left me signs in the waking world, atop it.”

Something in Firepaw’s mind wouldn’t let him comprehend what the large golden tom had said. With the desperate hope that everything was fine, he made his way over to the base of the stump, a few cats trailing after him. All that was there were the strewn-about leaves. Seeking reassurance, Firepaw looked over all of them.

The leaves were discolored and torn, with spots of white and gold infesting them. They smelled musty and damp.

Firepaw swallowed air and stepped away. Again, his mind refused to put together the story. He moved to sit near the elders’ den, watching the camp entrance and praying to the Three that it was going to be okay.

Everyone was up by the time the patrol returned, carrying Spottedleaf on their backs. Whitecloud and Speckletail gently let her down onto the ground in the middle of camp, to the grieved whispers of the witnesses.

Firepaw stared in horror. No longer did the beautiful tortoiseshell-tabby have the bright, cheery aura she carried even when napping. She lay stiffly, like she was made of wood, her fur soaked and muddy. Her eyes were half-shut and blank, and her unsheathed claws stuck out from paralyzed paws and legs. The fur on her face betrayed claw-marks carved over her brow and on her torn ear. Her mouth was open, tongue lolling as far as it could. Her pelt resembled dull late-winter bark more than a cloudy sunrise.

Nausea rolled Firepaw’s stomach. He started shaking all over.

“By the Three…” One-eye moved forward, her ears and tail low. The gathering crowd parted to let her through so she could sniff the lifeless body. “What happened to her?”

Speckletail hung her head. “We found her at Sunningrocks. She must have drowned upriver.”

Drowned… Firepaw shook harder, now too unsteady to stay on his feet. He crouched where he was, barely aware of Patchpelt and Halftail coming up behind him.

More cats made their way to Spottedleaf, all half-hunched in grief. They pressed their noses to her shoulder or head, or whatever they could reach, some murmuring something, before stepping back and letting others take their place. Redtail sat at her head, with Sandstorm beside him, and rested his head against the side of his sister’s. Sandstorm’s eyes were shut tight as she leaned against Redtail. For once, she was quiet and calm.

Not just her, Firepaw thought.

Mourning weighed down everyone's faces, but there were no cries of shock or vehement denials that this could be happening. The surprise had faded from their expressions quickly after Spottedleaf had been laid down.

They looked so resigned.

A gentle brush of fur caught the small ginger tom’s attention. Still shell-shocked, he looked up to see Patchpelt’s sympathetic eyes.

“Come with us,” he murmured. “We’ll show you how to say goodbye to her.”

Firepaw finally found his voice. “No, it—” He looked at Spottedleaf again. “That can’t— that can’t be it. She was fine last night, she…”

“As happens,” Halftail said.

Fur bristling like sparks, the little tom turned to him now, desperate for an answer, a solution, anything to make this stop happening. “But… but that’s not— can’t we do something?”

“No,” Halftail said. He met Firepaw’s eyes, his own half-closed in unhappy acceptance. “She’s gone. All we can do is bid her spirit farewell and bury her.”

“Bury?”

“We bury the dead here.”

Halftail answered a question Firepaw hadn’t asked. The very idea of just sending Spottedleaf off to be dug into the earth and left there, presumably forever—that was beyond Firepaw’s comprehension. She had just been walking around, talking, being her kind self. How could she just be dead on the ground now? And how was everyone so calm about this?

Patchpelt gently nudged Firepaw. “Come with me.”

Firepaw barely felt himself walking forward. Cats who saw them coming stepped to the side, giving them room.

And exposure to Spottedleaf’s body.

When they were close enough, Patchpelt rested the bridge of his nose on her shoulder and whispered, “You left us too soon. Walk your path to the sky in peace.” He lifted his head and looked at Firepaw. “Now, whatever you want to say to her spirit before she goes to StarClan, go ahead.”

Firepaw didn’t go ahead. He didn’t do anything. His eyes were glued to Spottedleaf’s face—to her blank, lifeless eyes, to her open mouth, to the scratches on her brow. She looked less at peace than she ever had alive. Her expression was frozen in pain with a final gasp for air that never came.

Patchpelt’s voice barely registered. “Firepaw?”

“Give him a moment,” someone else said, their words muffled in his ears.

Firepaw shook all over again. He couldn’t stop staring at Spottedleaf’s eyes: once a brilliant copper, now a dull brown. His stomach heaved at the smell of mud and damp fur. His paw brushed against her leg and he scrambled backwards, bumping into someone.

“Easy, easy, hey—”

“Chrii , you alright?”

“Goldenflower, can you talk to him?”

Firepaw’s vision blurred. A paw touched him and he tore away from the contact, feeling the sensation of wet, cold claws scraping at his sides. Wordless thoughts clouded his head. He wasn’t aware of what he was doing until he was outside of camp and in the dark of the woods.

He stopped and looked around. The camp was behind him. By the rustling and voices, someone was coming after him.

Firepaw turned and ran, chased by wet claws and dead faces and words he didn’t want to hear.

It was a long time before he was aware of where he was going. By then he barely stopped before the forest abruptly ended and grass took over the ground. He looked up, eyes focusing again, and he blinked.

He was back near the Houses. At his old house.

The lights were on, his human’s singing just audible over the buzzes of bulbs and clinks from other houses. A pair of cats were having a conversation on the edge of Firepaw’s hearing, some yards over. Foreign plants faced off against the scents of the woods, and as he leaned closer, they won the battle. Stuffy to the nose, but their odd familiarity soothed his nerves. For a moment, he could ignore the horrible events of tonight.

Where was Smudge? Was he doing alright?

Firepaw’s feet pulled him to move closer and call for his friend. It was against the rules, but if he could just get one conversation in, hear how life was faring for his old comrade…

Something scraped against the wooden fence beside Firepaw’s house. In a moment, a familiar black-and-white head popped up. Firepaw held his breath. His orders and his temptations clawed at each other, fighting to be obeyed first.

Smudge pulled himself onto the railing. He was a lot fatter now, pleasantly round and eyes almost shut peacefully. He looked down into another yard. With a blink of surprise, he started speaking to whoever was in there. His words were indistinct, but his mew was light and cheery.

Firepaw took one step forward. He breathed in to call out—

“There he is.”

Familiar shuffling of the brush and ferns made Firepaw turn around in alarm, caught nearly breaking the rules. He relaxed when Greypaw and Ravenpaw emerged from a thick patch of foliage. They, at least, did not look calm and resigned.

That thought immediately plunged Firepaw’s memory into the perfectly-remembered image of Spottedleaf’s body, and the ghost sensation of wet and cold. What little peace he’d felt vanished. The cold gripped his heart and he crumpled into shivering.

“Glad we found you,” Greypaw said. He started to walk forward again, but Ravenpaw’s tail blocked him. He looked at Ravenpaw in confusion, which turned to understanding when Ravenpaw gave him a look that Firepaw couldn’t see.

Ravenpaw was the one to speak now. “We’re sorry.”

Firepaw paused and tilted his head. “You’re sorry? For what?”

“In camp, we were all saying goodbye to Spottedleaf,” Ravenpaw said quietly. “We’ve all seen death before. I think we forgot that you haven’t.”

Firepaw didn’t say anything; even if he wanted to, his throat was too tight for words.

“I saw your face,” Greypaw added. “You looked like how I felt when I lost my dad.”

Firepaw stared at him. He managed to say, “You lost…?”

“Dad, yeah,” Greypaw said. “And my mom, not long after I became an apprentice. Same with Ravenpaw. With a lot of cats, really.”

Ravenpaw sighed, his voice oddly lacking its usual shakiness. “That’s the trouble with living out here. Everyone dies, and we never know in advance who or when. It’s just Clan life. My mother died in a fight, and my father was bitten by an adder.”

“I…” Firepaw swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to feel sorry,” Greypaw said quickly. “It happens all the time. Mom got sick and Dad drowned like Spottedleaf.”

Firepaw’s eyes flickered between the two, heart heavy in his chest. “You both lost your parents?”

Ravenpaw nodded. “A lot of cats have, in all the Clans. But, um, I have heard that kittypets go through the same thing.” His voice softened sadly. “Just differently. And a lot sooner than us.”

Firepaw slightly looked away, oddly guilty. “I mean— I mean, yeah, but I don’t see my mom die. I just… it’s… there’s some comfort that I’ll never know. She’s fine and happy, in my mind. It’ll be like that forever.” His eyes moved back to his friends. “But you saw their bodies, didn’t you?”

“We did,” Ravenpaw said.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“We kind of have to be if we want to be warriors,” Greypaw said. “That’s just life out here.”

Ravenpaw breathed in deeply and kept his voice gentle. “That’s the thing, Firepaw. Being a Clan cat—I hate to say it, but you’re guaranteed to see more cats die. Elders, kits, leaders, everyone.”

Firepaw’s back legs weakened, forcing him to sit down. “How can you live like this? You know you’re going to lose everyone?”

“Yeah,” Greypaw said. He perked up suddenly, like he had an idea. “But it’s not a goodbye forever. We’re going to see them again one day. When we go to StarClan. And then we get to see them whenever we want for the rest of time. That’s a comfort you can rely on. No matter what happens, I’ll see Mom and Dad again.”

Ravenpaw gave Greypaw a relieved look and said to Firepaw, “It’s the same for everyone. If we honor the code, if we’re good at heart and live our best lives, we all reunite when our eyes close for the last time. Even the cats we leave behind, we’ll be there to greet them when their time comes.”

Their words soothed Firepaw’s twisted stomach and rocklike heart a bit, but another concern came to him. “…Will StarClan take in a kittypet that keeps getting in trouble?”

“They’d be thrilled to have you,” Ravenpaw said firmly. “I can promise you that.”

Greypaw nodded, just as confident. “And we’ll fight whoever says otherwise.”

Firepaw’s eyes lowered as he absorbed this. Spottedleaf’s body came to his mind again, but even though it pained his heart still, another image of Spottedleaf appeared—coat shiny and fluffy, eyes bright and cheerful, making her way to the sky with her tail curled in joy. Whoever was waiting for her, she was going to be happy to see again. The question of the halls flickered through Firepaw’s mind— would she go there instead? Was she great enough for them?

She was, he thought bitterly. She was a great seer.

Slowly, he looked back up at his friends. Just as slowly, his heart lightened, though it still was a little chilled. He got to his feet and sighed a shaky breath.

“I guess I better go back and say goodbye to her properly, then,” he said. “So I can say ‘hi’ later.”

Greypaw and Ravenpaw gave a collective sigh of relief. Greypaw tilted his head towards the deeper part of the forest and turned, leading the other two back towards camp.

Just as Firepaw started to walk, he felt eyes on him. He looked back at the fences.

Smudge had caught sight of him. He was standing, eyes wide and tail still.

Firepaw met his stare and waved his tail. He tried to convey through his gaze his thoughts: I’m sorry, I want to talk, there’s just too much going on right now. One day. One day…

He didn’t know if Smudge caught that, but the kittypet’s face fell a little and he waved his tail back. Firepaw took one last sniff, capturing the plants of the Houses again, and followed his friends back into the forest.

Chapter Text

The night passed slowly and painfully. Firepaw’s stomach rolled nauseously at the sight of Spottedleaf, but with Greypaw and Ravenpaw standing beside him, he was eased enough to copy the others and touch her dappled shoulder with his nose.

He went to thank her, but faltered. There were so many things he could thank her for—her friendship, her kindness, her wisdom, her joy. He hesitated for a long moment before giving a quiet, summarizing “Thank you.” He retreated, hoping that, if her spirit was around, she knew what he meant.

Most of the Clan stayed in camp that night, only a few going out to hunt and the rest paying their respects. When color leaked into the sky, Bluestar called for everyone to gather around the body.

She began in an unusually soft voice, “Spottedleaf, I’m sure you’re already on your way to StarClan, but if your spirit has lingered here, this is our final goodbye. You’ve been an indispensable asset to ThunderClan: a brilliant seer and a wonderful friend. May StarClan welcome you with cheer and reverence. As we take your body to be buried, I ask that, if you’re still here, you start on your journey to our final home. Your work is done. We are more than grateful for your service.”

A ripple of indistinct murmurs washed over the Clan. Firepaw caught Spottedleaf’s name, but the rest he couldn’t decipher. Redtail and Sandstorm moved forward and, working together, shouldered Spottedleaf and carried her out of camp. Bluestar followed them but stopped just short of the entrance when a rasp called her.

“This is a private ceremony, I know,” the hag said, coming up to the leader, “but I ask that I be allowed to see her off before she goes in the ground. I owe her a word I should like few to hear.”

Bluestar’s ear twitched, but her voice stayed cool and soft. “Very well. Come with us.”

Firepaw watched the two mollies leave camp—and when he looked around, he wasn’t the only one. Several cats shared surprised looks, and a small amount eyed the dark molly with suspicion.

“Suppose it’s a seer thing?” Willowpelt said to Goldenflower, sitting outside the nursery with her and her kits, unusually quiet and huddled together.

“I imagine so,” the golden molly said. “I wonder what she doesn’t want us overhearing…”

Teaselfoot tilted his head. “Should she even be allowed to go? She’s nameless and lost her position as a seer.”

“That’s another problem,” Mousefur replied. She clicked her teeth worriedly. “We don’t have a seer anymore. No apprentice to take on her position.”

Teaselfoot jolted and looked down at his sister, eyes wide. “Shoot, you’re right. We’re blind now. What do we do?”

The answer was a round of conversation starting up, everyone expressing concern or haphazardly suggesting plans for how to solve this conundrum. Firepaw looked from warrior to warrior, to elder, to queen, but there was no reassurance to be found.

“Is it a really bad thing to not have a seer?” he asked his friends.

“We lost our connection to StarClan,” Ravenpaw said, his front paws kneading the ground. “We don’t have their guidance anymore without Spottedleaf. Unless we take a risk on the nameless cat, but that might mean StarClan getting angry and refusing to speak anyway.”

“It’ll be alright,” Greypaw said nervously. He copied Firepaw, looking between the adults for help, his face getting more and more strained with anxiety.

Firepaw didn’t say anything. He was just as lost as everyone else.

The next night, Firepaw was thoughtlessly pawing through the prey-pile when a harsh noise like a guttural bark rattled the leaves in the camp entrance. He paused, ears swiveling, and caught Bluestar’s voice—slightly raised, but still level. Activity ceased in camp at Redtail speaking, unhappy and a little on-edge. A snarl, and the entrance rustled again.

Bluestar emerged into the clearing, ears back and tail twitching. The dark ginger deputy followed, his head low.

Firepaw trotted up to her. “Is everything okay?”

Bluestar sighed. “Our guest is angry and insistent that we take action. I told her we can’t just go on a theory, and she stormed off.”

“Oh.” Firepaw blinked. “Should I go get her? I’m still taking care of her, right?”

Bluestar made a noise like she wanted to chuff and didn’t have it in her. “If you think you can. I was going to let her sulk, but she might listen to you.”

Firepaw nodded and trotted through the entrance without another word. Redtail muttered something about “faith”, but the apprentice didn’t catch the whole thing. He just kept on.

It wasn’t difficult to find the hag; she was stomping through the foliage and constantly jerking back to push a fern or twig out of her face. Firepaw winced at the thought of all the prey she was scaring off and approached, careful to make himself heard so he didn’t surprise her.

“Hey,” he said.

The hag whipped around, bristling. She ever-so-slightly relaxed when she caught Firepaw’s eyes, but the scowl didn’t leave her face.

“Good, someone sensible,” she growled. “Show me around this forest.”

Firepaw tilted his head. “Uh— I mean, sure, but…why?”

“If StarClan wants to speak, it must be through me.” She turned away again, shoving a fern out of her way with a paw. “This place is loud; signs could be anywhere. Take me somewhere open.”

Firepaw looked back in the direction of camp, where he could vaguely make out its briar shield behind all the foliage. Would Bluestar be angry if he didn’t bring her back immediately?

“Boy!” the hag snapped.

There was no room for argument; her eyes were blazing with determination and anger. Firepaw’s instincts set him forward. He trotted up to her and gestured with his tail. “I know a clearing. Come on.”

“Good lad.” The hag marched after him. “Be slower than usual. I need to see everything.”

Firepaw obeyed, going at more of a strolling pace than a walk. The hag sped up and slowed down at random; sometimes she was ahead of him, squinting at a stray twig, and other times he had to pause to let her catch up after she muttered irritably about a mushroom not giving up its secrets.

“Too much to see in this forest of yours,” she grumbled at one point.

“Sorry,” Firepaw said. His curiosity itching at his mind, he cleared his throat and spoke carefully. “What do you need to see, exactly? Bluestar said you wanted to take action about something.”

The dark molly hacked in a remarkably disrespectful way. “Told her this is Brokenstar’s work, and she has the dollops to dismiss me. ‘Theory’, star’s sake, I ought to throttle her.”

“What’s his work?”

“The girl’s death. What else?”

Firepaw stopped walking and stared at her. It took a moment for him to find his voice. “You… you mean she didn’t just drown?”

“Of course not.” The hag flicked her tail like she was shaking off water, continuing her walk. “Fool though she was, even she wouldn’t just trip and fall into the rapids.” Her voice lowered and became even more gravelly. “Hardly any better, what truly happened.”

Firepaw hurried after her and stopped when he was in front of her, making her stop too. “Hang on. How do you know? Did StarClan tell you?”

“StarClan and experience.” The hag gave him an irritated look. “Keep moving.”

Firepaw didn’t move. “What happened?”

She sighed a growl and shook her head. When she looked back up at Firepaw, her orange eyes were tired and angry at the same time. “Your seer walked to her death. She left for the Mother and an ambush came upon her, just as she was told in her dreams. StarClan tried to save her, and instead she took their warning as fate.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

Firepaw opened and closed his mouth, a thousand questions dying before they could make it to his throat.

Finally, he managed a strangled sentence. “She knew she was going to die?”

“Worse. She knew she could die, and she thought that meant she had to.” The hag shook her head again. “Stupid girl took everything as hard truth. Could’ve just stayed home, but no, no , she simply must follow StarClan. Idiocy passed down from her mentor—”

“Stop that.”

The hag blinked as the fur on Firepaw’s spine slowly bristled. He glared at her, claws threatening to unsheathe.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

His voice was shaking, yet he breathed to level it. The hag scrutinized him with surprise glinting in her large orange eyes.

“She wasn’t stupid,” he said slowly, “and she wasn’t an idiot.”

The hag’s jaw jutted to the side. “Any cat who’s told they could die and walks into death’s path willingly is an idiot, boy. She should have stayed home.”

The fur on Firepaw's tail bushed out. “How do you know anything? What if she did have to?”

The hag opened her mouth, paused, and then let out the tiniest sigh. Her croaking voice was oddly kind. “Everything is a choice, Firepaw. That’s something else I wish for you to learn. Let StarClan tell you what they want; never do you have to follow their fortunes, nor are you obliged to obey someone, whether they’re your leader or mother.”

Firepaw glared at her, anger still burning in his chest and stomach.

The hag was undeterred. “Mayhaps your seer thought otherwise, but she didn’t have to die. That is a fact. She was foolish in her devotion. Mourn her as you like, but swallow that truth.”

Every muscle in Firepaw’s was tense, his claws disobediently sinking into the earth, his tail lashing. Blood roared in his ears. And she still stared at him like she was unarguably right. He could just hit this old—

And at that thought, he stopped. Everything stopped. The fury in his gut, as if caught with prey it shouldn’t have, shamefully sank into his toes, dispersing into the soil below his pawpads. His fur smoothed again. His tail lowered until it was touching the ground.

How could he even think that? What was wrong with him?

He shut his eyes and took in a slow breath. When he exhaled, he opened them again, forcing himself to be calm. The hag had not bristled back at him—in fact, she was regarding him with a tilted head, impressed.

Neither of them spoke for what must have been forever. Firepaw was still swallowing down the last sparks of anger, and the hag watched him, her yellowed teeth sticking out of her mouth with focus.

Finally, Firepaw settled enough to speak, ignoring the tension in his throat. “Should we keep going?”

“Ha.” The hag’s eyelids squeezed her eyes back into a squint of amusement. “As you like, boy.”

Firepaw turned and continued on his path. Part of him demanded that he settle this and talk with the hag, and the rest of him was scrambling away from anything that could make him that angry again. He didn’t keep his slow pace, at least, forcing her to trot to keep up with him.

They eventually reached the open space the hag sought: the training hollow, clear of apprentices and mentors. Firepaw turned around and sat down when he was in the center of it, watching the hag as she paused at the edge of the hollow and tasted the air.

“This will do,” she said finally.

Firepaw gave her a tiny nod as acknowledgement, silent. She stepped into the clearing, stopped and curiously pawed at the sand.

