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Maplesong sat beside Whalestar’s body as Shimmerblaze & Murkstream looked over everyone’s wounds. As he ran his nose through his leader’s pelt, he listed off all the wounds of the battle; Brightpaw had been thrown into a rock, tearing a wound across her back and knocking her out, although that was mostly due to the shock. Nettlestone had a mangled back paw that would be sore for a while, although enough CliffClan blood smeared her pelt that she looked dead. Someone scratched Houndcall’s eye when she joined Whalestar’s patrol, but considering she was already blind, it wasn’t as serious a problem. And then there was Maplesong, whose claw was lost in Grebeshine’s pelt. Maplesong glanced at the cobweb wrapped paw, which rested on Whalestar’s shoulder. He refused to eat anything more than a single poppy seed for the pain, hoping to save it for Brightpaw and Nettlestone. He was regretting that decision.
Murkstream, thank StarClan, helped everyone organize the next steps. With the most injured resting in the holy den, she had Graythroat escort Loudstep through camp, the pair discussing reparations and collaboration to recover. Both had lost a parent to the battle, which only opened up discussion. As Charpatch watched her clanmate from the corner, Codpaw peeked out of the holy den and silently stuck a few cobwebs to a scratch on Charpatch’s chin. Maplesong knew that Cormorantpetal and Hollyshine would be safe discussing their end of the reparations in CliffClan. He wished he could make Murkstream his deputy and continued thanking StarClan that she would play a role in his leadership.
Leadership. The word wasn’t so foreign on his tongue as he thought it would be. In many ways, he had been leader of PuffinClan for moons now. Now he properly held the title. Whalestar’s death was like a paw lifted off Maplesong’s back. He’d loved his leader as a deputy always does, but he caused so many issues… it was a miracle the Clan followed him after learning the truth behind Troutkit’s accident. Maybe now, Whalestar laughed over his antics with Leafdapple, enjoying a fat rabbit.
Two gray muzzles appeared on the other side of Whalestar. Ibisleap and Cliffstripe breathed in their father’s scent. Maplesong had nearly forgotten he wasn’t the only one sitting beside Whalestar. He stepped back. He needed to give the family time, allow them to call an end to the vigil when they were ready. Murkstream had already blessed Whalestar’s body, so no one would bat an eye when they carried him out of camp for burial.
Maplesong surveyed his Clan. Snailnose wandered about, introducing Brownleap to PuffinClan. It would be strange to have a CliffClan counselor living among them. Maplesong had barely processed the forbidden relationship, and he knew it would become a more pressing matter as their trial approached. Still, he wasn’t going to send Snailnose’s kits, Archpelt’s grandchildren, back across two territories. They were happy sleeping beside their grandmother, who watched them like the stars. Deerwhisker had returned without blood on her paws, unable to catch Hailbranch before she vanished into a tunnel on CliffClan territory. The killer wouldn’t hide for long, not with two Clans hunting for her.
Maplesong glanced at the sky. The sun was getting low, the beginnings of dusk coloring white clouds pink. There were still many things he had to do, traditions to follow. For that, he searched for Murkstream.
The seer plucked cobwebs from between her claws, even as she prayed over Brightpaw & Nettlestone, half asleep in the holy den. She took a robin feather and brushed it over their noses, blowing health into their pelts. Maplesong waited at the edge of the den, unsure how to ask his questions.
“Maplesong, you don’t need to stand around like a nervous apprentice,” Shimmerblaze muttered, sitting with Houndcall as they treated her eye. “You’re our leader now, come inside.”
“Is Murkstream available?” he gulped as the seer tucked the feather into Brightpaw’s nest.
“I am now,” she sighed, joining Maplesong’s side. “We’ll need to depart soon.”
“That’s why I called you,” Maplesong said. “I know there are some ceremonial things to complete before we can leave for the Hollow. Do I need to choose my deputy now?”
“For PuffinClan, the time you pick your first deputy demonstrates something about your hopes for the Clan,” Murkstream explained, leading Maplesong to the leader’s rock. “Picking them before your nine lives ceremony means you want to learn from your clanmates. Afterwards, it shows that you want to be a strong figure, someone we can turn to for guidance.”
“I was as skilled as an apprentice in the battle,” Maplesong muttered, climbing the rock. “I have my choice.”
“Call the Clan, and I’ll lead you through this,” Murkstream purred. Maplesong gave the Clan once more look. They were shaken, but whole.
