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Kestrelpaw learns fast.
One. Moth Flight was the first seer. She found the Moonstone — Barkface tells him of the Moonstone, from before the Great Journey — and saw StarClan for the first time.
The first time Kestrelpaw goes to the Moonpool, he sees the moonlight, and wonders why they call it StarClan.
The older seers greet him exactly. He’s the first seer to be apprenticed since the Great Journey. Leafpool and Mothwing are more forthright; Littlecloud is reserved, but the emotions are still tangible. Barkface purrs softly at Kestrelpaw’s eager fidgeting.
Moth Flight’s mother did not understand her. There are always cats like Moth Flight, and there are always cats like her mother. Sometimes, Whitetail says it’s funny he didn’t want to be a runner. Kestrelpaw laughs, because it is and it isn’t.
Dewkit gets quarantined in the den, and she asks Kestrelpaw for a story, so he tells her about Moth Flight, but he tells it differently.
His Moth Flight was still the first seer, and she still found the Moonstone, but not so freely. He gives it a cost.
His Moth Flight met a fox who promises to teach her how to hunt, just like her mother wanted. “Wouldn’t it make her proud?” the fox crooned.
Moth Flight wrinkled her nose, because it would be nice, and she was still so close to home.
“I’ll teach you how to catch so much she won’t be mad at you for running off,” the fox promised.
Moth Flight looked behind herself, at the windswept moor.
“No, thank you,” she said, even though she was curious. “Maybe on my way home.”
“I won’t be here then. Are you sure you want to go?”
“I’m sure,” Moth Flight said. “Have a good day.”
His Moth Flight met a snake who promised to teach her all the herbs in the world.
“You could treat anything you could imagine,” the snake hissed. “And everything you couldn’t.”
This, too, was a tempting offer, for if Moth Flight could prove to her mother that there was value in plants, she might be allowed to study them.
“You are right about their potential,” the snake said. “Let me show you how to use them.”
“Can you show me one or two?” Moth Flight said. “I’d learn them all, it’s just that I am on an important mission, and I want to show…” She sighed. “Well, it’s a long story.”
“That’s alright. I have a long time, and I’m told snakes are good listeners.”
Moth Flight looked over her shoulder again. “I don’t have a long time,” she said.
“That’s a shame.” The snake began to slither away. “I hope you find someone to teach you herbs.”
His Moth Flight met a Raven at Mothermouth.
“How do you know it will work?” The Raven asked. “How do you know she will care?”
“She has to care.”
“She’s never cared before.”
Moth Flight looked over her shoulder for a final time. “I care,” she said. “That’s enough.”
His Moth Flight is not just the first seer.
Two. The moon is always a story of grief. No one compares their love to the moon or praises the night. And when they do, it is never the moon they praise. Its inky black background, perhaps, or the smattering of stars that make a rosy band, but never the moon.
When the first spots appear, Kestrelpaw wonders how many there will be.
“You match your name better, now,” Heatherpaw says. “I’ll find you a kestrel feather, just to show you.”
“No, you won’t,” Crowfeather says. “Hare brain, if you find a feather, you find a kestrel.”
Kestrels are hawks. They are dangerous and to be feared. “With a name like that,” Onestar says, “I half-expected you to be a catcher.”
Kestrelpaw isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment.
His siblings get their names, and the spots slow down, and then mostly stop.
“You look the same to me,” Jaypaw says, “so I’m not sure what the fuss is about.”
Kestrelpaw snorts, because it’s the kind of joke Jaypaw doesn’t make very often, and he doesn’t want it to go unacknowledged.
“I think it’s an improvement,” Willowpaw says. “Not that, well — you aren’t really my type, Kestrelpaw, but…I like them.”
“You would,” Jaypaw says, and they devolve into bickering. Usually, Willowpaw and Kestrelpaw drive the conversation, as Jaypaw chimes in with the occasional biting retort or surprisingly insightful comment, but today, Kestrelpaw finds himself mostly silent.
Heathertail and Harespring are warriors, both courting mates, and he’s heard Onestar discuss giving Heathertail an apprentice with Ashfoot.