“Quality stuff,” she remarked.

Firepaw hummed in response. She gave him a curious look before moving forward again.

Slowly, she moved around the clearing, nudging mounds of sand kicked up from Greypaw’s hunting practice or peering into the dark forest at some plant Firepaw couldn’t see. He just observed distantly, forcing his mind to stay silent and calm, even with residual irritation scratching at its door. The hag glanced up at him now and again, like she was expecting him to speak. He didn’t.

“Overheard some concerned folk,” she said after the silence had apparently gone on too long. “You all haven’t a seer to guide you. Makes most nervous.”

Firepaw hummed again.

She continued. “That’s what he wants, you know. He wants all of us gone, all us seers that could learn from StarClan what he’s up to. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already gotten rid of my apprentice and his Warden.” She stopped moving and shook her head a little, eyes seeing something far away. “So many have disappeared because of him.”

Firepaw spoke before he thought to. “Brokenstar’s killed other cats?”

“Or at the least, scared them off.” The hag sighed. “Anyone who poses a threat to his authority. Deputy, seer, respected warriors… suppose elders will be next, followed by the matriarch if he can manage it.” Her yellow teeth flashed as she twitched a lip. “Not a thousand crows could stop me, if he harms them.”

She means it, Firepaw realized. I thought she didn’t like anyone, only tolerating me for her amusement. Does she truly care for her old Clan?

“I thought you hated them all,” he remarked.

“Haven’t much love for them, this I’ll say." She snuffed at a bit of soil that had been scraped into the clearing. “But they are still my kin. Have to be more of a heartless fussock than I already am to feel nothing at their pain.”

Firepaw huffed a faintly amused breath. “Good to know you have emotions besides grumpiness.”

The hag echoed his huff and opened her mouth to say something. Then she jumped in place and ducked her front half into the shadows. “Aha!”

Firepaw stood up and started towards her. “What’d you find?”

“What I’ve been looking for— here!”

The hag backed up again and flourished a large brown feather. Firepaw came up close and sniffed it curiously. It was bigger than any other feather he’d seen before, and the fringes were uneven. Some strands were torn off, others were dirty and broken.

He looked at the hag again. “What’s that mean?”

“That’s a buzzard’s feather,” the hag said, agitatedly stepping in place. “The WindClan seer is a tom named Buzzardface.”

Firepaw’s heart stumbled for a moment. “…You don’t think—”

“Lead us back to camp,” the hag rasped. “Another death, mayhaps. Bluestar can talk to Rookstar about it. Grab the feather and get going. Hurry, now.”

Firepaw didn’t waste time; he snatched up the feather and started off at a run into the forest, careful to go just slow enough for the hag to follow him easily. She snapped at him to hurry a few times, but ran out of breath quickly when he did. The two didn’t speak otherwise until they reached camp and burst into the clearing.

Cats looked up in alarm as the hag rushed up to Redtail. The run had caused her to start hobbling again, and she was panting hard, her fur even more wild than usual.

“You,” she gasped as she barely avoided bumping into the deputy. “Where… is… Bluestar…?”

“Out on patrol.” Redtail looked at Firepaw. “What’s this feather for?”

“Sign from StarClan,” the hag declared.

The few cats who weren’t paying attention now whipped their heads around, staring at the old seer.

Redtail’s face didn’t change, but he stood straight and tall. “Tell me everything.”

Finally got what she wants, Firepaw thought as the hag started explaining the sign. Someone else is listening to her.

Chapter Text

It was impressive how poorly ThunderClan cats hid their eavesdropping.

By the time Greypaw finally woke up and emerged from the apprentices’ den, the entire Clan was roused and sitting around in clusters, trying hard not to look like they were listening in as the elders muttered with Bluestar, Redtail, and the older cats—Speckletail, Tigerclaw, Goldenflower, Whitecloud and Lionface. The silence and tense air were not lost on Greypaw, who blinked and looked around in confusion.

“What did I miss?” he said to Firepaw in a stage-whisper.

Firepaw’s eyes flickered to Ravenpaw, who was sitting beside him and tapping his tail nervously. Leaning into Greypaw’s ear, he whispered back, “The old molly and I found a sign about another seer getting attacked earlier. Bluestar’s deciding what to do, I think.”

Greypaw’s yellow eyes bugged out as he stared at his friend. “Another seer?”

“Spottedleaf’s death may have been a murder,” Ravenpaw murmured, shivering as he said the last word.

Greypaw at least had the sense not to shout or gasp and shatter the quiet, ice-fragile air in camp. What he did do was almost fling himself to the floor in a crouch, like he was expecting an attack. His ears flattened and his fur bristled.

“Murder?” he barely managed. “Who… who would kill her? She never did anything wrong by anyone.”

Firepaw hesitated, not sure if he was allowed to share further. Eventually, he admitted, “Brokenstar might have done it. The old molly thinks he’s trying to block us from StarClan.”

Again, Greypaw restrained himself, but distress flared out his fur even more. He huddled where he was, staring at the ground. Ravenpaw gave him a sympathetic nose-touch to his ear while Firepaw placed his tail on his friend’s flank and watched Bluestar out of the corner of his eye.

Barely audible from this far away, Patchpelt was saying, “It at least couldn’t hurt to send a patrol to speak with them.”

Halftail grunted and nodded.

“You better go with them,” Whitecloud said to Bluestar. “They won’t refuse you, of all cats. And whatever may have happened, a leader’s going to be a lot easier to trust than random warriors.”

Tigerclaw’s eyes were narrowed. “I don’t know if we can trust WindClan, Bluestar. Even if the rogue is right, that just means they’re going to be hostile and assume the worst of us.”

“Which is why Bluestar going would be helpful,” Whitecloud replied gently.

“I’m willing to lead the patrol myself,” Redtail offered. “They know me, too. Deadfoot and I are friends.” He twitched his whiskers. “Or about as much of ‘friends’ as one can be with WindClan.”

The seniors all fell silent, looking expectantly at their leader, as was the rest of the Clan, giving up on pretending not to listen. Bluestar’s head was a little lowered, ears swiveled back. The moon caught on her fur, turning it silver—except, Firepaw noticed for the first time, a streak of naked fur on her back, a scar he’d somehow never observed before, that slashed through her coat in one black line.

He didn’t have any time to reflect on this before Bluestar lifted her head and nodded. “Thank you for your input, everyone. Redtail, Whitecloud, come with me. We’ll leave now.”

So saying, she stood up and turned around, scanning the camp of eavesdroppers with a very unimpressed face. Everyone jolted and quickly looked away until she raised her voice and called, “I have business on the border tonight. Redtail and Whitecloud will be with me. If you have any issues, talk to Tigerclaw, Speckletail, or Lionface.” Without further comment, she strode for the camp entrance, her chosen toms following her with grim faces.

No one said anything until the rustling of the forest directly outside of camp faded away, and then an explosion of chatter and conspiracy consumed the clearing. More than one cat said something about Brokenstar, and others muttered speculatively about the hag and her situation. Firepaw looked her way, catching her right as she yawned a wide, contemptuous yawn and leaned back against the stump, eyes almost squeezed shut.

“Do you trust what she said about that sign?” Greypaw asked, nudging him.

Firepaw readjusted his posture after the nudge and nodded, looking back at his friend. “I saw it myself. She knew what it meant immediately, and it makes sense to me.” He continued on, describing the search—while leaving out the argument—and the discovery. Greypaw shook his head, eyes wide, when he came to the conclusion.

“Honestly, the crazy part to me is that StarClan would send a sign to a nameless cat.” Greypaw nodded towards the hag. “If she’s right, then Brokenstar really is a liar.”

Firepaw rolled a shoulder. “We’ll just have to see what happens, I guess.”

 Bluestar didn’t return for a long time—long enough that everyone eventually gave up on waiting and went to sleep. Even Firepaw was in his nest, nearly at sleep’s embrace, before his ears twitched and caught rustling and his leader’s voice. Unfortunately for his curiosity, he was too drowsy to get up and inquire about how the meeting went. He instead shut his eyes and was gone within moments, even with that squeaky voice in his head demanding that he go ask right now.

Chatter awoke him in the evening. The memory of the night before hit him and he was instantly alert, jumping to his feet and trotting out of the den without so much as a stretch. Everyone was outside, leaving no space for Firepaw to take more than a couple steps. He could barely hear himself think with all the noise—until Bluestar leaped onto the meeting stump and everyone went silent at once.

“I spoke with Rookstar last night,” she said, voice echoing in the quiet clearing. “You all know by now what sign the nameless cat was given—and it appears that StarClan truly spoke to her. WindClan’s seer, Buzzardface, was attacked as well, on the same night we lost Spottedleaf.”

Voices erupted out of the crowd, all asking the same question in different ways: who attacked him, where and when?

Bluestar raised her tail and everyone’s queries drew to a stop. She continued once it was silent again. “Evidently, rogues saw him as he was following a sign and tried to kill him. Buzzardface has no idea why or who they were, but he barely escaped with his life and ran into a patrol just in time. Rookstar also told me that the rogue-scent on his border has gotten stronger and pushed further into WindClan territory.” Her ears swiveled back gravely. “We’ve come to the conclusion that the rogues going after Buzzardface are likely related to what happened to Spottedleaf. It would explain the scratches she had, at least.”

Growls and shouts of anger followed this speech. Even Goldenflower looked outraged, tail twitching and back-fur raised. Tigerclaw, sitting next to her, was silent, but his eyes showed only ice.

“Attacking a seer, of all things…” Darkstripe growled. “They’ve got some nerve.”

Brindleface’s pretty pale green eyes were burning. “They have to know how helpless seers are to go after two of them. Cowards. They could’ve at least attacked someone who could fight back.”

Firepaw blinked and looked at the cat closest to him, Mousefur. “Seers can’t fight?”

“Or hunt,” Mousefur replied. “It’s the law. There’s a reason Spottedleaf wasn’t in that battle with RiverClan.”

Weird that it hadn’t occurred to him before, Firepaw thought, but it did explain some of Spottedleaf’s behavior. He tucked away further questions in the back of his mind for later and returned his attention to Bluestar.

She was watching the crowd, letting the reaction fizzle out before she continued. “Rookstar and I have agreed that it would behoove us to keep this situation secret from the other Clans until we have more information. As such, you are all to tell no one from ShadowClan or RiverClan about any of this.”

The Clan made several rounds of affirmation.

“Good.” Bluestar crouched at the edge of the stump. “Then let’s get back to business. Redtail’s out with a patrol now, but we still need to hunt—”

“Bluestar!”

The leader paused and every head turned to the camp entrance. Frostfur skittered to a stop as soon as she entered. She didn’t acknowledge the crowd, just turned to Bluestar.

“Crookedstar’s on his way,” she said. “He met us at the border and asked for an audience.”

Bluestar blinked and narrowed her eyes, speaking over the reactions of the rest of the Clan. “Is he alone?”

Frostfur nodded. “Redtail and Teaselfoot are escorting him.”

“And you trust he’s not up to something?”

“He was anxious to come here. Something’s happened that he wants to talk to you about.”

Everyone looked at each other, confusion filling up the air in remarkable silence. Bluestar hesitated for a long moment before jumping to the ground and nodding to Frostfur. The white molly turned around and trotted back out of camp, presumably to help escort Crookedstar the rest of the way.

If there was any hope of anything getting done tonight, that chance was gone as soon as Frostfur disappeared. The prey-pile went untouched and everyone sat together with friends or family, all eyes on the entrance. Bluestar seemed to know there was no getting anyone to leave until Crookedstar arrived, so she sat herself in the center of camp—exactly where she had been when Firepaw had brought the hag home.

The patrol was in a hurry, because it didn’t take much time before Redtail and the others arrived with the rotund leader of RiverClan. His light-brown-and-white patches stood out in the circle of ThunderClan’s darker and more plain coats. Firepaw’s eyes went immediately to his mouth, where his jaw kicked out to the side and his tongue lolled in the open air below his nose. Even with all this, he seemed completely unaware of the wary-to-hostile looks he was getting as he went straight up to Bluestar.

“You alright, old girl?” he said, and Firepaw marveled at how he was able to speak as clearly as he did with his bad jaw.

Bluestar’s voice was level and calm. “I am, yes. I assume the same can’t be said for you?”

Crookedstar sighed a ragged breath and looked around. “You’re fine to speak in front of your Clan, here and now?”

“As long as you are.”

“Good, good.” Crookedstar bobbed his head. “This is something everyone needs to hear, I'd say. Where is Spottedleaf?”

The air went cold. Bluestar shut her eyes briefly before replying. “She’s currently buried in the forest. Someone murdered her.”

Crookestar’s green eyes, normally so bright and jolly, widened and moistened. “Heavens, I’m too late, then. I’m sorry.”

Bluestar blinked. “‘Too late’?”

“Mudcloud was attacked last night,” Crookedstar explained, “and he said StarClan told him the other seers were in danger.”

The clearing burst with exclamations and demands for more information. The one who was loudest, however, was the hag, who pushed through the crowd and stomped up to Crookedstar (and even he stood taller than her).

“Even he?” she half-growled, half-shouted. “Even he!”  

Crookedstar did a double-take and stared at her silently, his lower jaw dropped a little. The hag’s own awkward jaw stuck out in determination as she squinted up at him.

“Seems to be none of us that are safe,” she rasped. “He lives, though?”

Crookedstar’s answer was halting and delayed. “H-he lives, yes. Battered to blasting, though. He’s got a limp from the rogues.”

“Rogues.” The hag looked to Bluestar. “You’ve much to speak about with him and Rookstar.”

“So it would seem,” Bluestar said, and to Crookedstar, “Buzzardface nearly suffered the same fate as Spottedleaf. Rookstar and I just discussed this yesterday.”

Crookedstar stiffened, his shorter-than-usual tail sticking straight out. “Rogues, too?”

Bluestar nodded.

He tilted his head to the hag. “And you have this one with you?”

“My own choosing,” the hag said. “Left ShadowClan before he could send his minions after me, too. These titans were kind enough to take me in.” She half-winked one eye. “And smart enough.”

“‘He’,” Crookedstar repeated. “Brokenstar, I take it?”

The hag grunted.

Crookedstar sighed again. “I thought he was up to no good. I never knew you well, Murkpelt, but I knew well enough that you allowing an apprentice to die was an impossibility.”

“Ah!” The hag’s teeth glinted yellow. “Someone sensible, at last. These ones still think I’d eat a kit.”

“They are a bit foolish, prra,” Crookedstar said, and though his voice was serious, a bit of mirth leaked through his gaze. “You must excuse them.”

The hag nodded with satisfaction and sat back, eyeing Bluestar. “You and Rookstar ought to all speak together. Come up with a plan. The prick will be making more desperate moves if he’s failed to take out all of the seers.”

Bluestar had the good grace to not respond to the sass. She merely turned to Crookedstar and dipped her chin. “I can organize a private meeting between us and our deputies in the next few nights, if you’re willing.”

“That’d be wise,” Crookedstar replied. “We ought to speak quickly, before the next Gathering. I can wait to hear the full story from you and the stoic fellow until then.”

“Good. Do you have anything else to say before you go?” Bluestar narrowed her eyes, but her tone was oddly light.

Crookedstar chuffed. “Nothing that can’t wait, old girl. I’m too late to tell you anything you don’t already know. Now, I’ve spent my welcome in this rabbit’s warren of a territory. This was an unplanned visit, anyway, and my Clan will be anxious to know what we’ve said.”

“They’re welcome to hear it.” Bluestar stood up, long tail high. “I can show you back to Sunningrocks. Redtail, send out some cats to hunt.”

Redtail, who had been sitting close but utterly silent this whole time, jumped up and nodded quickly. “Right away, Bluestar.”

ThunderClan’s leader motioned with her tail and walked for the entrance, followed closely by RiverClan’s. As he caught up to her, Firepaw caught the barest snippet of the two chatting quietly, and though it was impossible to tell what they were saying, their voices were friendly—or, at least, friendly for Bluestar.

Redtail cleared his throat. Like that was a signal, the Clan collectively jolted back into normal mode, fetching prey or talking to whoever was sitting next to them. Several cats went to Redtail as he called them to hunt.

Firepaw stood silently, watching the entrance to camp, contemplating.

Those two are the ones leading this entire fight between our Clans, he thought. They’re warring over useless land, getting their Clanmates hurt, and they talk like old friends just swapping joking insults.

“At last.”

Firepaw blinked and turned to see the hag ambling in his direction. Her tail waved and her bulbous eyes glinted with a vaguely malicious glee.

“If you want a job done right, you do it yourself,” she said with a shake of her head. “And he just left it to the rogues. Now he’s got witnesses to his actions. He hasn’t long before he suffers at the claws of these leaders.”

“Brokenstar?” Firepaw asked.

The hag nodded. She made something like a rickety, self-satisfied purr and came to stand beside him, her eyes also turned to the entrance.

“They need to do something about him fast,” she croaked. “He’s getting rid of everyone who can threaten his leadership. The Clan will have no one but him soon enough.” Her voice lost its smugness for a moment. “He’ll send the elders out next, I reckon. Or have them killed. Whatever will be easier.”

Firepaw looked at her and sighed. “I just hope ThunderClan will help ShadowClan. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Too late for that, boy.” The hag’s eyes flickered over to him. “But now that you’ve lost someone to him, mayhaps you’ll bite back.”

Firepaw’s gaze lowered to the ground. “It shouldn’t have taken this long, if that’s the case.”

“It shouldn’t,” the hag sighed. She grimaced at the entrance. “It really shouldn’t.”

Chapter Text

Over the next few nights the air was tense enough to be cut apart, and it only got thicker when Bluestar left once more for the neutral grounds to speak with Rookstar—and Crookedstar, this time around. Firepaw’s Clanmates finished their tasks of hunting or marking borders and sprinted from all corners of the territory to wait in camp and theorize with each other about what action was going to be taken, or what was going on in ShadowClan and the Aulmir.

Firepaw couldn’t feign interest in the gossip and conspiring. He was thinking of ShadowClan, too, but his mind’s eye focused on those tiny kittens at the last Gathering, shivering and nervous and far too little to just be new apprentices. He thought of the defeated, shamed way the ShadowClan warriors had silently hunched their shoulders and bowed their heads when Brokenstar smoothly explained away his troublemaking. Did they agree with what Brokenstar was having them do? Why hadn’t they spoken out, told the truth?  What was he doing that kept them all silent?

Firepaw’s eyes roamed around camp. Ravenpaw was sitting with his grandfather and speaking to him while he checked his fur for fleas and ticks; by Patchpelt’s tone, he was trying to soothe the apprentice. The other elders had left their usual lying-around space to join their juniors and give their input on the current situation. It was nice to see respect and curiosity in the warriors’ eyes as the elders spoke.

“If it comes to a fight,” Smallstorm grumbled, “we might very well have to get the fish-faces on board.”

“We can handle ShadowClan alone,” Tigerclaw replied. He sat close enough to Goldenflower to have their flanks pressed against each other, and she looked at him with great affection.

Halftail hummed noncommittally. “Couldn’t hurt to have backup.”

Tigerclaw lowered his chin a little to the elder—who, Firepaw now noticed, looked rather like him, just smaller and missing half of his tail. “You’ve been through a good deal of fights, eparme . RiverClan was never needed to help us along.”

Halftail blinked slowly. “That’d be because we were fighting them .”

“And we didn’t win all of those battles,” Goldenflower added softly. “Perhaps WindClan can help?”

Smallstorm made a rude hacking noise. “WindClan’s useless in combat and you know it. We’d be better off asking their prey to assist us. Or their buddies, badgers and foxes.” His ears went flat against his head and he twitched his lip in disgust. “I’d bet anything those dirt-eaters would forget who they’re siding with and start killing at random.”

“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t asking them .” Goldenflower’s voice was still gentle, but Firepaw didn’t miss that slight loss of patience at the end of her sentence. “Why not at least try with WindClan?”

Tigerclaw said something, but Firepaw was jarred from his eavesdropping by a warmly rasping voice in his ear. He turned his head quickly enough to nearly injure his neck; Whitecloud was close to him, head slightly tilted.

“I was asking if you wanted to share some prey,” he said before Firepaw could speak. “You look a little uneasy, sitting in the middle of camp by yourself.”

“Oh—” Firepaw stood up. “Yes, yeah. I’d like to eat. Thank you, sir.”

Whitecloud’s whiskers twitched in amusement before he started off, leading Firepaw to the prey-pile. Firepaw gutsily chose to get his favorite, the mole, and Whitecloud took a squirrel. The two walked together to a corner of camp. Firepaw stiffened when he caught the brown form of Dustpelt relaxing in the slowly retreating moonlight.