“May all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather at the base of camp for a Clan meeting,” Maplesong yowled. Everyone stopped what they were doing and marched to the lowest level of camp. The counselors gathered around the boulder. Ibisleap and Cliffstripe left their father’s side to fill in the circle. Brownleap tilted her head as Snailnose joined them, sitting with Codpaw. Maplesong wondered if they had this tradition in CliffClan. From Brownleap, Charpatch, and Loudstep’s expressions, likely not.
“Before we begin,” Murkstream called, nodding to the counselors, “we must honor the change in leadership, just as we honor all those earning a new name. Our counselors stand before us ready to mimic the songs of the birds in the ancient Song of Leadership.” Murkstream closed her eyes. Maplesong held his tongue, the old lessons flying to the forefront of his thoughts. Part of him wanted to be below with his fellow counselors, but he knew he was no longer one of them. Brownleap gasped as the counselors began to sing.
It was a haunting sound, heard once in a lifetime. It flowed like wind, traveling higher and higher. It was the song of a bird flying into the clouds after a storm destroyed its nest. Just as it vanished and the tune hung on a warble, another bird began to rebuild that nest, reusing the old twigs and finding feathers and fur and other beautiful things to support their new home. Maplesong was that second bird. He hoped his nest would be beautiful.
The song faded. PuffinClan sat in breathless silence as the counselors faded into the crowd. Maplesong calmed the fur rising across his spine.
“With Whalestar’s passing,” Murkstream declared, “it is time for knowledge to come to light and be placed within our Clan’s history. It is time to hear of Whalestar’s nine lives.” Brightpaw poked her head outside, even as Shimmerblaze tried to usher her back in. The story-keepers turned their ears to Murkstream.
“His first life was from Icebrook, his beloved sister, for happiness. The next was a life of strength from Halfstar, his predecessor. Goldenkit, his son unable to see apprenticeship, delivered his third life of certainty. His littermate, Tinykit, gave Whalestar his fourth life for instinct. Unsurprisingly, the oldest of that litter, Orcathroat, was the fifth to give a life, one of courage. His sixth life of wisdom came from Pollennose, his former mentor. His seventh life came from Paleclaw, the mother of his mate, who died of spine fever in the nursery, to represent patience. His father Walrusberry delivered the eighth life of flexibility. His final life…” Murkstream hesitated on the last words. “His last life came from Puffinstar herself, representing longevity.” Few could believe it, least of all Maplesong. He gawked at Murkstream as PuffinClan tried to wrap their heads around the incredible gift their former leader carried.
“That explains his long life,” Charpatch mumbled, louder than she likely wanted to be.
“Story-keepers may speak to me if they wish to hear this list once more,” Murkstream huffed. She nodded to Maplesong and made her way into the crowd.
“Whalestar was truly blessed,” he gulped. He fought off the shock and straightened out. “Murkstream and I will be departing for the Hollow soon, so that I may receive my nine lives. As Hailbranch is lurking somewhere outside our territory, I would like to bring along Breezeclaw to protect myself and Murkstream as we commune with our ancestors.”
“I will watch over you,” Breezeclaw said, nodding.
“I have decided to declare my deputy before we depart,” Maplesong explained. “There is only one cat I believe to fit this position. Not only are they organized and capable, they will guide me in the early days of my leadership, allowing me to become the leader you deserve.” Maplesong cleared his throat, remembering the words from his own deputy ceremony. “I say these words before StarClan, that the spirits of our ancestors may hear and approve of my choice. Deerwhisker will be the new deputy of PuffinClan.” Deerwhisker, who sat with her sisters and children by the nursery, scrambled to her feet.
“Maplesong, I can’t accept this,” Deerwhisker stammered. “I’m a queen. I have family to care for.”
“I’ve thought about this since we left for the battle,” Maplesong sighed. “Dustkit and Troutkit are old enough that you don’t need to constantly supervise them. Many of the duties of a deputy take place in camp, organizing patrols. You’ll only be a moment's call from them. You’re the one I would deliver leadership of this Clan to. Please accept.”
“You can do it!” Elmpatch cheered her older sister on. “I believe in you!”
“Dustkit, Troutkit, what do you think?” Deerwhisker asked her kits, who sat beside her.
“Just be careful,” Troutkit gulped.
“You don’t need to be,” Dustkit insisted. “I’ll treat any wound you get!”
“Then I am proud to accept this position, Maplesong,” Deerwhisker purred, nodding to her leader. Maplesong hopped off the rock and touched his nose to Deerwhisker’s head.