Kestrelpaw is still an apprentice, and he still feels like one. Sometimes, Leafpool will remark how eager she was to get her name, or Littlecloud will ask if he’s seen any patients on his own, and Kestrelpaw will mumble whatever gets him out of the conversation fastest.
“You know I trust you to make the right call, yeah?” Barkface asks. “You don’t have to check in with me unless you aren’t sure.”
“Sorry.”
“No, that’s…” Barkface sighs, and licks Kestrelpaw’s head. “I just want you to know — I know you can do this.”
Kestrelflight gets his full name the next moon.
He still doesn’t feel ready for it.
“I finally found one,” Heathertail says, a few days later. “Look.”
She’s right that he does look like it.
“Heather,” he says. “I don’t think I know who I am right now.”
But he doesn’t say that, because his sister is a lot of thigns, but unsure is not one of them. She’ll just tease him about getting used to his new name, and tell him he should hunt with her more.
“Heathertail is worried about you,” Whitetail says. “What’s wrong?”
“Heathertail doesn’t know everything,” he mutters. “I don’t — I don’t think I’m the same cat I used to be.”
“Who is?” Whitetail bunts against him. “We’re always changing.”
Kestrelflight glances at his paws. One has gone all white.
“Are you worrying about that again? Because I’ll have you know there’s nothing wrong with a lot of white.”
Kestrelflight laughs, and Whitetail licks behind his ear.
“Is that really it?” she asks.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” He sighs. “I’m the same age as every other seer when they get their name, and I just don’t feel ready.”
“Barkface wouldn’t have given you your name if you weren’t.”
“I know. I guess it’s silly.”
“Just a little.” Whitetail tucks her tail around him, even though he’s the tallest of his siblings and has long since outgrown this. “But I’m always your mother. Who better to share those worries with?”
Three. Jayfeather takes an apprentice first. It’s a ThunderClan story: Alderpaw was a warrior who didn’t fit.
Kestrelflight searches for a moment, trying to tell him about Moth Flight, but he keeps coming up empty.
“Have you thought about one?” Willowshine asks, and Kestrelflight shakes his head.
“No one has been right.”
“Didn’t Heathertail just have a litter?”
“Little warriors,” he purrs, thinking of his nieces. “Practically fighting from the moment they opened their eyes.”
Willowshine laughs. “Someone will come by.”
He hopes so.
Kestrelflight isn’t sure how the other Clans choose their seers, but he knows what he is looking for. One day, another kit with more brains than sense will push their way into his den and ask to be his apprentice. All he can do while he waits is makes sure he tells enough stories to the kits. They get bored if he tells too many, but he tries to make sure it’s interesting.
Kits aren’t the only cats he tells them to.
“What comes after StarClan?” Harespring asks. “When you fade, where do you go?”
Kestrelflight swallows. He knows he won’t find him, but for his brother’s sake, he looks for Antpelt every time he visits the Moonpool.
“Harespring,” he starts, using the low, slow, gentle, patient voice, “you know…”
“I know,” he says. “But — please. I need something to believe in.”
“You come back,” Kestrelflight says. “In sunrises and raincloud and the whole world, in everything.”
“Thank you.” Harespring touches noses with Kestrelflight, relief in his eyes more valuable than a rabbit in leafbare.
It’s a nice story. Maybe it’ll be true, if he tells it to enough cats.
It will never be true in time to save Antpelt.
Yet he watches his brother get nine lives, and realizes he’s still looking for a tom who isn’t coming.
Kestrelflight catches Harestar a sparrow.
“Impressive.”
“I’m not helpless, you know.”
“I know.” Harestar pus out feathers, then takes a bite. “You’ve always been the clever one.”
Kestrelflight snorts. “Maybe I just haven’t hit my head so many times doing battle training.”
Harestar purrs. “Well, I still appreciate it.” He looks at Kestrelflight, quite serious. “I’m glad you’re my brother,” he says. “I’m glad you’re in my life.”
He feels like the world is out-running him.