Dustpelt looked up and noticed Firepaw in turn, but he didn’t get to open his mouth before Whitecloud tossed the squirrel by the tail at the younger warrior’s feet and said, “I’m sure you don’t mind if I bring company over?”

Dustpelt did a very poor job of not scowling at Firepaw, who met his challenge and looked him right in the eye, steady and silent. Dustpelt looked away quickly and muttered, “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Whitecloud approached and turned to lower himself into a loafing position at Dustpelt’s side. He tilted his head at Firepaw and swept his tail at the spot next to him, serving as a casual barrier between the two young toms. Firepaw sat by him, only able to see Dustpelt’s head from where he was.

“What’s on your mind, chrii ?” Whitecloud put a long paw on the squirrel and pulled one of its legs off. “You looked quite deep in thought.”

Firepaw’s eyes went to his mole, to the center of its chest where its heart lay just behind the fur and skin. “Oh… I was worried about ShadowClan. Not— not, like, what they’re doing, but if everyone there is okay.”

Dustpelt sniffed. “You shouldn’t be worrying about them. They’re the source of all our problems right now.”

Firepaw hardly heard his snippy tone, tilting his head in thought. “Well, Brokenstar is, at least, but I don’t think they all are. Apprentices as little as theirs can’t really disobey their leader, and if there’s rogues involved, then maybe the rest of the Clan is being forced into things, too.”

Dustpelt scoffed.

Firepaw was undeterred. “If Bluestar was telling us to go into other territories and steal prey, or attack seers, you wouldn’t agree with her. But if she had rogues to order around, what if she could push you into doing as she said?”

Dustpelt didn’t answer the question, but his narrowed eyes glaring at the squirrel said enough. Whitecloud looked down at Firepaw, his own eyes reflecting curiosity.

“You’ve got an interesting idea there,” he said.

“It just makes sense to me, is all.” Firepaw half-rolled his mole onto its side as he spoke. “I don’t know much about the Aulmir cats, but I don’t trust Brokenstar, and I saw how the warriors were acting at the last Gathering. They looked really unhappy and ashamed. I know I wouldn’t be able to keep doing something that made me feel bad if someone wasn’t making me.” His left ear turned back. “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t do it anyway, probably, but I’m not everyone else, so…”

“You certainly aren’t.” Whitecloud purred almost under his breath.

Firepaw kept his face turned to Whitecloud, but his eyes darted to Dustpelt. He was still studying his meal with annoyance, but both ears were perked, the left one turned in Firepaw’s direction. He took that as encouragement and continued.

“And if the old molly had to run, or Brokenstar would have done something to her, who knows how everyone else is doing? She even said the elders might be next to be chased out o-or killed. Elders don’t hurt anyone by existing, do they?”

“Of course not,” Dustpelt muttered, but his voice had lost some of its bite.

“So if she’s sure that they’ll be targeted, especially by the leader, then I don’t think anybody is safe. Elders, kits, queens, even regular warriors and apprentices. All of them are in danger if Brokenstar’s really got rogues working with him and they have to do things that’re angering the other leaders or hurting fellow Clan cats.” Firepaw looked down at his mole sadly, picturing the little apprentices at the Gathering again. “So I’m worried about them.”

There was a long moment of silence, Dustpelt’s eyes drifting Firepaw’s way, unreadable and dim. Whitecloud regarded the apprentice with an appreciative sort of surprise, his squirrel’s leg still between his paws.

“I don’t want it to come to a fight, is all,” Firepaw said quietly. “Not if it isn’t their fault. They don’t deserve that.”

Whitecloud’s long, fluffy tail tapped his side like a heartbeat. “That’s very kind of you. I’d appreciate things being resolved peacefully, too. It’ll be hard, though, since seers were attacked.” His voice lowered to match Firepaw’s. “And one was killed.”

No one spoke for a long moment. Firepaw listlessly sniffed his mole while Dustpelt picked off a piece of his squirrel and chewed it like he wasn’t really tasting it. Whitecloud stayed cool and calm, as always, but even with that, the silence was heavy.

To ignore it, Firepaw turned his ear to the rest of camp. Smallstorm was still grumbling about WindClan and RiverClan, but Goldenflower had left the conversation to follow around Cinderkit and Swiftkit. The twins were tussling by Willowpelt’s reclining body as she chatted with Brindleface.

“I just wish I could see what was going on,” she was saying, eyes flashing with frustration. “It’s bad enough being in camp all night and day, having to hear news from a second mouth and just hope that the information is correct.”

Brindleface gave her an amused look. “Oh, it’s not that bad.”

“You just wait until you have kits of your own and you can’t go to Gatherings. You’ll sing a different song then.” Willowpelt made a face and swiped her tail. “But this is a dire conversation the leaders are having. Who knows what they could be saying right now?”

“Well…” Brindleface looked down in thought before raising her head and calling, “Nameless, can you see what’s going on where they are?”

The hag, in the middle of pulling feathers off of a bird, looked up at Brindleface and squinted an eye. “You think me a psychic, girl?”

Brindleface faltered. “Well— I, uh—”

“Use that pretty head of yours and think.” The hag pushed her bird to the side and crossed her front paws, sticking out her jaw in dry mockery. “They’ll be planning the best course of action to take about that moron leader of ShadowClan. I’d wager some talk of how to broach the topic at the next Gathering is going on. Perhaps pooling together their evidence so they can corner him proper tightly.”

Conversation around them had become muted, with cats watching the hag as she spoke. Firepaw couldn’t help a twitch of the whiskers at how they all watched her with such intrigue. It seemed like pretty obvious stuff to him, too.

On cue, the hag’s bulging eye flickered from cat to cat and she licked her chops smugly. “Don’t look so impressed, children. Anyone could have guessed that. You needn’t a fussock like me to teach you basic logic.”

“There are kits around,” Goldenflower said mildly.

“Ach, they hardly know what a tadpole is.” The hag flicked her tail in dismissal. “A word or two won’t hurt them.”

Goldenflower didn’t look convinced, but the kits were still wrestling and biting each other’s ears, apparently oblivious to the world around them. The faces of the witnesses varied between the edge of offended and slightly confused.

“What’s a fussock?” Dustpelt whispered to Whitecloud.

Whitecloud hummed a small chuff. “I have no idea. Firepaw? You’ve been around her the most.”

“Oh, I don’t know, she’s never used that word around me,” Firepaw said. “I mean, she’s used a lot, but not that one.”

Whitecloud chuffed a little harder. “ShadowClan has a colorful vocabulary.”

“They all do talk really different,” Firepaw agreed. “Even the apprentices. Brokenstar sounds more like us.”

Dustpelt snorted. “Better than WindClan, where you can’t get more than four words out of them at a time.”

Firepaw looked at him. “What about RiverClan?”

“Ugh."

Whitecloud leaned in towards Firepaw, speaking quietly, like a RiverClan cat could overhear him. “They can be a little foppish. You heard Crookedstar when he came here, and certainly some cats at Gatherings.”

Firepaw reflected on the leader, his daughter, and the apprentice he had talked with at Sunningrocks. “I guess they do sound a little odd. That’s not nice to say, but still.”

“They probably think we sound like idiots anyway,” Whitecloud said. “I wouldn’t worry about being nice.”

“ I would,” Firepaw replied firmly.

The senior warrior didn’t say anything, but from his creased eyes, he was tickled by that retort. He turned his head back down to the leg in his paws and started munching on it without another word.

Firepaw followed suit with his mole. It was a welcome break from conversation and a good distraction so he wouldn’t dare a sidelong glance where he could feel Dustpelt giving him a look. The heart was particularly tasty this time around, though he couldn’t help a weight in his chest as Spottedleaf’s copper eyes shined at him in the back of his head.

He swallowed his last bite and looked up into the sky. The stars were still overhead, but the moon was dipping out of view, closing in disinterest to the world below. Firepaw wondered just how big Suriin was if the moon was really her eye. Did it grow when she put it there? How big was the moon, anyway? He had never seen or heard of anyone touching it, did—?

The camp entrance rustled and every eye and ear whirled around to watch Bluestar step into camp. Her face was set with stony determination, her tail high in a more authoritative way than anything else. Everyone stood and practically tripped over each other to get a spot in front of the meeting stump as she smoothly leaped onto it.

“The meeting went well,” she announced once everyone was settled. “Rookstar and Crookedstar agree that we will be confronting Brokenstar at the next Gathering to prevent any arguments or fighting. On the way there, I scented ShadowClan and rogues. This was close to RiverClan territory, within the neutral grounds. Crookedstar confirmed that he’s caught the scent in his area too.”

“So they’re invading everyone’s land!” Darkstripe shouted, bristling.

“It would appear that way, yes.”

Firepaw watched everyone around him anxiously. This was certainly going to lead to a fight, and to cats getting hurt, if something happened before the Gathering. By the glares on the faces of the surrounding ThunderClanners, they were very ready for that.

“All three of us have decided to patrol twice a day around the borders,” Bluestar went on. “RiverClan and ThunderClan will put aside our battles with each other until we have this situation resolved. If you run into a RiverClan cat, and they’re on their side of the border, do not engage beyond a report meant for Crookedstar or a question about any new scents.”

Thankfully, no one looked too disappointed about that.

“Until the next Gathering, none of you are to speak about any of this with ShadowClan cats. Chase them out of our territory and watch them if you see them close to the border, but do not share that the other three Clans have had a meeting about them. I don’t want them to have any chance to come up with an excuse that can justify their intrusion.” Bluestar’s yellow eyes glinted like the lights of a car as she looked down at her charges. “Are there any questions?”

No one spoke up.

“Very well,” she said. “I will be in my den if any of you need me. I can talk privately if requested.”

With that, she left the stump, landing silently and trotting back out of camp – and Firepaw caught her sagging a little just before she went out of view. The Clan dispersed, all talking to each other about the news. Firepaw said nothing to anyone; he simply went to the prey-pile, picked up a rat, and wove around the much larger warriors, following Bluestar.

The noise of camp was muffled by the bushes and briar surrounding it as soon as Firepaw was out in the woods. His ear caught a heavy sigh and a soft thud in the direction of Bluestar’s den. He trotted after the noise, poking his head through the lichen curtain. Bluestar’s back was to him, stiff and weary. He cleared his throat quietly, announcing himself. She looked back and blinked.

“I, um…” Firepaw tiptoed into her den and dropped the rat at her feet. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I thought you might be hungry. Th-that’s a pretty long walk to make, there and back again.”

Bluestar’s eyes slowly softened and she shifted in her nest to pull the rat close to her chest. “Thank you, Firepaw. I’m sure you must have been bored tonight, I didn’t give you anything to do.”

“Oh, it wasn’t bad!” Firepaw stood straight to emphasize his perkiness. “I got to talk with Whitecloud and Dustpelt. Well—Dustpelt kind of just glared at me, but we still talked. That was nice.”

“I’m glad.” Bluestar sighed softly. “Some of our cats could afford to get used to you living with us now.” Her eyes drifted to the side and Firepaw caught an amused light in them. “I don’t think Darkstripe ever will, but Sandstorm and Dustpelt could, certainly.”

Firepaw nodded. “I hope they do.” He knew this would be a good time to leave, but his worries kept him rooted beyond shifting his feet nervously.

Bluestar caught it and tilted her head at him. “What’s bothering you?”

Firepaw managed to not blurt it out, but his voice was still hitched and a little loud. “Are we going to have to fight ShadowClan?”

Surprise, then sympathy, passed over Bluestar’s face. “I don’t know yet. It all depends on Brokenstar.” Her eyes narrowed a smidge. “I don’t want an unnecessary war, but if he demands it, we’ll give it to him.”

“But…” Firepaw shifted his feet again with increasing anxiety. “Can’t we just talk about it? Can’t he call the trespassing off and we can leave it there?”

Bluestar didn’t answer immediately. Her voice was unusually gentle. “I would very much like that, too. We can’t predict Brokenstar’s decisions, though. He may choose to fight.” She paused. “If it helps, we’ll have the other two Clans with us, so the fight will be quick and decisive. It will be over as fast as possible.”

Firepaw settled a little, but one lingering fear crawled through his throat. “No one will die, right?”

Bluestar shook her head. “Not if we can help it. Warriors only hurt and chase. We don’t kill unless we have to, like prey, or if our opponent is trying to kill us first.”

The bubble of fear and worry escaped Firepaw’s mouth with a heavy sigh of relief.

Bluestar looked at him fondly. “Is there anything else upsetting you?”

Firepaw shook his head. “That’s all. Thank you.”

“And thank you for the prey.” Bluestar nodded once to him, a rare pleased expression on her face.

Firepaw bowed his head, turned, and parted the lichen again, heading back into camp. His feet were lighter, but something tiny scratched at his mind.

It all depends on Brokenstar.

What was he going to do?

Chapter Text

As it turned out,  it didn’t take long for Firepaw to find out Brokenstar’s decision.

Firepaw, Greypaw, and Ravenpaw stood together, front paws in a perfectly uniform line. Their bright young eyes all met the cool steadiness found in their mentors’ as Bluestar spoke.

“This will be your first time hunting without any supervision,” she was saying. “The three of us will not be checking in on you. We don’t expect to see you until dawn, and by then—” here she eyed the apprentices sharply “—you should be coming home with at least two pieces of prey each. Three is preferable, but two will do.”

Ravenpaw straightened up even more, visibly forcing his ears to stay perked and not folded against his head. Greypaw nodded firmly and waved his bushy tail in eagerness.

Firepaw was the one to speak up. “Er… how much is two and three, ma’am?”

Each mentor and apprentice pair matched reactions; Greypaw and Lionface tilted their heads and stared at Firepaw with open confusion, and Whitecloud and Ravenpaw both blinked and glanced at Bluestar.

Bluestar, to her credit, did not react beyond the slightest turn of her right ear. “Two is one more than one, and three is one more than two.”

“Do you not know numbers?” Greypaw asked, baffled. “Those are the easy ones. I thought everyone knew them.”

Firepaw winced, embarrassed now. “Well… I never needed to count before I came here, and it just never came up, I guess.”

“We can help you keep track of the number of prey,” Ravenpaw said before Greypaw could finish opening his mouth to reply.

Firepaw nodded gratefully to him, thanking whoever was there to be thanked that no one in camp seemed to have overheard his question. The looks on Whitecloud’s, Lionface’s, and Greypaw’s faces were bad enough.

Bluestar lifted her chin and cocked her head towards the camp entrance. “Go on, then. Get started.”

Firepaw turned and trotted quickly, his friends lagging a little behind. He led the way through and out without a word.

It had just rained during the afternoon. The forest glittered with droplets on every leaf, blade of grass, and bent frond; petrichor clouded Firepaw’s nose in a rather delightful way; the sky was oddly pale, even at this time, thanks to the light from the Aulmir caught on the trailers of the storm taking their time to head west. Firepaw’s feet were already muddy and wet, but in such a richly fresh wood, it was invigorating—exciting, even—rather than annoying.

His friends, evidently, did not feel the same. When he looked back at them, Greypaw was scowling as he examined a soggy paw and Ravenpaw was treading delicately, trying to find the driest spots to step on.

“Where do you think we should go?” Firepaw asked.

Ravenpaw stepped in a puddle and quickly withdrew his foot. “Well, the prey’s probably looking for a dry place to eat. My guess is that they’ll be in the thickest part of the forest, where the rain got blocked by the canopy. That should be…uh…a little bit north, this way.”

So saying, he took the lead of the little patrol, weaving through the tiny, faint path that the border-markers most often took to get to the road. Firepaw and Greypaw trotted along after him, Greypaw occasionally cursing when Firepaw ducked under a fern and he had to push past it, getting his fur and face wet.

“I never paid attention to which area’s got the most trees,” Firepaw said as they went. “That’s actually really good information to have.”

“You know what else is good information,” Greypaw said cheekily, “is knowing how to count.”

Ravenpaw shot him a look, but Firepaw took it on the chin and twitched his whiskers in amusement. It was better hearing that from a friend than from Darkstripe or Lizardtail.

“How many numbers are there?” he asked.

Ravenpaw slowed a little to let him catch up. “A few. One to four, then maneil, pel, nine, mirin…”

“Sot,” Greypaw piped up.

“Sot, right, sorry. That goes before mirin. Then thlain.”

Firepaw’s head was already muddying up. “Um…and what do those all mean?”

“You don’t know any of them?” Greypaw sped up to walk alongside his friends. “Do kittypets not need to count?”

“I mean, I know one…” Firepaw’s confidence that he had been carefully trying to build up over the time he’d been a member of ThunderClan was leaping at the chance to crumble into the mud.

“Is that it?”

“And… and if something’s more than one…”

“That—” Greypaw shook his head. “Wow.” At the little tom’s increasingly embarrassed face, he hastened to continue. “No, sorry, I’m not saying anything bad about you. I just thought everyone knew their numbers, whether they live in a Clan or not. I guess… I guess your cats didn’t have a reason to know them?” He paused, gauged Firepaw’s expression, and said quickly, “But that’s fine! Clan cats just need them so we can keep track of things, like, like, uh, patrols and reporting strange cats on the border and stuff, and—”

He suddenly gave up and looked pleadingly at Ravenpaw, who sighed almost under his breath.

“There’s nothing wrong with not knowing them,” he said to Firepaw. “It’s just something else for you to learn. We can teach you.”

Firepaw looked up between his friends. Greypaw tilted his head in a silent apology and Ravenpaw gave a little nod of encouragement. He breathed in deeply and exhaled.

“I’d appreciate that. StarClan knows I already look like an idiot to most of the warriors. If they all found out I don’t know what comes after one…”

“I’ll fight them for you,” Greypaw said. “One wrong word and they’ll be missing their ears.”

Ravenpaw nodded. “There’re plenty of cats who won’t judge, anyway. Goldenflower, Tigerclaw, Whitecloud, pampam, Mousefur… Teaselfoot might make a joke, but it’d be friendly.”

“And the ones that do, I’ll fight, so you’re fine," Greypaw added.

“Speckletail’s pretty good with numbers, too, so you can ask her if you forget one and we’re not around.”

“And I can—”

“You’re not fighting her, too!” 

“Why not? I can take her…”

Firepaw’s head lifted as his spirits did, but something sickly snaked through the wetness of the forest and softly tapped his nose. His friends’ voices fading away, he squinted and sniffed.

“Do you smell that?” he said aloud.

Ravenpaw and Greypaw halted their argument and tasted the air. Immediately, Ravenpaw ducked.

“ShadowClan?” he whispered.

Greypaw bristled. “And so close, too. They must have invaded again!”

The other toms looked at each other in alarm.

“What do we do?” Ravenpaw asked, still whispering. “We can’t just fight them on our own.”

“Well, we can’t leave them to do whatever they like,” Greypaw whispered back fiercely.

“We can at least scout them out,” Firepaw murmured, keeping his voice steady and soothing to combat the aura of fear. “Just be quiet and come on.”

Half-crouched, he stalked through the forest like he was hunting a wandering mouse. His friends followed after a moment and copied his movement. They went slowly, but the scent seemed to get stronger quickly. Rustling bushes were soon ahead of them and creaky, faint voices whispered to each other. Firepaw glanced back at the other two apprentices and lifted his tail for them to pause and wait. He moved forward alone, carefully going around the bush to catch the intruders off-guard.

As soon as he saw them, he stopped.

It wasn’t some strange rogues or conniving warriors, and they weren’t hunting or strutting about like they owned the place. It was a small group of aged cats, skinnier than Firepaw had ever seen a ShadowClan cat be and with thin, strained necks that accentuated their tired eyes, heavy with knowledge gained from a lifetime of experiences.

Elders? Firepaw stared. Why? I thought elders never left camp.

One of them, a rickety black tom, suddenly looked up and twisted his skeletal head side to side. In a croaky voice that seemed to take great effort to speak with, he called, “Who’s there?”

The fear and wariness left Firepaw immediately. He stood up straight and pawed a fern to make himself known. The elders all jumped and skittered to huddle together until Firepaw said gently, “It’s just me and my friends, don’t worry. Ravenpaw, Greypaw, come out! It’s okay.”

“Oh…” The only molly, patched with pale grey, sagged in relief. “I was so worried we’d run into a warrior first.”

“Can’t be much better, this,” the grey tabby muttered. “Look at that one.”

He flicked his tail, gesturing to Greypaw as he rounded the bush, Ravenpaw in tow. Both apprentices stopped in their tracks and stared, just as confused as Firepaw had been.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Firepaw said quickly. He looked back at his friends. “Go get someone. Let them know there’s elders…?” He looked to the black tom, who nodded. “There’s elders here from ShadowClan.”

“And please—” the black tom hobbled one step forward before flinching and sitting down. “We request sanctuary. We have only kindness to plead for.”