“Deerwhisker! Deerwhisker!” the Clan cheered, the voices of her sisters and mothers rising over them all.
“Deewhis!” Dovekit’s tiny voice cried from between Deerwhisker’s paws. Deerwhisker laughed and licked Dovekit’s head.
“I leave the Clan under your protection until I return,” Maplesong hummed. “This meeting is adjourned.” Maplesong hurried to the holy den. He would receive his traveling herbs (which seemed like a waste of supplies to him, but he couldn’t deny tradition) and depart for the Hollow.
Maplesong and Murkstream kept quiet on their journey. Breezeclaw looped around them, always looking for a glint of silver-white fur over the next hill. Maplesong was impressed by Murkstream’s speed; despite her short stature, she could keep up with the tall toms, even when they ran over a hill. Maplesong’s body ached. He knew he needed to rest, allow his paw to heal. It would be many moons until the claw grew back. Or perhaps it would return with the power of nine lives?
“Breezeclaw,” Murkstream hummed, glancing at the golden warrior. “We’ll trust you to stay awake during our ceremony.”
“Of course,” Breezeclaw huffed, still scanning the hills.
“You must not wake us up,” Murkstream warned. “During the ceremony, Maplesong will die, but you should not be concerned.” Both toms gaped at Murkstream, who continued on as though she commented on the weather.
“No one mentioned that,” Maplesong muttered. When he didn’t follow Murkstream, the seer paused.
“StarClan gives you nine new lives,” she said with a trill. “Your life as Maplesong ends tonight.” Murkstream slipped over the crest of a hill.
“Good luck, Maplesong,” Breezeclaw sighed, neck prickling. Maplesong shook the nerves out of his pelt and caught up to his clanmates.
Maplesong was once friends with a CliffClan counselor named Dawnleaf who told him of a tradition warrior apprentices in her Clan took part in. At some point in their apprenticeship, they escorted the seers or healers to their half moon meeting. If they were lucky, it would be a meeting between a leader and their ancestors. Maplesong couldn’t help but feel jealous of those CliffClan warriors, who were far better prepared than he for the sight of the Hollow. He never expected it to be so white. How did it stand after so many storms?
“Stand outside, please, Breezeclaw,” Murkstream asked, waving her tail to the side of the Hollow. Breezeclaw nodded and took his post. Maplesong was just small enough to get inside with his ears scrapping the top of the entrance.
He was shocked at how spacious the tree was. The floor was a tree stump and the white wood walls kept in heat. Clouds drifted over the moon, causing light to flicker within.
“Is that an omen?” he wondered softly, staring at the hole in the ceiling.
“If StarClan made every ceremony a cloudless night, the health of the world would be thrown out of balance,” Murkstream tutted, laying down. “Allow your head to be bathed in moonlight.” Maplesong obeyed, forming a loaf with his tucked in paws.
“Will you be there?” he asked, wounded paw itching.
“Archpelt said seers witness the ceremony,” Murkstream explained. “Rest, Maplesong. It’s time.” Murkstream and Maplesong closed their eyes.
Maplesong didn’t move for a while. His spine ached. How could he get comfortable on cold wood? He shifted, laying flat on his side. Grass tickled his nose. He sneezed, rolling over. He blinked and realized grass didn’t grow inside trees.
Maplesong laid in a field of soft summer grass. Silverpelt stretched through the sky, stripes of stars flying in pools of color. The moon was full, yet when Maplesong looked back, he could see the dull outline of another orb high above. The sun? It had to be, as he could see just as well as daylight. Maplesong stood. A huge maple tree wrapped him in its shade. The ocean shore laid not too far from the field, the beach forming an even line of pebbles and sand, too even to be natural. Maplesong held his breath as a massive gray beast rolled out of the waves. Its huge fins waved to him before diving back down with a splash.
“A whale,” he gasped.
“There’s something to represent every PuffinClan leader in this field,” someone laughed behind Maplesong. A familiar voice.
Maplesong turned around. StarClan spread throughout the field, watching him, a sea of pelts and stars. One figure stood out in the crowd. Whalestar. His gray pelt was full and rich, rather than the salt-speckled mask of old age. Stars swirled across his chest and drifted off his fur like fog. And his eyes, so bright and alert… Maplesong hadn’t seen that sharp green gaze since he earned his counselor name.
“Are you okay?” Maplesong asked. It was the only thing he could think of.
“Okay?” Whalestar chuckled with a taunting flick of his ear. “I am with my mate, my first litter, my sister and parents… I am a memory of an old era. I belong here now.”
“Murkstream…” Maplesong muttered, glancing around. “Isn’t she supposed to be here?”
“We’ve brought someone else to witness your ceremony,” Whalestar hummed. “Look behind you.” Maplesong was getting tired of the turning, but he obeyed.
“Thrushpaw?” he stammered when he saw the seer apprentice standing behind him. Considering he wasn’t covered in stars like the rest, Maplesong assumed he was still alive. From the panic fading from Thrushpaw’s eyes, he realized the same thing.
“Is this what I think it is?” Thrushpaw gulped. Whalestar padded past Maplesong.
“Don’t worry, young tom,” Whalestar said. “The war is over. It is time for Maplesong to take the mantle of leadership. You are here to bear witness.”
“What happened?” Thrushpaw demanded. “Did you catch Archpelt’s killer?”
“Thrushpaw, where have you been?” Maplesong barked, stomping up to the tom. “You and Bumblepaw left without saying a word. Whalestar said you went Lone Wandering, was that true?”
“One of my better decisions these last few moons,” Whalestar hummed. “Go ahead, Thrushpaw. Tell him why you’ve been gone so long.” Whalestar sat beside Thrushpaw. Maplesong listened as Thrushpaw told a story of prophecies and seers, barn cats and colonies.
“We’ve been on our way back to the Clans since,” Thrushpaw ended. “You’ll accept Rope, Ribbon, and Beetle into PuffinClan, won’t you?”
“If this is the will of StarClan,” Maplesong muttered, glancing at Whalestar. The dead leader nodded. “The rest of our Clan may struggle to accept strangers into our ranks. I will try to make them welcome when you return.” Thrushpaw’s face expressed more gratitude than words could say.
“Now, let’s continue with our ceremony,” Whalestar declared, heading back to the horde of StarClan cats.
“What about the fighting?” Thrushpaw asked. “Is my family okay?” He stood just behind Maplesong, trying to appear taller than he was.
“They’re safe,” Whalestar promised. “Now can I continue with this ceremony, or will our impromptu reunion take up the rest of our time together?”
“Sorry,” Thrushpaw gulped. “Do I need to do anything?”
“Just bear witness,” Whalestar sighed. The crowd of StarClan cats shifted like the ocean. A gray and ginger molly, with orange eyes so dark they turned red, whose long fur hung on her slim frame, stepped out of the crowd. Maplesong thought he would see cats he recognized, but he did not know this molly.
“No need for the hesitant look,” the molly huffed. “My name is Robinroot. I trained Archpelt in the ways of the seer. I was the one whom Moon first spoke to with the prophecy of the seers, the one who set Thrushpaw’s quest in motion.” Robinroot approached Maplesong and touched her nose to his forehead. Maplesong was short enough that she had to bend down. “With this life, I give you little kindnesses, the essence of PuffinClan. Never forget the founding ideals of our Clan, for they make you shine.” A torrent of emotion flooded Maplesong’s chest. He cried out as the gratitude of a thousand favors filled his soul. Was this the power of a simple act of kindness, strong enough to shake a leader’s heart? He had to repay this gratitude to his clanmates.
“Maplesong?” Thrushpaw gulped, pressing against Maplesong’s shoulder.
“Nine lives are a painful experience, Thrushpaw,” Robinroot warned. “You must let him carry the burden. Step back.” Thrushpaw scampered towards StarClan, standing on the edge of the crowd. Robinroot took a spot to Maplesong’s far left as the next figure appeared. Thrushpaw gaped in horror as Rippedpool approached. Maplesong remembered the last moment he saw the deputy, scratching her nose before Charpatch dragged him back.
“Which of my warriors delivered the final blow?” he asked as Rippedpool stood in front of him.
“That doesn’t matter,” Rippedpool assured him. “That battle should never have happened.” She touched her nose to Maplesong’s head and the living deputy held his breath. “With this life, I give you observation. When traitors lurk in your midst and danger looms around the corner, you must be prepared.” Light burned Maplesong’s eyes. He could see everything; each blade of grass, each hair on Rippedpool’s sparkling pelt. His head pounded, unable to cope with all the information. He shook out the headache. When he opened his eyes, Rippedpool sat next to Robinroot and the third cat stood in front of Maplesong, tall and friendly.
“I should have sent someone with you, Archpelt,” Maplesong sighed, not wanting to look the dear seer in the eye. “You didn’t deserve to die.” Archpelt rested his chin on Maplesong’s bowed head.