Greypaw and Ravenpaw exchanged glances in silence.

Firepaw flicked a paw. “I’ll stay with them. Hurry, get home. They need help.”

“Good luck,” Greypaw said, and turned, running back south, Ravenpaw on his heels.

Firepaw turned back to the elders, careful to speak calmly and politely. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Firepaw.” He tilted his head. “Can I ask what you’re doing here, please?”

“Ah, thank you, little one,” rasped the black tom who stood no taller than Firepaw. “I’m Nightpelt. This is Ashfur—” he nodded to the grey tabby “—and Palecloud.” Now to the molly. “We are in no haste to cause trouble. We ran from it, in fact.”

“We lost one of our own on the way,” Palecloud said sadly. “She was killed by a car trying to escape Brokenstar.”

“Brokenstar,” Firepaw echoed softly.

“He tried to kill us,” Ashfur growled. “We stood in the way of his authority, and so he wanted us gone.”

Firepaw sighed and nodded sympathetically. “One of you said this was going to happen.”

All three elders looked up, already big eyes wider than it seemed their heads could take.

“She lives?” Palecloud whispered, as if in disbelief. “Murkpelt, you’ve seen her?”

“She’s with us, now,” Firepaw replied, perking up at the relief on their faces. “I’ve actually been taking care of her, since she was hurt and sick when she came to us. She said Brokenstar would go after you all, and her apprentice.”

Nightpelt deflated. “Indeed, Fognose fled home too. His Warden went with him. Even our matriarch had to run. It’s only Blackfoot and Brokenstar now, and his rogues.”

“Nearly ‘only’ them,” Ashfur added angrily. “We heard him tell his cronies to end us. We ran just in time.”

Firepaw stood tall and narrowed his eyes, a flicker of anger in his chest too. “He won’t get you here, I can promise you that. Here, please, rest until the patrol comes. Are you hungry?”

Ashfur opened his mouth, but Nightpelt cut him off. “We needn’t take your food until it is invited upon us, little one. Thank you, though, for your kindness.”

“But you must be hungry, right?”

“Ah, always,” Palecloud sighed.

Firepaw’s heart stung. “It really isn’t any trouble, I can—”

“Firepaw!”

He turned to see Greypaw running up through the brush, eyes wide and very worried. “Lionface has a border patrol. They’re coming this way, but he looks mad…”

Firepaw didn’t get a chance to respond before rustling further back announced the patrol. Greypaw jumped out of the way as Lionface pushed through the undergrowth, followed by Mousefur, Lizardtail, and Brindleface. All of them looked irritated, but Lionface’s face was hard and his muzzle wrinkled with annoyance.

“Another stray of yours, Firepaw?” he growled.

A flicker of the memory of Lionface’s encounter with the hag danced behind Firepaw’s eyes. He said nothing.

“I’m getting tired of this,” Lizardtail groaned. “How many rogues do you have to try and bring in?”

Lionface stopped when he was in full sight of the elders. He stood tall and lashed his tail once. “You all are intruding in ThunderClan territory.”

“We need help—” Nightpelt started.

“And you can find that help elsewhere,” Lionface snapped. “We’ve had enough of your Clan coming into our forest whenever they like. Now, come with me, and come quietly. I’ll take you to the border.”

Firepaw braced himself as Lionface started for the elders. He can't do this. Not while I'm here.

Before Lionface had taken a couple steps, Firepaw stood in his path, facing him, blocking his way to the elders.

Lionface stopped, blinking in confusion before quickly recovering. He towered over the much smaller apprentice.

“Firepaw,” he said, “move.”

Firepaw met his eyes. “No.”

The air immediately shifted. Firepaw saw Mousefur stare at him with an open mouth out of the corner of his eye.

Lionface’s muzzle wrinkled with a flash of teeth. “Firepaw, I said—” One step forward with a flex of his claws. “Move.”

Firepaw’s voice stayed calm and gentle. “No.”

Lizardtail’s eyes were wide enough to see a white ring around them. Greypaw fidgeted, fur fluffed in fear.

Lionface loomed over Firepaw, back bristling. “Move or I make you move. That is an order.”

The ginger tom breathed in slowly. He tilted his head a little, staring up at the lionlike tom directly into his verdant green eyes.

“I guess you’ll have to make me,” he said.

Lionface’s head reared back, half-formed words spat out. Firepaw could hear a wheeze behind him from Nightpelt. He didn’t look back; he faced his superior, steadfast and quiet.

Your move, sir, Firepaw thought. Shove me aside and look like a brute or back down to an apprentice in front of everyone. I’m getting punished either way. 

The two stood in silence, the golden tom stiffly lashing his tail side-to-side. His mouth twitched beneath his wrinkled nose, words dying as they met his tongue. His claws dug into the ground, his ears pinned back and his fur flattened. Firepaw didn’t blink, his eyes beginning to burn as he waited for his superior’s next move.

Finally, Lionface looked down at Firepaw’s feet. He took a step back. Brindleface quietly gasped.

“Bluestar will punish you severely,” he growled between his teeth. “Your friends here—”

“Please…” Nightpelt limped up to Firepaw’s side. “Don’t be angry with him. We’re elders from ShadowClan. We have nowhere else to go.”

“You have the Aulmir—” Lizardtail started, but Lionface lifted his tail for silence.

“They fled from Brokenstar,” Firepaw said to Lizardtail. “If they go to the Aulmir, the rogues working for him will find them.”

“The Houses, then.”

“They can’t make that trip without coming through our territory, if they want to do it safely.” Firepaw looked up at Lionface. “And anyway, I thought warriors took care of elders.”

Lionface had a spark in his eye like Firepaw had just drawn blood with a blow. He half-expected an actual strike against his own ear.

Brindleface took a couple steps forward and spoke hesitantly. “He does have a point. We shouldn’t just send away elders who need help.”

Lizardtail threw a suspicious look at Nightpelt. “What if it’s a trap? What if they’re supposed to be spies, or Brokenstar is waiting to launch an attack right now?”

“Lizardtail, I don’t mean to be rude, but you sound really stupid,” said Mousefur. “One, we’d smell the other cats. Two, they’re elders who are very obviously starving—look how skinny they are.”

“ShadowClan cats are always skinny—”

“That skinny? Come on.”

“We— if I may—” Palecloud cleared her throat. “We’ve been going without for quite a while. Brokenstar makes us hunt for ourselves.”

Lizardtail squinted, anger forgotten. “…Elders?”

“And queens, and apprentices,” Ashfur said. “Many who struggle by themselves, or who do not know what to do.”

“We’ve lost a lot of chriil from hunting alone,” Palecloud added quietly.

Nightpelt’s eyes were wet with grief. “Ah, and our kittens. We cannot feed the queens. They must hunt alone, and their children go hungry. The young and old alike, we all are dying.”

“And another elder died trying to escape,” Firepaw said, soft and sad. His throat tightened, thinking about this elder, so close to freedom, only to have it suddenly and brutally snatched away from her.

Mousefur’s eyelids lowered a little as she regarded the elders. She looked at Brindleface, sharing a nod, before saying to Lionface, “Let them come to camp. At least for a bit.”

“They could use the help,” Brindleface added. “And the code…”

Lizardtail’s eyes went between the different elders contemplatively. He took in a breath and sighed. “Sadly, I agree with the kittypet. The code says we take care of our elders. Doesn’t really matter what Clan they’re from, does it?”

Hardly heard beyond himself, Lionface gave a low growl. He looked from his patrol, to Firepaw, to the elders. Greypaw flinched when Lionface looked his way, and that seemed to do something. Lionface visibly forced himself to relax and regain his composure. He looked down at the tiny elders and sighed through his nose.

“Come with us,” he said. “We’ll take you to our camp.”

Palecloud and Ashfur sagged, the tension leaving their bodies. They moved forward, whispering thanks and blessings to Lionface and his patrol. Brindleface came to stand beside Palecloud, murmuring, “Here, this way…” and Mousefur joined with Ashfur, watching him with concern.

“You’re still going to be punished for your behavior,” Lionface said to Firepaw.

Firepaw met his eyes again. “That’s fine. This is Nightpelt, by the way. The other two are Ashfur and Palecloud.”

“A blessing to meet you both,” Nightpelt said, looking at Firepaw.

Lionface said nothing more. He turned around and stalked back the way he’d come, tail swishing back and forth. Greypaw stared at Firepaw with awe before following after his mentor.

“You can lean on me if you want to,” Firepaw offered to Nightpelt.

“You’re kind,” Nightpelt rasped, limping alongside the apprentice. “Blessed with the heart of Horoa, you are.”

Firepaw said nothing, but a familiar blazing warmth swept through his body, starting from his chest.

Chapter Text

Ravenpaw was the first to greet them when they closed in on the camp; evidently, he had gone to alert Bluestar while Greypaw searched for a patrol. The sheer aura emanating from Lionface made Ravenpaw flinch back and glance with worry and curiosity at Firepaw, who just flicked his tail— I’ll tell you later —before helping Nightpelt through the tunnel and into camp.

With the whole patrol and the apprentices, the camp was filled up with every member of ThunderClan. Darkstripe, closest to the entrance, bristled and growled at the elders. Ashfur growled back at him and kept his rickety march on into the center of camp, along with his Clanmates. Lionface and his patrol spread out to give Bluestar room as she made her way through the crowd and towards the elders.

She opened her mouth to speak, and—

“HA!”

Every eye turned to the stump. The hag pushed her way out of the ferns and stomped up to the elders, bristling to twice her size and her tail lashing. Her orange eyes blazed with a grimly satisfied sort of anger.

“Warned you, did I not?” she snapped. “And now here you are, same as I.”

Palecloud’s bright green eyes warmed up. “You live indeed!”

“Always have, and I always shall, so long as the crows are right. Now—” The hag seemed to realize something and squinted, eyes darting between the elders. “Where is Brightflower?”

The elders glanced at each other unhappily. Nightpelt murmured, “As we escaped, a car killed her.”

For once, the hag’s face bore no smugness or grouchiness. Her eyes bulged and her mouth shook open, ears flat. She looked to each elder almost in a desperate way, but none of them seemed to have the answer she was searching for.

“Rogues were chasing us,” Palecloud said softly. “We didn’t look both ways.”

The hag’s fur flattened for a moment, tail hitting the ground. Then she bared her teeth like a dog and bristled even larger than before.

“You utter idiots !” she shouted, her croak echoing in camp and causing everyone to flinch back a little.

“I’m sorry—” Nightpelt started.

“Hark, now, and keep your mouths shut!” The hag’s wild glare fixed the elders to where they stood. “How many times did I tell you to seek refuge? How many times did I say ‘beware’? How often you refused to listen, so now you sully my new home, after agreeing to have me murdered for questioning our great and noble leader. How many have died since last I left the marshes, krrokil ?” Her tail lashed again. “Toadbelly? Her kittens? Dawnpaw?” 

None of the elders spoke. All of their eyes were low, Ashfur in particular looking angry with himself.

“Now it seems more obvious that Brownpaw wasn’t my fault, doesn’t it? Seems more obvious that he was sent to die for talking back to Brokenstar, doesn’t it?”

Again, silence.

The hag snorted and suddenly rounded on Bluestar. “And I told you that a move needed to be made! You see what happened now? More cats in danger! More cats in StarClan too early! But it wasn’t your business, was it? No concern of yours! Well, look at the elder’s we’ve here, short one of their own in their attempt to flee that which I told you to handle so often and so long ago!”

Bluestar regarded her calmly, waiting until the hag was panting with the effort of her rage before speaking—not to her, but to the elders. “What news do you have of ShadowClan after this cat fled?”

Nightpelt took one step forward. His voice was weak and it clearly took great effort to speak loudly, but he managed all the same in the dead quiet. “Our seers, our matriarch, and we, the elders, have been chased out on pain of death. We ran to save ourselves, as did Fognose and his Warden, and even Poppytail had to leave her charges. Brokenstar’s rogues have taken our camp and our territory. None of it belongs to ShadowClan anymore.” He waited quietly for the breathy reactions of the crowd to ripple out and fade before continuing. “Every cat must hunt for themselves now; to share is to be punished. Queens and kittens are starving, apprentices weak or killed by predators and cars as they travel without guidance for a mouthful of food.” His voice shook. “And those who die are replaced by stolen kittens and chriil forced into ShadowClan’s ranks for numbers.”

“Kittens barely past their fourth month must become apprentices,” Palecloud added sadly. “We’ve little ones whose swipes wouldn’t hurt a frog being trained to fight.”

Firepaw jolted. The memory of the cluster of tiny apprentices at the last Gathering struck him like a splash of cold water. They were kittens after all.

“Allow a guess,” the hag growled. “Some have disappeared down the same path as Brownpaw.”

None of the elders spoke. Their faces said enough.

The hag tossed her head and ground her teeth once before scowling at Bluestar. “Are your ears turned my way at last? Will you finally take a step forward?”

Bluestar, again, didn’t rise to her anger. She instead dipped her head the hag’s way. “Brokenstar is more of a threat than we anticipated—”

“I TOLD YOU THAT!” the hag bellowed. “THE NIGHT I ARRIVED, I TOLD YOU!”

“You did,” Bluestar replied evenly.

The hag made a garbled sort of snarling noise that Firepaw caught traces of words in, most of them being ones that he was grateful the kittens were not outside to hear.

With a slightly nervous look at her, Redtail took a few steps out of the crowd to speak with the elders. “Where were you planning to escape to?”

Nightpelt looked up at him with desperation in his wide eyes. “To the only place that could protect us: this forest, this Clan.”

Redtail’s own eyes softened. He looked back to Bluestar. “We can’t turn them away.”

“And they are elders.” Lionface lobbed a somewhat annoyed glance at Firepaw. “The code binds us to care for our seniors.”

Tigerclaw, sitting close to Bluestar, leaned her way and said quietly, “ShadowClan business is not our business. They have the Houses to go to.”

“Send them away!” Darkstripe agreed, loud and pointed in the elders’ direction. “The rogue is bad enough!”

Bluestar flicked an ear in acknowledgement and took the last few steps until she could touch noses with Nightpelt. The hag moved closer too, almost defensively zeroed in on the leader, and Redtail backed out of the way. The Clan quietly and tensely watched as Bluestar met Nightpelt’s eyes. He was kit-sized next to her, and unlike the hag, he didn’t have an aura of power and confidence to beef him up. Instead, he shrank even more, head low while still turned up to pleadingly look at the leader.

Bluestar sighed through her nose, shut her eyes briefly, then nodded. “Until the business with Brokenstar is handled, you may rest here.”

Nightpelt’s legs wobbled and he sighed much more heavily. Palecloud purred gratefully and Ashfur’s tense body relaxed. To Firepaw’s own relief, no one complained, though Darkstripe gave a quiet growl and Tigerclaw’s face was stony.

“Our own elders,” Bluestar continued, looking back to the fallen tree, “would you be content with them staying in your den?”

Smallstorm made a face, but Patchpelt nodded and One-eye croaked, “They’ll hardly take up any space. Come on over, itty-bitties.”

There was, luckily, no one standing in the way of the ShadowClan elders as they hobbled slowly to the elders’ den. Halftail, sitting just outside the den, nodded curtly to them, and Patchpelt said something in his usual kindly voice that Firepaw didn’t catch. By the way Smallstorm snorted and stood to greet his fellows (who even he was larger than), he could guess things would be fine.

Bluestar watched them for a moment before turning again. “My senior warriors, stay in camp. I want a conversation with all of you in a bit. Redtail, take the rest of the warriors to the border to ensure no rogues have crossed over.”

Redtail nodded and trotted towards the younger warriors, collecting everyone else and heading out in moments. It was a much larger patrol than normal, but Firepaw could already see rogues peeking over the road and deciding not to approach the passel of giants.

Eyes were on him; when he looked over, Lionface was looking at him with narrowed before he stood and approached Bluestar. Firepaw inhaled slowly and went for the prey-pile instead of watching Lionface tattle on him. He selected a few mice and carried them by their tails to the elders’ den, wondering if Bluestar would order him to take care of these cats too.

Smallstorm saw him first and grunted, “Ah, here he comes. Figured you’d be by.”

Patchpelt purred at Firepaw before saying to the ShadowClan elders, “You’ve got some prey coming.”

The elders whipped around (and by Nightpelt’s wince, probably regretted the swift movement) as Firepaw approached, setting down the prey at their feet.

“No need to hunt for these yourself,” he said brightly. “I can get you something larger, if you want.”

“Bless you, bless you.” Palecloud crouched and pulled the mouse to her, Ashfur swiftly following.

Nightpelt took a moment to blink gratefully at Firepaw. “We owe you a great deal, little one.”

“Palecloud here said you wouldn’t let Lionface chase them off,” One-eye said, whiskers twitching. “Made him back down, I hear?”

Firepaw, a little embarrassed by everyone looking at him, even the eating elders, shuffled his feet. “Well, I just stood in front of them, that’s all.”

“No wonder he looks so annoyed,” Smallstorm snorted. “The kittypet apprentice got one over on him. Might get in trouble for that, ant.”

Firepaw rolled a shoulder. “Oh, I don’t mind. I’d be surprised if I didn’t. Oh— do the rest of you want prey, before I get scolded?”

“Squirrel,” Halftail said, his pale eyes slightly creased in amusement.

“Any bird for me,” One-eye said. “I’m in a feathery mood.”

“Whatever’s left, I’ll take,” Patchpelt added, and Smallstorm muttered, “Anything that isn’t soggy.”

Firepaw trotted away with a head-bob. He had to make a couple trips to bring every order back, but by the end he was more energized than before, watching these cats from two different Clans eat together and chat once their meals were done.

He turned away and jumped as Bluestar stood right behind him. Her face was unreadable; he braced himself for punishment.

But all Bluestar did was lower her head to his level and say quietly, “We’ll talk later. Go back out to hunt with your friends, and make sure to bring back prey.”

Firepaw did not need to be told again. He hurried off to collect Greypaw and Ravenpaw, who were standing together on the sidelines and watching the elders.

“Let’s get back to what we were doing,” he said. “Bluestar’s orders.”

“I’d love to stay and see how the conversation with the seniors goes,” Greypaw said wistfully. He sighed and walked after Firepaw. “Let’s go, then.”

Ravenpaw trotted alongside Firepaw. “Hey, Greypaw said something crazy happened with you and Lionface?”

Firepaw twitched his whiskers. “Let’s get outside, and I’ll tell you.”

The sun was challenging the night sky off in the east when the toms returned home. Firepaw carried less than his friends; his thoughts had kept wandering to the elders and ShadowClan’s suffering, and as a result he’d lost quite a few potential meals. Even Greypaw had done better than him, a fact that had him strutting all the way to camp, tails of squirrels and a rat in his mouth. Ravenpaw would hear no compliments on his catches, as well as he’d hunted.

The apprentices pushed through the entrance into camp just as the senior warriors were walking away from the elders’ den. Teaselfoot was lounging by the prey-pile, watching the ending conversation.

“Anything interesting you overheard?” Greypaw asked once he’d dumped his catches.

“It’s a marvel those elders are alive, I’ll tell you that.” Teaselfoot glanced back at the apprentices. “Oh, nice job, chriil. That’s a lot of food.”

Ravenpaw looked away shyly, muttering a “thank you” before copying Greypaw.

Firepaw nodded and did the same. “What about the elders, now?”

“Oh, well—” Teaselfoot shifted into a sitting position. “From what I’m hearing, Brokenstar’s a complete idiot getting by on charisma and intimidation. Nothing he orders makes sense. All these cats dying under him from lack of food, or getting sick—I didn’t even think ShadowClan cats could get food poisoning, those hardy little buggers, but apparently they’ve had to raid the Rotten Place so much because they can’t even go into the Aulmir that they’ve found the worst stuff and taken it.” He glanced at Firepaw. “I don’t know much about it, before you ask. I just know that it’s on ShadowClan territory and has a lot of rotting food in it that humans leave behind. Only ShadowClan cats could survive the stuff there. At least, that’s what I thought.”

Firepaw grimaced and nodded.

“Anyway, no one’s happy with Brokenstar, but he’s chased off or killed everyone who can or would speak up against him. No wonder Old Yellowfangs ran before he could get her. I’m amazed his deputy is still there. I guess he just doesn’t argue with him.”

Firepaw looked sadly at the elders as they finished up their talking with Bluestar. “We should have done something sooner. If someone’s hurting, I think that should be everyone’s business.”

“Honestly, I agree,” Teaselfoot said. “I mean, drama is drama, but when kittens and apprentices are dying, that’s the time to step in.”

“So what’s the plan?” Greypaw asked.

“That I don’t know, sadly. Bluestar kept her voice real low for that topic.”