“Breathe, Maplesong,” Archpelt cooed. “With this life, I give you peace. Use it well to rest and recover and cherish each breath in your lungs.” Maplesong braced himself for pain, but instead, warmth coated his fur. It was like laying on a warm rock on a summer’s day. Maplesong breathed, purring gently. Archpelt stepped back, taking a spot not too far from Thrushpaw. Maplesong could see the apprentice’s paws itch to run to his old mentor, but he stayed put, for another cat drew his attention.
“Those last two lives were a touch on-the-nose for current events,” Leafdapple laughed. Her tail flicked Maplesong’s nose. Kithood memories of Leafdapple sneaking Maplesong a piece of honeycomb made him purr as Leafdapple touched her nose to his head. “With this life, I give you pleasure. Use it well and balance the life of a leader with that of a cat. We all deserve a bit of happiness, don’t we?” While the last life sent warmth over his pelt, this life spread the warmth through his bones. Bliss and joy rippled through him like a storm, making his pelt prickle. When Leafdapple moved to sit with Archpelt, all Maplesong wanted to do was sleep.
“No time to rest, Maplesong,” a stern voice barked from the crowd. Newtstorm trotted out, once again catching Thrushpaw off guard. “I had to fight Cootspring to get this spot.”
“I’m glad to know you care,” Maplesong laughed as Newtstorm took the position, nose-to-head.
“Well, that’s what this life is about,” Newtstorm hummed. “With this life, I give you compassion. Use it well in welcoming the unfortunate into your fold and delivering forgiveness to those who may not deserve it.” The last two lives had been so wonderful, Maplesong yowled in pain as invisible forces pounded into his body. He didn’t fall, yet he couldn’t move as his bones snapped and splintered, his mind wavering.
She’s my enemy, but she tried to save me from my own stupidity. The thought did not belong to Maplesong. He said nothing as Newtstorm stepped back. He understood the message. Almost all the casualties of the war had given him lives. If Whalestar was waiting, still standing in front of the crowd, then there was one other cat Maplesong needed to see.
Beaverstone approached him with a cool gaze. He slowly scanned Maplesong. The deputy likely looked a mess from the pain. Beaverstone bowed low, ears lowered slightly. Maplesong copied him. After all, he was the StarClan cat. Beaverstone took the opportunity to touch his nose to Maplesong’s head.
“With this life, I give you respect,” Beaverstone declared. “Use it well and share it with everyone, from the smallest kit to the wildest rogue. We are all cats created by Sun and Moon and are all deserving of dignity.” Maplesong’s ears rang. He felt dizzy, as though he had been thrown up to the clouds. He could feel the gaze of the world upon him, yet he wasn’t alone. Soft pelts brushed against him, each one strong and capable. It was less painful than most lives, but it took him a moment to gather himself. Newtstorm moved aside so Beaverstone could sit beside Rippedpool in the line-up.
The next cat to approach was another Maplesong didn’t know, a black striped molly with a white underside. When she emerged, Thrushpaw couldn’t hold himself back.
“Luanne?” he gasped. Robinroot quickly shushed him.
“You’re the molly Thrushpaw mentioned in his story,” Maplesong realized as Luanne sat in front of him. “The one who died escaping the colony.”
“StarClan has allowed me to watch over my kits and their descendants,” Luanne purred. “My story is a warning, Maplesong. Honor the ones you love and the trust they’ve placed in you. Otherwise, I will be waiting.” Luanne’s dark eyes hardened for a second, and Maplesong couldn’t look away. Why did this declaration seem far more direct than the words let on? What sort of life could this loner give him?
Luanne touched her nose to Maplesong’s head and said “With this life, I give you sacrifice. Use it well when the time arrives to put your own safety and future at risk for your loved ones.” Maplesong had thought Newtstorm’s life would be the worst, but this… it lured him in with a false sense of security, a quick flutter of his heart, like when Elmpatch laughed or shared tongues with him. That flutter turned into a racing beat when claws dug into his skin. There was more than the sting of a wound, there was betrayal, a deep grief as he tried to understand where things went wrong. He couldn’t breathe as fangs tore into his throat. He couldn’t take it, he collapsed into the grass as Luanne retreated beside Archpelt and Leafdapple. This was the pain of the sacrifice Luanne made for her children. StarClan, it hurt. He couldn’t lift his head, his whole body shook.