“I just hope it doesn’t come to a fight,” Firepaw said quietly. “Can’t we just make him leave, or something?”

Teaselfoot gave him a look somewhere in between sympathy and resignation. “I mean, I don’t want a fight either, but I don’t think Brokenstar’s going to learn any lessons. Not from what I heard. The Gathering’s coming up soon. That’ll decide it for us, I’d wager.”

Firepaw’s eyes drifted to the ground, the weight of the conflict settling on his shoulders.

Teaselfoot gave him a friendly tap with his tail. “Hey, it’ll be alright. One way or another, this’ll get settled. Rogues don’t tussle with ThunderClan, and stars help them if RiverClan and WindClan get involved.”

Ravenpaw followed this with a gentle headbump to Firepaw’s side. “Yeah, we’ll be okay,” he said, sounding like he was trying very hard to hide his own fear.

“Thank you all.”

The toms all looked up. Bluestar was now walking away from the elders, Redtail waiting for her in the center of camp. They swapped words under their breath before Bluestar started forward again, walking straight for Teaselfoot.

“Teaselfoot,” she said, and the young tom jumped to his feet and stood at attention. “I’d like you to go to RiverClan’s border and ask to deliver a message to Crookedstar.”

Teaselfoot nodded. “What should I say, ma’am?”

“I want him to meet with me and Rookstar in the neutral grounds two nights before the Gathering. Same place we talked before. Don’t mention the elders; just say that it’s urgent, and I will fill him myself. We don’t have much time to talk before a move needs to be made.”

Teaselfoot nodded again. “Neutral grounds, two nights before the Gathering, same place as before, and it’s urgent. I’m on it.” He didn’t spare a heartbeat before whirling around and sprinting out of camp, the rustle of plants fading quickly.

“What about Rookstar?” Firepaw asked Bluestar. “Does he get a message?”

“He does, and I’ll have Brindleface deliver it after she’s done visiting Willowpelt.” Bluestar tilted her head to the side, looking at Greypaw and Ravenpaw. “You two, give us a moment.”

Firepaw’s friends gave him a slightly nervous glance before skittering off towards the apprentices’ den. Bluestar waited until they were settled by the den to lower her voice and speak to her apprentice.

“You’re expecting some punishment for what happened with Lionface,” she said. Before Firepaw could open his mouth, she continued. “I told him I’d have you take care of the elders for however long they’re here, but don’t take that as you being in trouble. You did the right thing by the warrior code; we take care of our kits, queens, and elders, wherever we are.”

Firepaw breathed out a tension he didn’t know he was carrying in his neck and chest.

“Go ahead and check to see if they need anything before you go to sleep,” Bluestar added. She turned her head just as Brindleface was pulling herself out of the nursery. She nodded once to Firepaw before trotting away, calling the molly’s name.

Firepaw’s tail curled and he started for the elders, pondering why anyone would consider elder care a punishment enough to be satisfied with giving it to an apprentice.

Chapter Text

Time rushed by, and the waking night arrived before Firepaw could blink. To his surprise, he was invited to the Gathering, along with his friends. Bluestar also called for Whitecloud, Teaselfoot, Mousefur, Brindleface, and Speckletail as well—Firepaw hazarded a guess that she wanted the calmest, most agreeable cats to be present for whatever confrontation she, Rookstar and Crookedstar had agreed on enacting.

The ShadowClan elders, settled in their granted spots in the elders’ den, stepped out to wish the Gathering-goers well. Their eyes were wide and nervous, their rat-like tails low to the ground and shaking a little.

“I pray this can be resolved tonight,” Palecloud said as Firepaw came to see her and drop off a mouse.

He tried to give her as friendly and positive a face as possible, speaking with an optimism he was struggling to feel himself. “I’m sure it will be. There’s no fighting tonight, right? By law?” The elder nodded. “So we should be okay. ShadowClan as a whole wouldn’t break that rule, even if Brokenstar says otherwise.”

This settled Palecloud’s posture a little. She sighed and blinked gratefully at him. “I trust my Clanmates to uphold Suriin’s decree. Just be wise, and keep an ear turned for rogues.”

She picked up her mouse and turned, heading back inside the den, where One-eye was beckoning with her tail. Firepaw purred, watching One-eye say something to the little elder and tap her side jovially. He headed back to the camp entrance and sat down, waiting for the rest of the Gathering party to return from their business.

Soon enough, everyone was ready. Bluestar took the lead and started off at a choppy trot, just brisk enough that Firepaw nearly had to canter to keep up with everyone. She moved with tension in her shoulders and legs, but she said nothing. Neither did anyone else, though many looks were shared and Mousefur clicked her teeth now and again. Every time she did, Speckletail gently brushed her tail against the little molly’s pelt, and Mousefur would settle for a while.

WindClan and ShadowClan had already arrived by the time ThunderClan was within sight of Fourtrees— notably, they were standing away from each other, ShadowClan’s collective heads hung and WindClan’s tails tapping the ground. Upon joining, ThunderClan mingled with WindClan, as did RiverClan when they appeared. Firepaw desperately wished he could do something to wipe the misery off of the marsh cats’ faces, to lighten the load weighing their necks down.

“Heard about Spottedleaf,” Wrenpaw said, sitting down beside him and startling him out of his thoughts. “Sorry.”

“Thank you,” Firepaw said quietly. “I’m glad Buzzardface is okay. Was he hurt?”

Wrenpaw tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Hurt enough. He’s alright now.”

“Good, good.” Firepaw shivered a little in the cold wind. “I just hope—”

“Welcome, all, to the Gathering!”

The two apprentices looked up at the leaders—unlike his Clan, Brokenstar was sitting neatly between the other leaders. He was glancing at ShadowClan’s party as he spoke.

“Quite an unusual Gathering, it seems,” he said. “Have we done something to garner this isolation?”

Bluestar narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you just give your news first? We can talk after that.”

Brokenstar looked at her a little awkwardly and cleared his throat. “Very well. ShadowClan still suffers from rogues encroaching on our land. As you can see—” he swept out a paw at his skeletal followers. “We hunger more than ever. The rogues are becoming dangerous, stealing our prey and attacking whoever they find, solo warrior or hunting patrol—”

“Or elders, I take it?” Bluestar cut in.

Brokenstar flinched and turned her way again, his curiosity poorly hiding anxiety. “Pardon?”

Bluestar now spoke to the audience. “It may interest everyone here to know that ThunderClan is hosting refugees from ShadowClan—a seer once going by Murkpelt and the three surviving elders that escaped a ShadowClan party that aimed to kill them. One of the elders was lost crossing the road, but the others are alive and well.” Her eyes slid to Brokenstar. “And they tell a very interesting story about an incompetent and cruel leader, starving them and threatening anyone who can challenge his power.”

Whatever charisma and suave confidence remained on Brokenstar’s face melted away. “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about-“

Crookedstar gave a bitterly amused scoff. “Then perhaps you’ll know about what I have to say, lad. I’ve a story of my own—that of my poor seer, who was attacked by rogues and nearly murdered. And, a surprise you may have heard already! These rogues went after the seers of WindClan and ThunderClan too.” He squinted an eye at the little tom, a dangerous mockery of a wink. “And Spottedleaf of ThunderClan was killed.”

“Your former seer mentioned that there may have been a point to this,” Bluestar added, voice steely. “To blind us all from StarClan’s guidance. But, true to the elders’ story of incompetence, your mission failed.”

Brokenstar fidgeted, looking between the leaders. “You must be joking, I— ShadowClan knows the importance of seers better than anyone.”

“And the importance of muscle,” Rookstar said quietly. “You and your Aulmir friends have encroached on all of our territories. I assume they work for you.”

“I—” Brokenstar spluttered. “You assume incorrectly!”

Rookstar gave him a look of pure contempt, rivaling the hag’s best. “Would explain the seers’ organized attacks. Especially from cats who know nothing about us.”

“Where are your second seer and his Warden? Your matriarch?” Bluestar’s voice could have slain a Titan with her tranquil fury. “We already have the other authority figures in ThunderClan. So have you executed those three?”

Brokenstar didn’t answer; his mouth sputtered out half-formed responses that he just didn’t have ready this time, the rest of the leaders glaring him down. Firepaw glanced at ShadowClan—they were all staring at the leaders, some mouths slightly open. They almost looked hopeful.

Bluestar spoke when the silence had dragged on long enough. “One other thing I’ve heard—your apprentices are rather small, even for your Clan. I’ve been told that you’re forcing four-month-old kits to train to fight. Is that correct?” She nodded at a couple tiny apprentices, who shivered just as fearfully as the ones Firepaw’d seen at the previous Gathering. “Do they not speak up because you’ve been killing the ones who disobey you? I heard of a certain Brownpaw…”

“Please!” Brokenstar burst out. His pelt was bristling, but not with anger; he looked alarmed and frightened. “You all accuse us of such horrible things!”

“Accuse you,” Rookstar corrected.

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Brokenstar’s voice was on the verge of a crack.

“Then explain your elders and seer in my camp, who all share the same horrible story,” Bluestar snapped. “Explain your scent in our territories. Explain your apprentices, so small and disappearing so often.” She turned to the rest of the cats now. “It’s faded now over the past few days, but one can easily go to the road near ThunderClan’s forest and find the stench of blood and rotted flesh, where Brightflower was killed by a car trying to escape ShadowClan and Brokenstar’s rogues.” Colder than snow, she added to Brokenstar, “I assume you didn’t dare collect the body for fear of being seen. Or perhaps your lackeys refused to endanger themselves to get an elder no one cares about. Is that right?”

The cats around Firepaw burned holes into Brokenstar with their glares. He swallowed and looked back up at Brokenstar, who was desperately straightening his posture, fur flared, not a shred of genuine innocence on his face.

He started, “I am outraged, outraged that you would accuse us—”

“Accuse you ,” Rookstar quietly repeated.

Brokenstar whipped his head around to snap at the much taller leader, “Enough with that! Any slander like this against me is slander against my Clan. We are a unit, lest you forget.”

“And yet none of them speak to defend themselves, do they?” Crookedstar sniffed. “Or you. Quite interesting, that.”

He nodded to the cats of ShadowClan, who cringed back in unison. Leaning forward, Crookedstar spoke to them with a more gentle, even voice. “You all are safe at a waking night, little ants. Do you have anything to say? Anything to prove we’re wrong? Or maybe you’d prefer to tell us the truth about what this tyrant—” He looked at Brokenstar. “May I call you ‘tyrant’?” Without waiting for an answer, he returned his attention to ShadowClan. “What this tyrant has done to the kindest of the Clans. I’ve been leader longer than Brokenstar’s been alive, my fellows. I know how you marsh cats are when times are plentiful—RiverClan is your ally much more often than we have the smallest of debates. Whatever you have to say, say it here, where he cannot bully you into silence with his outside muscle. I can at least trust your words.”

“That’s enough !”

Crookedstar straightened up just as Brokenstar jumped off of the boulder, tail lashing—but his fear-scent gave him away.

“I will not stand here, listening to pure muck coming from your mouths!” he shouted. “We have done nothing wrong! I have done nothing wrong! If you intend to be this way all night, then I bid you a pleasant Gathering without us!” He tossed his head to his Clan. “Now, come on. We’ve better things to do.”

A pause, and Firepaw breathed in a hopeful breath, waiting for the Clan to refuse, to not move, to speak their truth…

And then, slowly and mournfully, the marsh cats rose to their feet and followed along, heads hanging, after Brokenstar, who was two heartbeats short of running away from Fourtrees.

“Come back here and answer us!” Bluestar barked.

Brokenstar didn’t say a word. He just picked up speed and bolted away, heading for the road.

Crookedstar sighed. “Well, perhaps that scared him enough to behave for a bit.”

“He can’t be trusted,” Rookstar said curtly.

“I agree with you, Rookstar.” Bluestar looked to the RiverClan leader. “We’ll need to be in contact over the next few nights and watch the marshes. Have messengers at the ready at your border.” She nodded to Rookstar. “You too.”

Both toms nodded.

Crookedstar cocked his head in resignation and spoke to the cats below. “I’m afraid no news we can give you tonight is nearly as interesting as what just transpired. Perhaps we can talk amongst ourselves to ease our troubled souls, eh?” He looked to the other leaders. “Unless you have more to share.”

Rookstar shook his head. Bluestar simply said, “You’ve heard about the elders in our camp already. Let everyone speak with their friends.”

It took a stretched moment for everyone to turn to each other and start a conversation. Most of those conversations were about Brokenstar and what he might do next. Firepaw looked out the way ShadowClan had gone, heart sinking to his belly.

“Mind a nibble on your thoughts?”

Firepaw blinked and turned his head. Wrenpaw was watching him, head slightly tilted.

“Your head seems heavy,” he added after a moment.

“Oh…” Firepaw shuffled his feet to get the weight of his worry out of them. “I’m afraid for ShadowClan. What if something worse happens to them because we told them we know? They were scared to speak even tonight, with all of us here. What will Brokenstar do to them for not defending him?”

Wrenpaw’s eyelids ever-so-slightly lowered as he regarded Firepaw. Slowly, he said, “Waking nights are a time for peace. He might not do anything now.”

“Sure, but… but then tomorrow isn’t a waking night, and he can do whatever he wants.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t know, I just want them to be safe. I can’t be sure of that all the way in ThunderClan, like I can with the elders and the old cat— the old seer, I mean.”

“Mm.”

Firepaw tried to huff in amusement, but it came out a shaky sigh. “You seem calm about it.”

Wrenpaw lowered his chin a little. “We’re like that.” His eyes slid sideways. “Oh.”

Firepaw followed his gaze to see Ravenpaw and Greypaw approaching. Ravenpaw glanced at Wrenpaw and shuffled a little shyly behind Greypaw.

“That was something,” Greypaw remarked. “I thought we might have to fight for a second! Good thing he’s cowardly, huh? Oh, sorry— hi, Wrenpaw. How are you?”

Wrenpaw nodded once. “Living and breathing.”

“About as good as we can ask for.” Greypaw watched Firepaw, eyes full of concern.

“I’m alright,” Firepaw said quickly, with an absolutely pathetic attempt to hide his distress. “Just thinking.”

Ravenpaw took a step forward, voice low. “I’m worried, too. I have no idea what’s going to happen, but it can’t be good.”

“Maybe it’ll be alright?” Greypaw offered.

“Always is,” Wrenpaw remarked. “After a while.”

Greypaw huffed a breath of his own, and it sounded genuinely (if dryly) amused. “I’ll take whatever optimism I can get from you WindClan cats.”

“Wrenpaw!” someone called from across the clearing—a gray tabby, from what Firepaw could make out.

Wrenpaw silently got up and nodded again to Greypaw and Ravenpaw, then looked to Firepaw, saying, “Be wise and be careful.”

“Thank you,” Firepaw said. “You too.”

Wrenpaw flicked his long tail and joined the gray tabby, leaving the ThunderClan apprentices alone.

Ravenpaw looked back from watching him go. “Firepaw, you look upset.”

“I am.” Firepaw shuddered and repeated what he had told Wrenpaw.

Greypaw, unusually gentle, bumped his head against Firepaw’s. “I get where you’re coming from—and I agree—but don’t worry when there’s nothing we can do.”

“That’s what I’m worried about!” Firepaw protested. “I want to help and I can’t. I hate it.”

Ravenpaw went to his side and said, just as gentle as Greypaw, “It’ll be resolved soon enough, I’m sure. Just… have faith in the leaders to handle it. We can at least help the elders and seer in our camp, right?”

Firepaw didn’t answer. He looked the way ShadowClan had gone, tail trembling.

Greypaw tried again. “Your buddy was right, you know. It’s always alright eventually. One way or another, it’ll be okay.”

Again, Firepaw was silent, but only for a moment. The pair were growing anxious themselves, watching his face for any change. He breathed in deep and let it out.

“I hope so,” he said.

He couldn’t muster up the optimism to say any more than that.

Chapter Text

When ThunderClan’s party returned to camp, they wasted no time in fanning out to spread the gossip to an eager audience - save Firepaw, who went for the prey-pile and unconsciously pawed around for… something. He didn’t know. All he could picture was ShadowClan’s retreating forms, disappearing into the distance. He had to be nudged to jolt back to the present; when he looked up, Goldenflower was watching him with concern in her amber eyes.

“I know you’re worried,” she murmured, low enough for only him to hear. “You’ve been standing here for quite a bit, staring at nothing.”

Firepaw’s ears slid back in sheepishness. “Sorry.”  

Goldenflower purred soothingly. “That’s not something to be sorry about, honeymouse. I’m worried, too. All those kits and queens, so hungry…” Something flared through her eyes too quickly for Firepaw to catch before she continued. “We’ll be alright, though. Things will be sorted out by the leaders.”

Something snippy tapped Firepaw’s tongue before he could clamp his mouth down on it. “Is it our problem now, at least?”

He winced, nervous, but the matriarch just regarded him with an affectionate sort of sadness. “I’d say it is. Still, much as I’d love to storm into the marshes myself, we need to wait for the leaders to make a decision. They’ll do it quickly, I’m sure.”

Firepaw couldn’t say that helped his mood very much, but he nodded anyway. “I hope so.”

Goldenflower touched her nose to the top of his head. “Bluestar and Rookstar are wise, and Crookedstar is a quick thinker.” She twitched her whiskers. “For RiverClan, at least. The three of them together can carve the right path.”

“No need for that.”

The two blinked in unison and turned their heads; the hag was pacing past them.

“Things will be resolved by the morrow,” she rasped. “Bluestar in her den?”

“I saw her go that way, yeah,” Firepaw said, with an anxious look at Goldenflower. “How will it be resolved?”

The hag narrowed her huge eyes, looking more like an owl than a cat. “Tonight, we bleed.”

Firepaw stiffened. Goldenflower’s plumy tail circled around him as she turned to face the hag stalking out of camp. Other cats who’d overheard her stood and looked around warily, as if expecting something to leap out and slash their pelts apart.

“We’ll be alright,” Goldenflower muttered, more to herself than Firepaw. “There’s nothing to fear.”

Conversation slowly ceased as an air of apprehension washed over the camp, spreading from those closest to the camp entrance and silencing even the elders. Firepaw fidgeted at the uneasy expressions on everyone’s faces, wishing there was something he could do—or at least that the hag could have given a nicer prediction.

Soon enough, Bluestar came into the clearing, the hag close behind her. She was speaking with the old seer as she walked.

“You’re certain?” she pressed.

“As the Kuthech .” The hag sped up until she was in front of Bluestar, who stopped. “The stars said not where, but I know the taste of cat-flesh. I can show you my mouse, if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.” Bluestar lowered her chin in the barest nod of respect. “Can you at least tell me what we should expect? Or when?”

The hag cocked her head and tipped her nose up, eying the entrance. Bluestar looked behind, as did the rest of the Clan. Ears perked as the faintest, clumsy rustling grew louder and louder. Several cats jumped to their feet and unsheathed their claws. Firepaw’s head twisted back and forth in alarm, his legs locking underneath him.

“Badger?” Darkstripe hissed.

“No,” the hag said. “That’ll be our answer.”

Speckletail cautiously moved forward, half-stalking through the entrance, only the tip of her tail visible for a moment before disappearing. It was silent in camp; it seemed like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for disaster. Speckletail’s voice rang out and a quiet stranger called back. After a moment, and with the rustling now just outside of camp, she re-entered, a lanky, dusky blue-grey tom close behind her.

“He said it’s an emergency,” Speckletail said quickly, and stepped out of the way of the tom, who was breathing a little hard.

Bluestar approached him, tail high and authoritative. “What’s going on?”

The tom’s eyes were wide and his back-fur bristling, but his voice was, as standard, flat and calm. “ShadowClan has led rogues into WindClan territory and launched an attack. The entire Clan is fighting, but there’s too many cats for us. I came to request help from ThunderClan.”

Shouts and hisses cracked the tense air. Even Bluestar’s hackles were raised, her eyes blazing with anger.

“A fight on a waking night,” she growled. “And with rogues. Cowards. What’s your name?”

“Darkfoot, ma’am.”

“Darkfoot, lead the way.” She looked back at the Clan. “Teaselfoot, go to RiverClan and tell them to come to the neutral grounds. I want every other warrior and apprentice with me. We’ll make this quick.”

Firepaw’s legs loosened again, though just barely; the prospect of fighting again made his throat tighten and his tail bush out. The rest of ThunderClan didn’t hesitate to follow Darkfoot and Bluestar out. Firepaw hurried to catch up, forgetting to wave his tail to Goldenflower before he left. He found himself on the edge of the huge patrol, Greypaw behind him and Ravenpaw somewhere in the center. Firepaw could only imagine how afraid Ravenpaw must be. He wasn’t much better.

“Stay close to me,” Greypaw said, running faster and catching up to him. “I’ll cover you if you get hurt.”

“Thanks,” Firepaw managed, before barely jumping over a fallen log in time and almost losing his footing.

It was rather remarkable—Firepaw had thought Teaselfoot to be fast, but Darkfoot was sprinting well ahead of ThunderClan with no effort, only slowed when he had to jump over or weave around something. He wasn’t even breathing particularly hard. ThunderClan’s pace was fast, but they couldn’t keep up with Darkfoot unless he slowed down, which he had to frequently, often getting far ahead and then lagging to let them catch up.

ThunderClan burst out of the forest, and here Darkfoot could run freely. In moments, he was leaving ThunderClan behind as they raced through the neutral grounds and towards WindClan territory. Even from this distance, yowls and cries of pain were carried by the breeze to the forest cats. Firepaw was panting, but he didn’t let up his speed, even as they started up the hill.

The side of the territory ThunderClan was running up had the river’s upstream splitting it from the grassy flatlands of RiverClan territory. As they moved up, the walls of the riverside grew taller and broader apart, and the water much whiter and louder—violent, perhaps, was the right word. Firepaw was immediately afraid of running near it, his feet landing with the sensation of earth giving way and sending him into the rapids below.

The patrol soon crested a large rise of the hill and found the battle: the tall, dull-colored cats of WindClan were vastly outnumbered by strangers stinking of the road and something like smoke, accompanied by tiny ShadowClan warriors and apprentices (kits, really, Firepaw corrected himself). None of them noticed ThunderClan until the forest warriors leaped and barreled into the closest rogues, knocking them off their feet and splitting apart those that had ganged up on one Clan cat.

The noise of the battle doubled with the roars and screeches ThunderClan brought, and almost instantly the violence intensified. Firepaw kept close to Greypaw, who was bigger than any of the rogues here and actually scared a calico biting down on a WindClan tom into running just by charging her with a snarl. He didn’t chase her; instead, he lunged for a nearby rogue and tackled him, rolling in a pile of thick fur and spitting jaws.

Firepaw skidded to a halt to ask the WindClanner, “Are you okay?” He had to shout over the chaos.

The tom nodded and got up. His shoulder and neck were bleeding heavily, but his voice was steady. “Thank your friend for me.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just running off to help one of his Clanmates locked into a tussle with two ShadowClan warriors. Firepaw stared at their faces—no anger or violent glee sparked in their eyes. They were wide with terror, even as they bit and clawed their opponents. They looked more like they were pressed into a corner by a predator than brave soldiers fighting in the name of ShadowClan.

Firepaw looked around, even more reluctant to fight than before. Greypaw was lost in the crowd; everyone was rolling and swiping and jumping, and it was almost impossible to tell where his Clanmates were. He recognized some of the shouts and curses and yelps, but whenever he thought he saw Frostfur or Sandstorm, they disappeared back into the chaos. It seemed like no one noticed the little ginger tom, all occupied with bigger and stronger enemies.

“I say ‘screw it’, if you ask me.”

Firepaw whipped around. Up the hill, close by, two rogues were panting and bleeding. One of them, a dark tortoiseshell, was barely standing, half-crouched with her eyes almost shut in pain. The other, a dark ginger tom, stood taller, but his back and sides were bloody and tattered.

“This isn’t worth it,” the tortoiseshell continued, barely audible through the fighting. “I’m not fighting two Clans—three, look, there’s more down the hill.”

“I see them,” the tom said coolly, glancing down the slope. Firepaw followed his line of sight to a colorful patch of dots approaching.

“He hasn’t followed through on his deal,” the tortoiseshell said. “Let’s just get out of here. He can go kick rocks if he wants our help again.”

The tom, entirely too calm for the situation, cocked his head in acknowledgement before lifting it and yelling at the top of his voice, “RETREAT! RETREAT!”

At once, a swarm of rogues dropped their mouthfuls of skin and fur, or pushed away from a warrior, or stumbled to their feet, and started running, the tortoiseshell limping quickly at the front down the hill.

“Where are you going?” a black tom demanded, his own opponent forgotten.

“Home,” the ginger tom said lightly. “You can handle this yourself. We’re not getting killed for you.”

The black tom’s white muzzle, now red with blood, wrinkled and his teeth flashed. “We had a deal—”

“And your boss never fulfilled his end.” The ginger tom turned away and started down after his fellows. “When he pays us back, we’ll see you again. But this is your fight now.”

He didn’t wait for any protest, just running and ignoring the black tom’s cursing. Now that the rogues were fleeing, Firepaw could look around and realize there were barely any ShadowClan cats left— maybe a border patrol’s worth that were all trying to get away from whatever ThunderClan or WindClan cat they were fighting.

The black tom snarled and called, “Fall back, ShadowClan!”

He, like the ginger tom, was quickly followed with no protest. ShadowClan’s pithy gang of warriors ran or limped as swiftly as they could down the hill, heading for the marshes and leaving ThunderClan and WindClan to stare, bemused, at their retreating foes in the sudden silence.

Bluestar, blood on her scratched-up face, shook out her pelt with a heavy sigh. “That will do, then. Rookstar, where are you?”

The leader of WindClan limped towards her from the center of the battleground. “Thank you for coming. We owe ThunderClan greatly.” His eyes slid towards the approaching RiverClan, passed by the rogues. “Did you call for them?”

“I did,” Bluestar said. “We’re settling this business with Brokenstar tonight. Crookedstar will help us decide what to do. ThunderClan, to me. Is anyone seriously injured?”

Firepaw’s eyes roamed the scattered crowd. His heart sank at two little ShadowClan kittens lying still in the grass. He watched their bloodied white sides, desperately praying that they would rise and sink for breath. They did not.

“That…” he struggled for air himself. He looked up at a passing WindClan warrior. “Are… are those two dead?”

The brown molly caught sight of them and, after a pause, said quietly, “Seems so.”

Firepaw sat down, shivering in the warm air. “That’s horrible.”

“It is,” the molly replied. “Too young to fight. Must have been killed on accident.”

Commotion from another side of the battlefield caught Firepaw’s attention. A grey-brown WindClan tabby shook the motionless form of a grey tabby—the same tabby who’d called Wrenpaw earlier that evening. Her ears pinned down in distress, the molly shook the corpse again. “Stoneclaw?” Her words were strained. She nudged the corpse with her face as another tom came to her side, his tail alighting on hers.

A crawling feeling rippled between the hairs on Firepaw’s skin at the sight of the dead tom.

“Think someone else died,” a spotted molly nearby said, and nodded at the edge of the Gorge.

When Firepaw looked, Tigerclaw was standing on the cliffside, staring into the water. Bluestar approached him, tail stiff, and he turned his head to her, saying so quietly that Firepaw almost didn’t hear him, “Redtail fell into the water.”

A cry of horror made Firepaw jump—Sandstorm and Dustpelt ran to the edge and looked over themselves. ThunderClan as a whole followed, though standing further away. Firepaw joined the young warriors where they stood, staring down the cliff fearfully.

Bluestar was frozen. She barely managed to speak in a taut voice. “You saw him?”

“He was pushed,” Tigerclaw said, his ears back and tail on the ground. “I didn’t see where he landed, or if he went down the river.”

“Arpam?!” Sandstorm shouted.

The river’s only reply was the continued crashing of water. Firepaw couldn’t see anything except white and rocks.

Sandstorm whipped around to face Bluestar. “We have to follow the current. Please.”

“RiverClan might have seen him,” Dustpelt offered shakily, fur puffed up and eyes wide in fear. “I can ask—”

Sandstorm dashed down the hill before he had finished his sentence. Several cats ran after her, including Dustpelt. The rest of ThunderClan moved to watch the river. Firepaw was joined by Ravenpaw, who had one eye shut with a cut above it bleeding hard, and Greypaw, who barely looked injured.

“Did you see him fall?” Firepaw asked, his own voice trembling. Not another death, please, there’s already been too many tonight.

Greypaw shook his head, eyes wet. “I was fighting up the hill.”

“A rogue pushed him,” Ravenpaw whispered. “Jus— just pushed him. How could they do that?”

Firepaw’s feet felt like stone, and his heart was in his stomach, which wanted to rise into his throat. He forced himself to look away from the river, eyes shut briefly. When he opened them, RiverClan’s cats were closer, Sandstorm rushing to meet them.

Bluestar sighed softly and trotted down the hill. The RiverClan party stopped as Sandstorm desperately questioned them. When they shook their heads, she barely stopped from collapsing onto the ground. Dustpelt froze in place a short distance away, with even his tail still. Firepaw recognized the form of Crookedstar as he emerged from the crowd and met Bluestar.

“I’m sorry, old girl,” he said. “We got here just now. We didn’t see your deputy at all.”

Bluestar sighed again, much heavier and weighed down with grief. “I was afraid of that. Thank you for coming, regardless.” She paused, then looked past him. “Where did my messenger go?”

“Oh, I don’t rightly know, actually.” Crookedstar looked back too. “He said he needed to check something—thought he saw… whatever he saw.”

“Hm.” Bluestar motioned with her tail. “ThunderClan, with me. Rookstar, will you be joining us in the neutral grounds? I understand if your Clan is too exhausted.”

“We can stand,” Rookstar said. He cocked his head and his warriors came up to him—and despite their bloody coats and tired eyes, they indeed stood tall.

Bluestar nodded to him. “Good, thank you. We need to decide what to do as a group—”

“BLUESTAR!”

Everyone, even the RiverClan cats down the hill, jumped and looked at the source of the near scream of panic. It was Teaselfoot, heaving every breath but still running as fast as he could up the slope. He beelined for Bluestar, eyes bulging and ears back.

“We need to… get home… right now,” he panted before Bluestar could ask anything. “Halftail—he’s on the border… camp’s been attacked—”

Bluestar froze, her tail bristling. She looked back at the other two leaders. “This was a setup.”

“Seems that way,” Rookstar said, voice barely raised in alarm.

“Lead us to your home,” Crookedstar said. “RiverClan can back you up if they’re still there.”

“Thank you.” Bluestar flicked her tail. “ThunderClan, with me! Now!”

Firepaw ran to join her, hardly aware of his movements. He glanced back at the little bodies in the grass, at the WindClan tom surrounded by kin, at the cliffside where Redtail had disappeared.

If that could happen so easily out here, then what was waiting for them at home?

Chapter Text

The race for home was an eternity in itself, made worse by the slowed pace of the wounded warriors trying to avoid hurting themselves further. Firepaw’s stomach clenched and iced over the longer it took to get back to camp. His mind refused to come up with images of the aftermath. He was too afraid to guess.

They arrived to the sight of broken ferns and scuffed soil, kicked up by paws both big and small whose owners had already taken their leave. The fear-scents of ThunderClan and ShadowClan cats assaulted his nose. Blood was everywhere, some speckled on the ground and brushed onto plants that no one slowed down to inspect. Bluestar led ThunderClan and RiverClan through the entrance, skidding to a stop only once she was far enough inside to let everyone else through. Firepaw got to the head of the crowd and involuntarily cried out in distress.

The scent of fresh wounds clogged his nose, small beads of blood clumped together on the sandy floor. One trail led to the huddled forms of the elders, now cleaning their wounds. One-eye huddled over Smallstorm, a paw on his unmoving side. Ashfur was close by, just as lifeless, his mouth open and teeth bared.

Patchpelt, his nose and muzzle shredded, looked up wearily at the returning warriors. He sat up straight and immediately almost fell down again. His front legs wobbled hard enough that Ravenpaw, running to him, had to help him stay up.

“They took the kits and Willowpelt,” he said with a rattle to his voice. “We tried to stop them, but… there were so many. Rogues and warriors, all of them.”

A thunderous growl pierced the camp. Firepaw jolted to look; Goldenflower was more red than gold now, and she was struggling to get back to her feet.

“Goldenflower!” Tigerclaw pushed through the crowd and rushed to her side, tailed by Lionface and Firepaw.

“Leave me be,” she spat through her bloodied teeth with such rage that Firepaw stopped in his tracks. She forced herself up with visible difficulty and shouldered past the giant toms, her head low but her amber eyes burning with the rage of the early greenleaf sun.

Bluestar regarded her for a moment before looking at the approaching hag. “Tell me what happened, quickly.”

“Damned stars didn’t warn me of this,” the hag croaked. Her own face was scratched up and her ears were tattered enough that Firepaw was amazed they hadn’t fallen off. “Brokenstar sent his lackies to take the kits as hostages. Their mother—she was overpowered. Would’ve died had I not told her to go with them quietly.” She nodded to the elders. “These cats fought valiantly to keep them, and it cost us two lives, as you can see.”

Bluestar bowed her head and sighed, jaw clenched. “We lost Redtail helping WindClan, too.”

“That vile little—” A warm brown tom from RiverClan that Firepaw thought looked familiar stepped forward, speaking to Bluestar. “We don’t have time to rest, obviously. What’s the plan?”

Bluestar didn’t look at him, but she replied, “We’re following them to the marshes, and we’re getting our cats back.”

The tom looked to Crookedstar. “I’ll fetch WindClan and have them meet us over the road, yeah?”

Crookedstar glanced at Bluestar, who nodded, and echoed the gesture. “Be swift, now.”

The tom turned and weaved through the warriors, disappearing down the entrance and back into the forest.

Bluestar lifted her head and turned back to the hag. “Where is ShadowClan camp? Tell me—”

“I’ll do you one better,” the hag said. “I’ll show you. I’ve strength left yet in me and a bone to pick with that slitprick.”

Goldenflower lurched forward. “I’m coming, too.”

Bluestar appraised the matriarch with narrowed eyes. “You can barely stand, Goldenflower. You’ve done your part; we’ll take it from here.”

“No, you won’t.” Goldenflower’s claws flexed and dug into the sand. “It’s my role to protect them, and I didn’t. I’m coming along and I’m getting them back myself, no matter what you say.”

Unsteadily but with purpose, she stalked up to Bluestar. The cats around her backed away in alarm.

Bluestar raised her voice a little, stern and tired. “I’m sure you did everything you could, but—”

Goldenflower’s fur stood on-end, making her seem twice the size of her sleeker leader. With muzzle wrinkled and teeth bared, she growled, “You are taking me with you.”

Firepaw stared at the gentle matriarch, now a titan coated in blood and torn flesh, almost too wounded to believably be standing tall, ordering the leader of ThunderClan around with an unmatched, steadfast fury.

The blue-gray molly looked up at her, evenly matching her glare with cool yellow eyes.

A tense silence hung over the camp.

“Lick your wounds and get ready,” Bluestar finally said. “If you slow us down, we leave you behind.”

The matriarch’s deep golden fur didn’t flatten, nor did her ears raise or her nose smooth out, but she stepped back and out of Bluestar’s face. Firepaw glanced at her mate, his dark face surprised yet his amber eyes gleaming with pride.

Nightpelt limped forward, tailed by Palecloud. “What can we do to help?”

“Stay here and help clean the others up,” Bluestar said. “We’ll come back for you when everything’s resolved. You don’t need to fight any further.”

Unlike Goldenflower, the elders relaxed at the dismissal. Palecloud nodded and turned back to approach Halftail, who was silently licking at a gash on his leg.

Bluestar turned to the hag. “Nameless.”

“Follow.” The seer stalked through the crowd of warriors, weary but forcible enough to push these much bigger cats out of her way. Bluestar and Crookedstar went after her, followed by the rest, some glancing back sadly at the bloody camp. Firepaw and Greypaw waited for Ravenpaw to lean his head on his grandfather before hurrying to join them.

The mixed party spread out on their way to the marshes, evenly blended between ThunderClan and RiverClan, led by a ShadowClan seer. Some walked with their sworn enemies in silent determination, united by a fierce purpose.

But as soon as the night’s over, the war for those stupid rocks is back on, Firepaw thought bitterly.

The hag’s stomps turned more into hobbling the longer they went on, but she never slowed her pace, nor did she utter a sound of complaint. Firepaw caught Bluestar and Crookedstar sharing a concerned glance at one point when the hag stumbled and forced herself onward. Goldenflower stalked close behind, bristling larger than Tigerclaw, who was hovering at her side, could ever hope to be. 

The hot scent of iron wafted from the mated couple. They’ll be forced to rest for half a moon if they keep their wounds from healing. The warriors surrounding them often made pained growls or offered words of concern to their neighbors. Goldenflower was silent, her mussed tail lashing back and forth. Maybe the emotions are dulling the pain, Firepaw assured himself.

The sky in the east was losing stars by the time the party made it to the road. RiverClan cats wrinkled their noses and whispered prayers to StarClan at the stench of rotting remains from the elder, Brightflower, though her body had long since been picked apart and carried off in pieces by other animals. Firepaw hadn’t been out this way since finding the elders. He fought the urge to vomit.

WindClan was close to the meeting point as the other Clans carefully crossed the road, a few cats at a time. No cars came their way, but Firepaw still glanced side-to-side nervously when it was his turn. The black stone attempted to be flat like the floors of a house, but a few bumps and mounds cropped up here and there. Combined with the stink, Firepaw was actually grateful to cross into the warzone and join up with WindClan’s warriors as Rookstar spoke quietly with the other leaders.

Maybe it’ll be alright, Firepaw thought, looking around anxiously. They can give up peacefully, can’t they? But then what will happen to Brokenstar? Will he get away free? What if he—

“Warriors!”

Bluestar had hopped onto a stone just tall enough to put her over the heads of everyone else as they turned to her.

“Thank you all for assisting us. We’ll end this quickly; the escapee from ShadowClan is with us—she’s leading us directly to their camp. I’m told it’s a bunch of brush lumped together. When we get there, surround it on all sides. Do not attempt to go in without a word from any of the leaders here, and do not engage in a fight unless attacked first. We’ll assess what Brokenstar intends to do once there and try to negotiate peacefully. Any questions?”

No one said anything. A calico near Firepaw pinned her ears back and twitched her lip, but stayed silent.

“Then let’s go.” Bluestar jumped down and, flanked by the tom leaders, started north. The Clans followed, once again melding together into a singular unit.

Firepaw was at least grateful that he wasn’t the only one struggling through the marshes; many cats had to pause repeatedly to avoid falling off a mound of soft earth and into a stream within a dell hidden by tall, coarse grass. The air was sticky and tiny bugs whined in Firepaw’s ears, ones he’d only seen before at a neighbor’s house which had a little water fixture in its yard. Occasionally a croak similar to the hag’s voice sounded off, and the soft shift of grass was sometimes accompanied by a hiss or curse when someone stepped in water. The cacophony of strange birdsong (though he overheard a RiverClan cat call it frogsong) drowned out his thoughts.

“Halt,” Rookstar said suddenly, and at once everyone did. Firepaw, on the edge of the spread-out party, peered around a WindClan cat to see what was going on.

A grey tom, too big to be a ShadowClan cat, had just popped his head up through the grass. He stood in the path of the leaders, claws out, but even from the apprentice’s distance he could make out the tom’s shaking frame. Behind him, a few tiny heads peered through the grass, all big eyes and terrified faces.

“You can stop there,” the tom said unsteadily. “Go back home, and… and…”

“Idiot boy.” The hag growled a sigh and stomped up to the tom, who leaned back like she was a ThunderClan warrior. “Take yourself and the little ones east and wait until the daylight.”

The tom stared at her.

She snorted. “Yes, yes, I live; be over with it now. Look at the kits you bring with you, Bouldernose—I’d not say they could handle a patrol this large, no?” She squinted one eye at the kittens, who immediately clumped together. They were shaking even more violently the grey tom. “You’d send them and yourself to die for him ? Fool that he is?”

Bouldernose looked up again at the massive troop. He looked back at the apprentices (or kits, really). He turned back to the hag, breathed in, and shakily let it out.

“This isn’t your fight, lad,” Crookedstar said. “Nor is it theirs. Let us through.”

The grey tom shut his eyes tightly, face pinched like he was preparing to say something painful. He didn’t. He just stepped to the side, gently nudging the kit-apprentices a little back so he could stand before them.

“Atta boy.” Crookedstar nodded to him. “Seer, lead on.”

The hag took a moment to jut her chin at the tom. “ShadowClan is an odd place for you to choose to be, boy, but they’ll be grateful after this, should you stay.”

Bouldernose said so quietly that Firepaw almost didn’t hear him, “I have a name now. I’m not going anywhere.”

The hag harrumphed, sounding amused, and then started off again. Bouldernose kept his guard in front of the kit-apprentices as the Clans marched forward. Firepaw tried to catch their eye and give an encouraging nod and friendly blink, silently trying to reassure them that things would be okay.