“Hey, boss,” someone laughed over him. “Get up. You’ve still got a couple of lives left.” An old memory surfaced. Maplesong had been granted his first apprentice, Newtstorm’s spunky younger daughter. She insisted on calling him “boss”, because “Maplesong” felt too casual but anything else would be too formal. He looked up and saw a bright red molly with a swirling pelt and narrow gray eyes.
“Rowantail,” Maplesong croaked, gathering his strength. Rowantail helped him up, trilling softly.
“You’ve gotten this far,” Rowantail cheered. “Not long left to go.” She smashed her nose against Maplesong’s head. “With this life, I give you… let’s go with grace. Use it well so that the other Clans all know PuffinClan is under the protection of a strong leader.” Maplesong was on fire. He burned with the intensity of the sun as his muscles hardened and grew. He could do anything. He would do anything, show the Clans that he could lead PuffinClan.
“I’ll be waiting for you, boss!” Rowantail chirped. When she sat next to Luanne, she completed the half circle that formed around Maplesong. Whalestar connected the circle, striding up to Maplesong and putting his cold nose against his head.
“With this life,” Whalestar sighed, “I give you duty. Use it well and serve PuffinClan for as long as you have a clear mind and strong heart.” Maplesong spasmed as time and memory blurred together. His name drifted away, was it Maplesong or Maplepaw? Who was the deputy? Was it him? Maplesong panicked, he needed to remember, he had a responsibility to his Clan! Yet as Whalestar stepped back and reformed the half circle, Maplesong realized something. Despite all the things Whalestar forgot, he never forgot his duty to PuffinClan.
“I hail you by your new name, Maplestar,” Whalestar declared, tail high. “Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants you the guardianship of PuffinClan. Defend it well; care for the young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”
“Maplestar!” StarClan cheered. “Maplestar!” Thrushpaw raised his voice among his ancestors. Maplestar nodded, trying to come up with an intelligent response for such a grand occasion. He did it. He had his name and his nine lives. So what now?
“Congratulations, Maplestar,” Leafdapple purred. “You’ve done well. Before you return to your body, there is something you and Thrushpaw must hear.” She padded to the beach, waving the two toms after her. Maplestar and Thrushpaw were quick to obey. Leafdapple sat along the border of pebbles and sand, staring out at the ocean. Occasionally, the whale Maplestar saw earlier would gently breach the water before diving back down. Maplestar looked back to the crowd of StarClan cats, but, unsurprisingly, they were gone. He sat beside Leafdapple.
“What is it?” Thrushpaw asked, tucking his tail under his paws when he sat.
“It’s about Murkstream and her role in the prophecy,” Leafdapple explained. “Thrushpaw, you’ve been confused as to what would happen to her once you return with the seers. What is your theory?”
“You told me that the stargazers had to rest,” Thrushpaw remembered, claws scratching the soft sand. “Does she have to stop being a seer?” Maplestar gaped at the pair. Murkstream was a talented seer, why would she have to stop speaking to StarClan?
“There is a future,” Leafdapple hummed, tail dragging through the pebbles, “where Murkstream remains in her position, just as there is a future with Mountainleap retaining his role. Can you guess what will happen to Mountainleap in this alternate future?” Thrushpaw shook his head. Despite being the leader, Maplestar seemed far out of his depth with this conversation. “He will die.”
“So you’re saying Murkstream is going to die?” Maplestar stammered. Leafdapple moved so she faced the living toms. Maplestar hissed as her eyes began to glow.
“Maplestar, it’s alright!” Thrushpaw promised. “It’s a prophecy! Or… or a vision, maybe?”
“This is what you experience as a seer?” Maplestar gulped. His vision grew fuzzy. No, not fuzzy, gray. He wasn’t losing consciousness, he was painfully aware of what was going on. The world was losing its color .
The ocean darkened like a rising storm. The creamy sand turned a dull white. Leafdapple remained unaffected, but when the drain touched Maplestar’s paws, his dark red fur turned black. Cold aches spread through his body, like rats nibbling his muscles. Thrushpaw tried to shake the color back into his pelt, but his brown fur turned dark gray. Everything existed on a plane of black and white.
“What is this about?” Maplestar demanded. The glow of Leafdapple’s eyes flashed before fading completely. The color of the world returned like emerging from cold water, sudden and harsh. Thrushpaw shivered.
“Was that Murkstream’s future?” the young apprentice asked.
“Maplestar,” Leafdapple sighed, ignoring Thrushpaw. “You must prepare Murkstream for the new world Thrushpaw brings. Keep the color alive.” Maplestar’s senses blurred. He felt loopy, as though half asleep. He stumbled, falling into the sand. Shapes and color combined, changing from the peaceful territory of StarClan to the dark Hollow.