Very soon, a clump of brush came into view—one that looked half-dead, unlike the rest scattered about the territory that Firepaw had seen. The sickly smell of ShadowClan wafted from it, as did unfamiliar cat-scents. Were all the rest in there?

The invaders spread out, forming a ring around the bushes that was several cats thick. Whispers and shuffling branches betrayed ShadowClan. A few eyes glimmered in the shades, but they quickly went out.

“Brokenstar!” Bluestar barked.

No response. Cats glanced at each other in apprehension.

“You’re not blind, twit,” the hag croaked. “Gander out. You’ve no choice but to surrender.”

“We can negotiate, prra, ” Rookstar said quietly.

“There are words to be said between me and him,” the hag growled. “And me and this shoddy Clan that let this fool reign for this long.” She raised her voice. “Hark! Cowards, all! Be sensible for once in your hare-hearted lives and shove him out to be dealt with! Have some nerve! There are more of you than him!”

“I have—” Brokenstar’s voice was more of a squeak than a shout. “I have reinforcements, Murkpelt! The Aulmir cats still stand with me!”

“You mean the ones that ran off when ThunderClan came to help WindClan?” Crookedstar snorted. “Right lovely help they’d be about now.”

“Your lackeys ran for the Aulmir, Brokenstar,” Bluestar added, voice steely. “Whatever cats you have left with you won’t be enough to hold us all off. We’re here for Willowpelt and her kits.”

“And you in the bargain!” the hag shouted. “Plan to run? Escape your crimes?”

Bluestar opened her mouth, probably to admonish the hag for speaking again, but several scattered threats and challenges rang out from the ring of warriors and apprentices.

“Come out and face justice!”

“We can wait all night, peace-breaker!”

Goldenflower raised her voice to a bellow. “Stars help you if those kits are hurt!”

A shrill yowl echoed from the bushes.

“Take one step forward and they die!” Brokenstar shouted back. He said something else, but it was too quiet and indistinct for Firepaw to catch it. The brush shivered. As a bloodied shape tumbled out of the cover.

It took a heartbeat to recognize her, but beneath the mess of loam and blood was the slender pale grey form of Willowpelt. The cold clutch of fear gripped Firepaw’s heart until the queen let out a growl of pain, pushing herself off the ground. She panted labored breaths, and when her one-eyed gaze landed on Firepaw, his heart broke for her. 

“Willowpelt!” came from several ThunderClan cats. Whitecloud had to stop Brindleface from moving forward, and Goldenflower’s fur flared, her claws digging into the soft loam.

“Take your queen and go, if you like,” Brokenstar added, not a small tinge of uncertainty in his voice. “But the kits stay with us. If you try to come in, we will kill them. All of you, leave immediately, and they won’t be hurt! In fact, we’ll even release them to you as soon as you’re back on your own borders!”

Another wail split the air, raising Firepaw’s fur with the anxiety of another’s pain.

“I mean every word that I say!” Brokenstar spat. “Leave! Now!”

Another voice started, “Brokenstar, please, this isn’t—”

They stopped. Whatever Brokenstar was doing, it was enough to frighten them into silence.

“Mark me, boy,” the hag snarled, her rasp somehow thunderous. “Any drop of blood of theirs you spill will be paid back thricefold, by you. You should have killed the matriarch if you wanted any safety tonight.”

Firepaw glanced over at Goldenflower. Her lips were pulled back in a snarl and even from his distance, he could hear the restrained snarl under her breath. She looked like Horoa himself ready to strike, only Tigerclaw and Lionface’s combined efforts to restrain the matriarch preventing her from diving into the dell.

The dark tabby murmured something to her. Her tail thrashed harder, kicking up dirt and battering a crushed, strong-scented plant.

“Brokenstar, don’t make a mistake you’ll regret,” Crookedstar said. “You’ve made enough of those tonight, and all nights before this. Release the kits—”

“Get back to your territories first!” Brokenstar shouted. “Their fur isn’t thick enough to protect their throats!”

“Brokenstar!” someone within the bushes gasped.

“Go out and be killed yourself if you like!” he snapped to them. Several cats cried in alarm. He yowled back to the outside, “Leave and no one needs to die! Stay and these kits suffer for your idiocy! Have I made myself clear?! ”

Chapter Text

Only bugsong punctuated the air. No cat spoke, in or out of the bushes. The other Clans cast uncertain glances at one another, then to their leaders, seeking an answer to the threat. Crookedstar’s upper lip was curled and Bluestar’s fur flared. Only Rookstar, tail very slowly gliding back and forth over the ground, seemed entirely unbothered.

“Cute,” he said. 

Bluestar gave him a look somewhere between annoyed and curious. Rookstar beckoned her and Crookedstar with his tail and bent his head closer to theirs. They gathered close together, whispering too softly for Firepaw to overhear, even with his focus honed on them. By the way everyone was watching their leaders with their ears perked, they thought the same as he.

Abruptly, the leaders parted, each going to a different cluster of cats. They spoke quickly and quietly, only staying long enough for their followers to nod firmly before moving on to the next group. Bluestar was the one to come to Firepaw, lowering her head to talk into his ear.

“We’re going to have the smallest cats charge into the brush and flush everyone out,” she murmured. “You’re the ones that can fit through the branches, so it’ll be up to you. Once you have a chance, get the kittens out. Keep them calm and keep them out of the battle. Can you do that?”

“Me?” Firepaw blinked. “Just me?”

Bluestar met his eyes, her own hard with focus. “If you need help, you can ask for it, but yes, you. The kittens need someone who can stay calm and cheerful in this situation, and you’re the best option for that.” Her whiskers twitched. “You’re not very fond of fighting anyway. Getting the kittens is how you can help the most.”

At the realization that he could avoid the conflict, the tension in his spine eased. He gave her a quick nod. She moved on to Mousefur and Greypaw, who were standing nearby.

Firepaw chanced a glance at Goldenflower. Her claws were digging into the soil and her ears pinned back against her head, but with Bluestar’s muted orders to her, the fury on her face softened just a little. She looked back at Firepaw as her leader walked away—the blue-gray molly must have told her what he was supposed to do. He gave her as encouraging of an expression as possible. She returned with a slow nod, her eyes narrowed.

“I’ll keep them safe,” he whispered to her. “I promise.”

Goldenflower’s eyes lost some of their steely anger and she turned back to the bushes, tail lashing. Out of the side of her mouth, she responded, “Stay with them, no matter what.”

Firepaw didn’t get a chance to affirm before Rookstar gave a call and the smallest cats charged into the dell. Firepaw hurried and caught up just as they broke into a run. He swallowed his growing fear as the bushes rushed towards him. Half-holding his breath, he dove into the shelter.

Yowls started up immediately, but Firepaw had a hard time seeing anyone in this mess of twigs and leaves. He stopped at the slap of a branch across his face, shaking his head in a daze. He searched the mess of a camp for a path and his intuition found one to his right. Carefully, he picked his way over to it, and once he was on it, he followed it as swiftly as he dared to go.

“Get them!” Brokenstar shrieked suddenly. “Ensnare them from the outside!”

Many growling, hissing cats rushed past Firepaw, knocking him off the path and into a web of twigs. Only one noticed him and leaped for him, wrestling him to the ground and on his back. He struggled, then stopped once he caught sight of a familiar grey face.

“Rainpaw, wait,” he said.

The scrawny tabby’s amber eyes were wide and his mouth agape, gasping for air like he was panicking. He didn’t look at all like a fierce warrior, or even remotely angry; he just looked like a scared kitten. Firepaw still didn’t fight back, his mind rushing with the speed of battle.

“What are you doing?” he continued, as gently as he could while keeping his voice raised over the sounds of fighting outside. “You know better than this.”

Rainpaw, trembling, stumbled over his words. “I… I have to listen to Brokenstar. He’s the leader, I can’t—”

“Leaders aren’t untouchable,” Firepaw said. “No one is. He’s going to get you all killed if you keep listening to him.”

Rainpaw said nothing. Firepaw took the opportunity to slowly scoot out from under him, getting to his feet. Rainpaw flinched as Firepaw stood taller than him, so Firepaw lowered his head to his level.

“I need to get the kits out of here,” he continued, shuffling back into a slightly secluded corner of the camp. “Can you help me? You and I can take them away from the fight and stay safe ourselves.”

Rainpaw’s eyes darted from the ginger apprentice to the outside behind him, the battle raging. Firepaw held his breath until the ShadowClan apprentice nodded shakily and turned away, running down the path and darting to the right. Firepaw tried to be quick, but the jolting turns and difficulty of distinguishing which branches were where slowed him down.

Finally, he emerged into a clearing. The ground was sprinkled with moonlight through the branches overhead, and a pleasant scent he couldn’t name came from a cluster of pale flowers on one side. The peaceful sights were soiled, however, by several mollies smelling of milk guarding that cluster and fighting with outsiders, screaming at the top of their lungs. They looked just as terrified as Rainpaw had, and their opponents were bleeding heavily.

“The kits are over here!” Rainpaw shouted.

Firepaw shook himself and raced to join him. He sighed with relief as Cinderkit, her chin resting on her huddled brother’s back, noticed him and perked up.

“Firepaw’s here!” she said, nudging Swiftkit. “Look! Hi, Firepaw!”

“Hey, Cinderkit!” Firepaw sniffed them over where he could reach. “Are you both okay?”

“Those weird cats left,” Cinderkit said brightly. “They wouldn’t let us move.”

“A big one bit my ear,” Swiftkit complained. “It hurt a lot.”

Firepaw caught no scent of blood and straightened up. “I’m sorry about that. Hey, we need to get out of here, and quickly. Will you follow me and Rainpaw here, please? He’s friendly—he’s going to help us.”

Neither kit looked convinced of Rainpaw’s support, but at Firepaw’s nod, they stood up. Rainpaw took the lead again, heading into another path, this time going slower. Firepaw stayed at the rear, glancing back often to make sure they weren’t being followed. One queen started to run for him, but was tackled by a RiverClan cat before she could reach the opening.

They were free of the bushes in what felt like too long of a time, passing whirlwinds of fur and claws and blood, all screeching and hissing. Even Cinderkit lost her bravado, looking around nervously at the marshes full of clashing warriors and rogues. Firepaw nudged her through an opening in the crowd, which closed as soon as they were through it. They didn’t stop or turn around until they were several body-lengths away from the fight, raised on a mound of dry earth, and Firepaw’s stomach tensed at the chaos.

He could make out some of his Clanmates—Goldenflower and Tigerclaw were fighting together, throwing opponents aside with ease and roaring challenges as they lunged for the next unlucky cats, none of whom seemed eager to face them. Greypaw and Silverpaw weathered attacks from a pair of ShadowClan warriors, blocking their way to Ravenpaw as he tried to assist with a limp paw. Brindleface was herself serving as protection to Willowpelt, with Speckletail slowly making her way over to the mollies.

The rogues that had lingered were struggling to get away, some of them cursing. One big black-and-white tom shoved Lionface off of him and yowled, “Forget this! Retreat! Back to home! Come on!”

His fellows were all too happy to oblige. In moments, a scattered herd broke off and followed after the tom as he ran for the glittering Aulmir far away. Some warriors, surprised, simply let them go, but a few gave the rogues a parting gift of a bite or a final slash at their legs. The thunder of battle ceased almost immediately—even the ShadowClan cats stopped in place. Bluestar, panting and scratched up, looked at a dark ginger ShadowClan molly.

“I’m sure you aren’t eager to continue this on your own,” she said coolly. “Bring out Brokenstar. We’re going to deal with him.”

The molly hesitated, and as she did, wild scratching and breaking of twigs followed. Brokenstar’s face appeared in the brush, desperately fighting to escape his camp. He barely managed to pull his front legs out into the open before a warm brown RiverClan tom intercepted him and hauled him out by his scruff, pinning him down on his side.

Brokenstar flailed, crying, “Get him off of me!”

No one from ShadowClan moved, but plenty of large cats from RiverClan, WindClan, and ThunderClan crowded around him. Brokenstar was let up and scrambled to his feet. He looked around, trying to find an opening for him to flee through and finding none.

Firepaw’s stomach went queasy.

Rookstar, slowly making his way over to the ring, looked around. “Where’s the deputy?”

A moment of silence, and then a black tom with white feet and upper lip that were more red now (in fact, a good deal of him was red) limped away from a pair of WindClan cats. With a creak in his voice, he said, “Here.”

“Ah, I know you.” Crookedstar went to meet him, followed by Bluestar. “Blackfoot, aye?”

The tom did not appear to appreciate Crookedstar’s loud cheeriness, but he responded all the same. “Aye.”

“Get your Clan together, lad,” Crookedstar said. “We’ll need some witnesses for a trial.”

Blackfoot opened his mouth and Bluestar cut him off with, “Our terms are that we’ll let the rest of ShadowClan off if you give us Brokenstar and admit to his crimes. If you care to fight still, we’re happy to deal with all of you. Your call.”

Blackfoot’s eyes slid to Rookstar, as if gauging his opinion. The WindClan leader’s face was as stoic as it always had been, unblinking and stone-still. Blackfoot slowly assessed his Clan, the ShadowClan cats casting beseeching looks on him. Not one of them seemed troubled by the terms of a trial—if anything, they looked desperate for it.

Blackfoot turned back to the leaders. “Your terms are accepted. Darkflower, alert the queens.”

Another black cat slipped into the brush, passing by the small cats that had heard the call of the end of the battle. At a gesture from Blackfoot, ShadowClan slowly came to him, some leaning against each other wearily. One of the queens came out, saying, “Toadbelly and Wigeonfur won’t leave the nursery.”

“That’s fine,” Bluestar said. “We only really need one of you.”

The queen, a brown tabby, stiffened at this. Darkflower came up beside her and gently nudged her forward to join her Clan, where she was greeted by an unusually large dark grey tabby tom who rested his chin on her head, purring.

Bluestar looked to her companions. “Which of us should speak?”

“You’re better with things like this, I’d say,” Crookedstar replied.

Bluestar nodded curtly and turned to the gathered cats who shuffled closer to listen. There was no place close by for her to stand above the rest, but she had an aura of great height anyway.

Her dark blue-gray tail swept elegantly as she began the trial. “As you all know, Brokenstar stands accused of abusing his position as leader, endangering too many lives to list, and breaking multiple sections of the warrior code—including sending kittens-forced-into-apprentices to their deaths, attempting and succeeding with multiple murders, and instigating a battle on a waking night.” She looked at Brokenstar through the watchful circle of cats. “Do you accept or deny these charges?”

“Deny!” Brokenstar cried. “I deny all of it!”

“Interesting.” Bluestar looked to ShadowClan now. “How about your Clanmates? Do you all agree or deny?”

Scattered and exhausted, some with not a small tinge of anger, ShadowClan replied variations of “agree”.

“You—!” Brokenstar lifted himself up to glare at his Clan. “How could you side with these barbarians?!”

“Mayhaps you shouldn’t have killed their kits.”

Brokenstar whirled around as the hag shouldered her way into the ring’s center, her jaw jutted out and eyes squeezed to slits. She had a tone of great satisfaction and anger all at once.

“Or starved them,” she continued. “Or bullied them like a kitten in a nursery of newborns. Now that your friends have left you, you’ve no one willing to defend your cowardly prat.”

Brokenstar shot a snarl her way, his long fur messy from battle bristling. “Did I ask for your opinion, rogue?”

“Didn’t,” she replied, “but you get it all the same.”

Brokenstar opened his mouth to respond, but Bluestar cleared her throat in annoyance and silence fell again.

Bluestar raised her voice. “Your crimes amount to murder, attempted murder, abuse of power, abuse of kittens and apprentices, breaking the code’s territory and Gathering night laws, stealing prey, and using rogues as enforcements to the detriment of your Clanmates.” She narrowed her yellow eyes, like cold rays of a winter sun. “ShadowClan has confirmed your actions multiple times, both here and nights before this. You have no defense that could justify any of these actions and no way to plausibly deny them. If you want to say anything, now’s the time, before we decide your punishment.”

Oddly, even with everything laid out for all to see, even with its stark truth, pity still tightened Firepaw’s throat as Brokenstar’s copper eyes flicked back and forth, anguished and desperate for someone to help him. At a side-glance, Rainpaw looked more hopeful than upset, and the kittens were leaning forward in interest. Firepaw just sighed under his breath and watched Brokenstar fight for words, his stomach wobbly.

“Please—” Brokenstar finally managed, all of his charisma, bravado and eloquence gone, replaced with a weak, shaky voice. “Have some mercy. Have—”

“Save your begging for Horoa’s hunters!” the hag snapped, and leaped forward, charging Brokenstar.

He didn’t have a heartbeat to react before her claws were on him. The ring of cats shouted in shock and a few stepped forward to break them up, but the tangle of long hair and fangs knocked away any reaching paws. The hag could hardly bite him, but her claws sank into his shoulders and belly. Brokenstar took advantage and latched onto her throat, snarling in fear and fury. The hag yelped in an oddly false-sounding way, releasing him and struggling for freedom. A cat jumped into the fray and dug his teeth into Brokenstar’s neck, causing him to release the hag with a yelp and be pulled away from her.

“Right fool,” she sneered. “Right fool indeed.”

Brokenstar, now held back by a large RiverClan tom, glowered at her with a burning fury. “You’re the one that attacked me! You’re lucky I didn’t get to tear your throat out, you—” He caught himself and spat instead, “Why even try, with your broken teeth!?”

The hag smirked at him. “Ohhh, you forgot, did you? Trying to kill a seer is punishable by death.”

All of the rage disappeared immediately. Brokenstar’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in utter terror.

The hag croaked to Bluestar, “That settles it, does it not? Can’t escape that.”

If Firepaw wasn’t mistaken, Bluestar almost looked amused, if a little annoyed. “Settled indeed. If Rookstar and Crookedstar approve, I sentence Brokenstar of ShadowClan to death.”

Brokenstar stammered wordlessly, barely able to whisper, “Please—”

“You’re fortunate I don’t have the power to take away your name,” Bluestar said coldly. “Appreciate that mercy. Apprentices, head back to your Clanmates. This doesn’t need witnesses.”

Firepaw was frozen in place. The word “death” echoed in his head over and over, even as Rainpaw nosed him and whispered, “Let’s go.” He wasn’t really present for the walk back to Goldenflower and Willowpelt, who both relaxed and started purring hard as the kittens ran up to them.

“Mi, you’re really hurt,” Swiftkit was saying, trying to lick his mother’s wounds. He spat out the loam and mud clumping her fur. “And dirty.”

“Didn’t the Yellow Fang say it’s bad to be hurt and dirty?” Cinderkit asked. “You could get sick! You need to clean up, Mi!”

The pale grey molly softly purred to her kittens and struggled to her feet, Goldenflower rushing to help her after giving Cinderkit a lick on the ear.

Other conversation started up, even as Brokenstar’s incoherent pleading raised in volume, even as a shriek of panic was cut short and garbled into wet choking. Firepaw didn’t dare look back. He felt like he was about to be sick.

“You okay?”

Firepaw’s eyes were on the ground, but he could feel Ravenpaw and Greypaw brushing their pelts against his. He said nothing, just leaned into whoever was on his left. The apprentice on his right gently bumped his head into his shoulder and left it there, purring reassuringly.

“This was a really bad night,” one of them said, probably Ravenpaw—it sounded like Ravenpaw. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of it.”

Firepaw said nothing, but gave a pruum of affirmation. Any attempt to speak would threaten his gut’s contents, even if he remembered he hadn’t eaten in a while.

“We better get him out of here,” the other one said— that had to be Greypaw. “Hey, c’mon, Firepaw, let’s go this way…”

Firepaw was still staring at the ground as he allowed himself to be delicately herded away. He hadn’t seen Brokenstar’s last moments, but this death compounded by all the others’ tonight…

It was too much. There had been too much bloodshed all this time.

He was a bad cat, his mind reminded him as he went along. He was dangerous to keep around, let alone leave alive.

Yeah… he whispered back, but he didn’t have it in him to argue back. His small ginger pelt shuddered like an ember.

…Yeah.

Chapter Text

The paling sky heralded the Clans’ dispersal. Firepaw was focused on keeping his eyes pointed in the farthest direction away from where justice had been delivered so he didn’t see the body. All he heard were the leaders speaking quietly with Blackfoot about keeping his Clan where they should be, and Blackfoot saying something about “finding the others”, before Crookedstar announced business was done.

“Suriin, I hope you’ll forgive us,” he called to the descending moon. “He lashed out first, you see.”

“She’s likely angrier at him,” Bluestar said, her voice getting closer to the back of Firepaw’s head. “A waking night, of all times. He’s got a lot to answer for.”

Rookstar’s voice was quiet and flat as ever. “Doesn’t matter. We did our part.”