Murkstream blinked, getting to her paws quickly. Maplestar shook out the confusion and sat up.
“I wasn’t there,” Murkstream muttered, fear in her eyes. “Did you see StarClan? What went wrong?”
“I have my nine lives,” Maplestar promised, tail brushing against Murkstream. “I don’t know why you weren’t there. Maybe Archpelt was wrong about seers witnessing the ceremony?” He didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth yet. What could he say? That Murkstream would drain the color from PuffinClan if she remained a seer? That StarClan had cast her aside for the role she loved?
Breezeclaw glanced into the Hollow. The faint outline of dawn crawled across the eastern sky. Had the ceremony really lasted all night? Was that normal?
“Maplestar?” Breezeclaw whispered. Maplestar nodded, the confusion of Leafdapple’s vision replaced by a kit-like burst of enthusiasm. He was the leader of PuffinClan!
“We should get back to camp,” Murkstream grumbled. “You’ll need to tell me what happened during the ceremony, Maplestar.”
“I will,” Maplestar assured her. “Thank you, Breezeclaw, for keeping watch. Did you see anyone?”
“There was a loner,” Breezeclaw admitted as Murkstream and Maplestar left the Hollow. “He didn’t pose any threat. He said he lives outside ElkClan territory and heard someone mention the Hollow. I kept him away.”
“There’s a lot to do,” Maplestar sighed, turning for home. The pain of the ceremony was a distant memory. He was stronger and faster than ever before. He was a leader, racing through the hills as his clanmates hurried behind him.
Maplestar made eye contact with Brownleap when he, Breezeclaw, and Murkstream stood at the lip of the camp. The stranger in a strange Clan had been listening to her kits babble, forming broken sentences, while Shimmerblaze gave the kittens a check-up. When she saw Maplestar, she got to her paws and bowed, head low and tail high like a stretch. Shimmerblaze tilted their head before they looked back at who Brownleap bowed to.
“Maplestar’s here!” Codpaw yelped, racing out of the apprentice’s den. Maplestar and the others entered camp as cheers and congratulations filled the dip. Maplestar nodded to everyone, pride rushing through him. Most of the cats in camp that morning were the most injured from the war, he noted.
“We aren’t bowing?” Brownleap gulped, scampering out of her bow.
“Why would we?” Shimmerblaze asked.
“That’s what you’re supposed to do when a leader returns from getting their nine lives,” Brownleap explained, as though it was obvious. “My mother said it shows them respect.”
“This isn’t CliffClan,” Murkstream grumbled, trotting past the queen. “We’re all equals in StarClan’s eyes. We don’t bow.” She entered the holy den while Brownleap dipped her chin, trying to hide her embarrassment. Deerwhisker had been watching the Clan from the boulder, but hopped down when Maplestar approached.
“Did everything go alright?” Deerwhisker asked.
“I have my lives,” Maplestar purred. “You seem to have taken to your new role like a bird to flight.”
“The rock allows me to see if anyone needs my help,” Deerwhisker chuckled with a lick of her chest. “We finished discussing reparations with CliffClan last night: our focus will be on sharing herbs while CliffClan shares in hunting, as they chased off so many of our rabbits.”
“I’m impressed,” Maplestar admitted. “I was clueless on my first day as deputy.”
“It’s more like motherhood than mentorship,” Deerwhisker laughed. “I’ll be staying in the nursery until Dustkit and Troutkit are apprentices, by the way. Their care comes before being a deputy, and I won’t apologize for that.”
“Alright,” Maplestar conceded. He had not expected Deerwhisker to be so prepared. He knew she was competent, that was why he chose her, but he thought he would play a more guiding role in her new position. It seemed Deerwhisker barely needed him. “Well, uh, I assume we have hunting patrols out?”
“I sent Snailnose to ElkClan and Ibisleap to SealClan to inform them of the war’s end and ask for spare herbs,” Deerwhisker said with a nod. “That reminds me, Dustkit wants to be a healer when she’s older. Since Shimmerblaze has been so overworked with the wounded, I’ve sent Dustkit to help with minor tasks, like delivering herbs to resting warriors.”
“That’s smart,” Maplestar agreed, a little dumbfounded. “I’ll be thinking of mentors for Troutkit in the three main roles. I promise to get your approval before the counselors make their final call.”
“Thank you, Maplestar,” Deerwhisker sighed. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been up all night.”