Bluestar now. “Thank you two for lending your claws tonight. I hope we’ve paid WindClan in equal amounts earlier. RiverClan—”

“No worry on that, old girl,” Crookedstar said. “We’d’ve come the moment we heard kits were involved, no matter the Clan. You owe us nothing.”

Some molly grumbled something under her breath. Someone else responded with a chuff.

Bluestar only responded to Crookedstar. “If you like, then. I’ll see you two at the next Gathering. We have cats to return to their home and our own dead to bury.”

“As do we,” Rookstar muttered. “Fair morning to you all.”

With that, he made a curt call and started away towards the pale blue dawn, heading for the moorlands. Firepaw nodded politely to every WindClan cat that went past him. Wrenpaw returned the nod before limping quicker after his Clanmates.

“Fare you and your Clan well,” Crookedstar said to Bluestar, and then to his Clan, “Off we go! Lots of sleep to catch up on by the time we’re home.”

He and Bluestar moved into Firepaw’s line of sight as he said this. He waved his rather short tail to Bluestar, who repeated the gesture, and RiverClan began to move out. The brown tom from earlier paused just a moment, looking at Bluestar. Firepaw couldn’t see Bluestar’s face, but whatever was on it caused the tom to look away and follow the RiverClan party.

ThunderClan left quickly after, Tigerclaw and Goldenflower holding up Willowpelt as they went. Firepaw hovered anxiously behind in case they needed help. The kits were unusually quiet; in fact, hardly a single word was spoken on the way to the forest. Ravenpaw limped close to Firepaw, breathing hard with his head low. Greypaw’s face was bloody and he was missing chunks of fur, but he didn’t seem remotely bothered, instead just guarding the kits as they trotted along behind Firepaw.

The silent dawn was welcome, even as they re-entered the territory. Firepaw’s mind kept spinning around the bodies and Brokenstar’s pleading, replaying them with perfect clarity. A distraction would have been nice, but at the same time, just ignoring what had happened… that’d be like pretending it didn’t matter.

And it all matters, Firepaw thought. They all matter.

He spent the rest of the walk letting the thoughts slowly circle in his head, repeating almost drowsily any thought that returned to the battles of the night, until he was nearly half-asleep himself, thinking them over and over, the sentences gradually losing cohesion.

He woke up again just as he entered camp. The elders were all crouched in a ring around Smallstorm, their heads close together. They looked up slowly and greeted ThunderClan’s rest. One-eye went to Willowpelt, licking the blood off of her as she was gently set down in front of the nursery.

“Take a moment to rest,” Tigerclaw murmured to Goldenflower. “Everyone’s back in place.”

Except Redtail and Smallstorm, Firepaw thought.

Goldenflower shook her head, even as it sagged lower than her chest. “I can’t stand. Someone needs to watch the kits and Willowpelt.”

“I can do that.” Tigerclaw tenderly touched his nose to his mate’s head, pale gold in the creeping half-light. “Lie down with Willowpelt, and I’ll stand in front of you all.” Much quieter, he added, “Please.”

The gentle request seemed to do something; Goldenflower looked up at him before slowly joining One-eye at Willowpelt’s side, collapsing and shutting her eyes as she groomed the gravely injured queen.

“Will she be alright?” Firepaw asked the hag as she hobbled past him.

“Ach.” The hag tossed her head, torn ears flicking bits of blood. “She’s strong as anyone. She stands sooner than your matriarch would like, I can promise you that.”

Firepaw relaxed. “Is that in her future?”

The hag stuck her teeth out at him. “No. Just a sensible conclusion. Queens are right stubborn when they’ve little ones to raise.”

Firepaw blinked and the hag snorted before moving towards her usual spot: below the stump. She sat down and rasped her tongue over her paw, scrubbing at her ears with a grimace. Firepaw went to help her, but she waved him off, leaving him with nothing to do but look around at his Clanmates.

“Your home is safe to return to,” Bluestar was saying to the ShadowClan elders. “We can bring you back immediately, or you can rest until nightfall.”

“Ah…” Nightpelt nodded gratefully. “We’d like to go back as soon as possible. Your elders have offered to take us themselves.”

One-eye lifted her head. “We ought to stick together, us old coots.”

Halftail hummed in agreement.

“Will you want help with Ashfur?” Whitecloud asked.

“He’s light enough for us to carry,” Patchpelt replied. “And we’ll be back for… for Smallstorm.”

There was a pause in the sound of camp. Bluestar took the moment to clear her throat.

“Before you go…” She went to the stump and jumped onto it. It spoke volumes about how battered and tired the Clan was that hardly anyone went to circle it and be at the front of the meeting.

Bluestar, the violet sky framing her dark, tattered fur, took a breath before speaking. “There are a few things to address. First… first, we mourn the loss of Redtail and Smallstorm.” Her voice softened a little. “Smallstorm, we can’t thank you enough for fighting with all of your strength during the attack in the night. I’m sorry we weren’t here to protect you, but I have a feeling you would have gone through us to fight regardless.”

A small murmur of grieved amusement and agreement rippled through camp.

“You always spoke about being buried at Sunning-rocks, to spite ‘those fish-eating clods’.” Bluestar gazed down at his body. “Whatever RiverClan has to say, that’s where you’ll go. I hope you’ll enjoy your peace in StarClan, complaining for eternity about the idiocy of apprentices and how you could have done such a better job of catching that squirrel one of us misses.

“And Redtail…”

The very aura of the Clan sank and went cold. Bluestar had to pause for a moment to swallow, her eyes shut painfully, before continuing.

“Redtail, you served the Clan better than I could have ever asked for. You were just and calm, and you encouraged the best in everyone. I would have been honored to make you leader before my time was up. You would have done wonders for ThunderClan’s success.” Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find your body for a proper burial. And I… I hope you approve of my choice of deputy to succeed you, if he agrees.”

Her eyes now moved to Firepaw’s right. He looked over and caught sight of the unkempt Lionface, who belatedly realized the situation and straightened up quickly.

“Lionface, if you don’t mind me asking in front of everyone,” Bluestar said, “I’d like you to be our next deputy. Everyone here respects your authority as it is—” Firepaw shrank a little. “—and I trust that you can handle whatever comes your way. Do you agree, or would you like to pass?”

Lionface, to his credit, took the exact right amount of time to respond: just long enough to think over the decision without rushing, and just short enough that the silence wasn’t awkward. He gave one firm nod, deepening it into a bow. “I’m humbled that you would ask me, Bluestar. I agree. Thank you.”

The air warmed as congratulations and approval poured out. Goldenflower managed a haggard, cheery trill and Greypaw ran up to his mentor, purring loudly and headbutting his shoulder with pride. Lionface’s expression softened and he returned the gesture (and managed to accidentally nudge Greypaw into taking a side-step).

Bluestar waited until the responses quieted before speaking again. “There is one more thing, and I have not broached this with anyone but Redtail yet. If anyone has an issue with what I say, speak up.” She looked straight down. “Seer, please stand and face me. This concerns you.”

The hag only showed a mild bit of surprise, and shockingly did as she was told. The Clan fell silent, curious.

“You’ve lived with us for quite a while now, and it’s very obvious that you’ve made yourself comfortable here.” Bluestar’s whiskers twitched at a few snorts from the crowd. “You’ve offered your services in dire circumstances, unprompted, and they have been greatly appreciated, especially with our own seer gone. It’s clear that StarClan has not abandoned you, even as you escaped your original Clan and left your name behind.” She paused, then strengthened her voice. “I offer you a permanent home in ThunderClan, or at least as long as you care to stay until you can train a native apprentice into our next seer. We’d appreciate your skill—”

“And my link to the stars, now that you’ve none yourself.” The hag squinted an eye, cheekily turning her head a little while still looking up at Bluestar. “Well, I say, your offer would have to be thought over, had not your kittypet apprentice shown some manners.”

She eyed Firepaw now. His ears warmed a little in sheepishness, but he blinked at her encouragingly. A dry amusement flickered in her eyes before she looked back up to Bluestar.

“ThunderClan is a good place to be, I can say that,” she continued. “If this lot is willing to home me forever on, I wouldn’t mind a bit. And if not… well, you wouldn’t have to wait long to kick me out.”

Bluestar looked just as surprised as everyone else. “You already see our next seer?”

“Do indeed.” The hag cocked her head back and gestured with her tail the same way. Firepaw followed her line, and it ended at Cinderkit.

Many remarks were made —none of them negative, to Firepaw’s relief—and Cinderkit jumped to her oversized kitten feet.

“I’m going to be a SEER?!” she shrilled, eyes huge and shiny.

“You’ve great makings for it, fool girl,” the hag croaked, amused. “Once your apprenticeship starts, you’ll learn from me.”

Cinderkit vibrated in place before hopping up and down, whipping around to face her mother. “Mi! Mi! I’m gunna be a seer!”

Willowpelt lifted her head just a bit to rasp fondly, “Under a ShadowClan mentor, no less. I’m proud of you.”

Cinderkit bounced again, nearly landing on her brother, and the Clan rippled with approval and delighted surprise.

“I wouldn’t have expected her,” Bluestar said to the hag.

“No one expected me, either,” the hag replied.

“Then I trust your judgement.” Bluestar dipped her head in respect and spoke now to the Clan. “Is there any opposition to this arrangement?”

Darkstripe, as expected, muttered something grouchily, but no one else spoke.

Bluestar turned back to the hag. “Then our first order of business is to give you back a name. Shall you be Murkpelt again?”

The hag stuck out her jaw. “Rather, I’ve been called something else here. I feel it more appropriate, now that I live here. Some of you have referred to me as Old Yellow Fangs. I believe Yellowfang is a proper start to the rest of my life as a ThunderClan seer.”

“Little rude, don’t you think?” Whitecloud remarked.

The hag looked at him with half-shut eyes. “Appropriate for one like I, I'd wager.”

Whitecloud tilted his head a little in acknowledgement. “Fair enough.”

“Then let’s not waste time.” Bluestar looked skyward. “StarClan, I ask that you grant me the power to give a seer, one my equal in authority, her new name. She has served us well nameless for long enough, and it’s time to restore her honor.” She gazed down at the hag. “From this day forward, you, once called Murkpelt in ShadowClan, will be known as Yellowfang in ThunderClan and to the other Clans. We thank you for your honor and skill, and we welcome you as a member of ThunderClan for the rest of your life.”

Firepaw was the first to call out, “Yellowfang! Yellowfang!”, swiftly joined by the rest of the Clan. Yellowfang gave him a fond wink before turning back as Bluestar jumped down in front of her and half-crouched in respect.

“That concludes our meeting,” Bluestar said as the cheers faded off. “Elders, you may now depart. Nightpelt and Palecloud, I wish you well, and I pray for Ashfur’s safe journey to StarClan.”

“We thank you for keeping us as long as you did,” Palecloud said softly.

“Many blessings upon you and all of ThunderClan,” Nightpelt added.

They turned to the ThunderClan elders just as Patchpelt and One-eye hoisted up the fallen Ashfur and started walking, still stiff and pained. Palecloud touched Smallstorm’s shoulder with her nose, Nightpelt following and murmuring something inaudible. Halftail placed a paw on Smallstorm before taking up the rear of the group as they went into the forest, kindled red and gold of daybreak’s sunshine.

“Should someone go with them?” Firepaw asked Yellowfang as she limped up to him.

The ThunderClan seer’s bulbous eyes were oddly calm and reflective, watching the elders leave. “They’ll be fine. I’ve seen a bond between them all grow over these nights. They’ve likely some words they wish to share with each other alone, before they part for perhaps forever.”

“Like you did with Spottedleaf,” Firepaw said, his voice quieter than he’d like.

Yellowfang nodded. “There are things equals share that no other rank understands.”

Firepaw watched her face, trying to deduce the thoughts behind her gaze. “So I guess it wouldn’t be appropriate to ask you what you said to her?”

“Were it even so, I still wouldn’t tell you.” She flicked an ear and winced. “You’ll see, in time. Some things are to be private.”

Firepaw nodded. Truthfully, he realized, he didn’t want to know what Yellowfang had said. That it was said at all was what mattered. It meant she cared enough to part with respect for Spottedleaf.

Was she respectful? he thought, and the immediate answer was, She was, enough to at least say goodbye, in whatever way she should. I can trust that.

“Now.” Yellowfang’s single word jolted him out of his thoughts. “I’d like to sleep. Go get some rest, boy. We all have a busy time ahead of us.”

Firepaw looked over at the ferns. “Will you take her spot?”

Yellowfang harrumphed in a surprisingly harmless way. “I’d say she gave it to me as I take up her mantle. Though I like my stump better.”

“At least it keeps you shaded from rain.”

“That it does.” She turned and started off. “Fair morning, boy.”

“Fair morning,” Firepaw echoed. He idled a little, not sure what to do, before heading to the apprentices’ den, where Greypaw and Ravenpaw were cleaning their wounds.

“You look good,” Greypaw remarked as he approached. “You don’t have a speck of blood on you.”

“I didn’t get into any fights,” Firepaw admitted. “I just got the kits out.”

Ravenpaw looked up from his paw. “That’s still important. You going to sleep?”

Firepaw opened his mouth, then paused and regarded his friends. “Actually, let me help you clean up. It’s the least I can do right now.”

Neither of them offered a word against it, so he went for Greypaw first, finding scratched and bloody places along his pelt where his fur had been torn off. None of them spoke as they sat and cleaned, all of them exhausted and two of them in a good deal of pain.

Firepaw kept grooming, but his thoughts echoed every single cat that had been lost in the night without end. That was a whole other level of pain in itself.

But he didn’t turn from it. Instead, he took care to do his best and memorize the images, from the tiny ShadowClan kit-apprentices to the sight of Sandstorm and Dustpelt standing over the edge of the gorge, desperately searching for Redtail. It wasn’t pleasant, and it shook his heart. But he needed to remember.

Someone ought to. It was only fair to those who fell.

Chapter Text

The Aulmir was painfully noisy in the daylight.

Somehow, it was dead as well. The aura of the humans’ hives and their cars did not ripple with life— rather, a stale, murky tang hovered around them. It was like dying lichen on a stone, or a puddle of muddied water. They moved and made noise, but they had as much energy to them as a rotten rat did.

Funny how that escaped notice until one was forced to stay here.

Two small, patched cats huddled together on the edge of its web of stone and steel, squinting as the sun rose higher and higher and awoke the humans into buzzing all over the place on their ambiguous business. The older tom, grey-and-white, had his eyes on the horizon.

The marshland’s grass looked so much brighter and more golden in the morning. Before all of this started, such brightness would have been welcoming. Now it felt like he was being taunted by the croaks of frogs and buzzing of insects, almost completely drowned out by the Aulmir behind him.

“Sir? Fognose, sir?”

He blinked blearily and looked to his right to the apprentice beside him. The tiny brown-and-white tom, Littlepaw, was watching him, his aura like the depths of a stream in spring. He swiveled an ear to indicate he was listening.

“It’ll be alright,” Littlepaw said, softly but brightly. “I think that was a good sign.”

Earlier, they had ducked behind a steel structure as clusters of rogues raced past them, all wounded and growling under their breaths. Some were badly beaten and barely keeping up with their fellows through heavy limps. Even through the stink of the Aulmir (and Fognose’s admittedly poor spring nose), the scents of ThunderClan, WindClan, and RiverClan had wafted off of the rogues just as strongly as blood ran off their pelts.

Fognose made a weak attempt at an optimistic blink. “I hope so.”

Littlepaw sat up a bit to peer out at the marshes. “Mayhaps they were chased away. That yowling had to mean something important.”

“Perhaps.” Fognose, remaining neutral, followed his Warden’s line of sight. “I just pray no one was killed in…whatever happened out there.”

He hadn’t dared to stop a rogue to ask what was going on. They had emanated anger and fear in auras like fire—he was sure that if they’d caught sight of the two Clan cats, they would not have responded well.

Littlepaw looked at Fognose now. “Has StarClan spoken to you yet? Can we check on the others?”

The seer opened his mouth to say “no”, but his ear caught a distant fluttering. He and Littlepaw turned their heads simultaneously to the right, where the marsh had pushed its fragile grip just a bit more over the Aulmir’s border. Something surrounded by a haze of dusk had ducked into what remained of the grass and was now shuffling around inside it.

Littlepaw’s eyes brightened. “Perhaps that’s them now.”

Fognose said nothing, just held his breath. A pause, and then the dusky thing hopped back into view. He relaxed; it was a particularly large crow holding a stray kinked twig.

“Pay respects,” he murmured to Littlepaw, and bowed his head when the crow looked their way. Out of the corner of his eye, the apprentice hurriedly did the same.

The crow cocked its head, regarding them with unreadable black eyes. It abruptly jumped and flapped, carrying itself into the air only to land on a human structure tall enough to make the two cats look up at it. Still watching them, the crow shifted its wings, then cracked the thin twig in two. The pieces fell noiselessly to the ground. Fognose looked up from staring at the pieces just in time to catch the crow winking one eye, taking off, and flying east.

Littlepaw, watching the crow disappear, finally gave his charge a rather excited look for his usual serenity. “About as good of a sign as any, I would say.”

Fognose gave him a fond, jokingly-annoyed look. “And when, pray, did they speak to you rather than I?”

“Well…” Littlepaw tilted his head. “I would think their voices were quite clear then.”

With a gentle swat of his tail to Littlepaw’s side, Fognose nodded towards where the crow had gone. “Using one of Thlainra’s servants, no less. It’d be best to follow…” His voice unconsciously softened. “No matter what awaits us.”

Littlepaw brushed up against the seer’s shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe, sir, worry not.”

Fognose held in his usual joking response about Littlepaw’s size. He needed all the confidence he could get to re-enter ShadowClan territory. Instead, he gave a purr and only paused for a heartbeat before walking slowly but steadily over the border, Littlepaw close by him.

There was no conversation between them; each had their breath held and ears perked for the slightest noise. The only sound they made was the shifting of grass, and even that was more muted than usual, like the world was trying to help them stay safe. Bugs whined and buzzed, fish splashed as they leapt out of the water to catch those bugs, and two frogs sang back and forth to each other. All of this and no sign of feline life for what seemed like days.

Littlepaw suddenly stopped and nudged Fognose to get him to do the same. “Do you hear that?”

Fognose dared to sit on his haunches and peer over the tallest grasses. A dark grey cat, lit by the color of the morning sky, was heading towards them, and seemed to pick up their pace when Fognose ducked down again.

“It’s your mentor,” he said, relieved.

Littlepaw perked up immediately, tail curling. The toms moved forward just as their Clanmate called out, “Littlepaw! Fognose! I come alone!”

“Flintfang!” Littlepaw did not leave his place beside Fognose, but he did trot faster, only parting to greet his mentor when they pushed through the grass and were face-to-face with him.

Flintfang pressed his forehead to his apprentice’s. “It brings me such joy that you live, my friends. I was chosen to come look for you. Perhaps I did not need to.”

“We  intended to see everyone that remained,” Fognose said, greeting the warrior in turn. “StarClan spoke to us.”

“To both of you?” Flintfang blinked, looking down at Littlepaw with surprise and pride. “What a gift, little one! They have blessed you.”

Littlepaw puffed out his chest, eyes nearly shut with delight.

Flintfang purred before returning his attention to Fognose. “You return at the right time. Brokenstar is dead, and the rogues gone. He brought down the wrath of every other Clan this last night and many fights broke out.”

“On a waking night…” Fognose shared a stunned look with Littlepaw. “He truly is dead? Who is our leader now?”

“Blackfoot. He has agreed to terms set by the other leaders to ensure peace, and has ordered I and others to find everyone who escaped before this.”

Fognose let out a breath, and with it a heaviness slid off his spine. “Let us return, then. I can speak with StarClan and tell Blackfoot where all the others are.” He hesitated. “…And how many of us have died since Littlepaw and I fled?”

Flintfang’s cheer fell off his face. “Too many, from our Clan and others. We mourn them all today. Though… it may comfort you to know that your mentor lives. She resides with ThunderClan now.”

Fognose should probably have been surprised, but all he felt was amusement. “I wish them luck with her.”

“She won’t be around to scold me for bringing her the wrong prey, then?” Littlepaw asked, tail curling.

“Never again, I imagine.” Flintfang licked his apprentice’s ear. “Now, let’s get you home. You two did not hunt well, wherever you were.” He turned and started back the way he had come. “Where were you, anyway? We never searched for you.”

Littlepaw followed, though he was still within reach of Fognose. “The Aulmir. A terrible place to be when you hardly know it. There was this one awful day…”

Fognose let his Warden do the talking, walking last in the line. He glanced back at the stone-steel prison and its ugly, dirty aura and sighed, lighter all over again. If he could help it, he wasn’t going back there for the rest of his life.