“Yes, get some sleep,” Maplestar insisted as Deerwhisker trudged to the nursery. “Thank you.” Deerwhisker shared a gentle word with Brownleap and licked Dovekit on the head before she entered the nursery. Was this what leading the Clan would be like when Maplestar did not have to rely on himself for all matters? His deputy, seer, and healer were all intelligent and capable cats. He had the freedom given to a leader to gather advice from all three without sneaking around Whalestar’s back, blocked by a thorn wall that forever surrounded Maplesong the deputy. Maplestar had burned that thorn wall away, but he still found himself sneaking around the brambles.
“Maplestar,” someone purred. Codpaw pranced behind the leader, tail swishing with excitement. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to call you that! No one else can claim to have a leader as their mentor, that’s for sure!”
“Alright, don’t brag about it,” Maplestar cautioned with a trill.
“You’ll still be able to train me, right?” Codpaw groaned. “We’ve barely done anything all moon.”
“Well, I’ve been busy,” Maplestar huffed. “You don’t need constant supervision anymore. You can take some initiative around camp.”
“Let’s train now,” Codpaw insisted. “Maybe a lesson on, you know, trauma? How to handle recovery from battle?” Maplestar should never have been Codpaw’s mentor. Tthe only reason he was chosen was that Whalestar forgot he was deputy. Still, he did have a responsibility to guide Codpaw, craft them into the best counselor they could be. With the patrols and war recovery planned out, he could take the time to train his apprentice.
“You’ve learned about trauma with Tallfur and her experience with the eagle picking her up,” Maplestar sighed, scooting closer to the rock so his voice wouldn’t carry. “Ospreystep has shown some of the same trauma when cats approach her without warning. Trauma from combat can appear differently than trauma from a life-threatening situation. Do you understand why?”
“Tallfur didn’t have any control when the eagle grabbed her,” Codpaw explained, sitting next to her mentor, “and Ospreystep couldn’t fight against Mistblossom. But warriors choose to fight. They have some control.”
“They are also the ones who inflict pain on others,” Maplestar added. “Justified pain, but our souls don’t discriminate. That adds more suffering on all sides. That’s why there are two cats I want you to talk with by the end of the day. When CliffClan performed their raids to scare our prey, Hollyshine fought with Beaverstone, one of their story-keepers. Beaverstone later died from his wounds. Hollyshine won’t be sent to trial, we’ve decided the actions of the war will be forgiven. However, he’ll need to take the time to process that he killed someone, now that the fighting is done.”
“So I’ll talk to him,” Codpaw finished Maplestar’s thought. “Who else?”
“See if you can find out who killed Rippedpool,” Maplestar pointed out. “They may need help.”
“Any techniques I should use?” Codpaw asked. “Do you have anything new to teach me?”
“The behaviors you know will serve you,” Maplestar assured her. Ginger danced in the corner of his eye. Elmpatch trotted into camp, leading her hunting patrol with Cliffstripe and Hollyshine. A small hare hung in her teeth. Maplestar calmed his racing heart. “Hollyshine’s just returned. Try to talk to him now. Come back once you’ve talked with both warriors.”
“Yes, sir,” Codpaw chirped. They scrambled away, hurrying up to Hollyshine. Maplestar nodded. His apprentice had grown past the stubborn kit who was only interested in diplomacy. But that wasn’t his focus now, Elmpatch was there! Maplestar was the leader, the war was over… maybe this was his chance to tell Elmpatch how he felt. Elmpatch placed her hare on the fresh-kill pile as Maplestar approached.
“Oh, Maplesong,” she gulped. “I mean Maplestar, I’m sorry. You’re back.”
“Good hunting?” Maplestar hummed, sniffing the prey.
“Not really,” Elmpatch admitted. “Did you need something?”
“I just wanted to talk.” He sat beside her.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No. We’re just two friends, having a conversation.”
“We’re still friends?” The question bit Maplestar’s lungs and caught his breath.
“Of, of course we are. You thought we weren’t?”
“You’re the leader now. Not just the deputy doing the leader’s job, the actual leader. That’s different.” Elmpatch poked her hare. “You’re really important. I’m just some dumb warrior.”
“You are not dumb.” Maplestar spoke with more anger than he wanted to, and quickly clawed the tone back. “Our friendship doesn’t have to change.”
“I’m smart enough to know that isn’t true.” Maplestar’s heart sank.
“So you would rather I treat you like any other clanmate?”
“I guess not. I’m glad you still want to be friends.” Maplestar perked his ears. “You’ve got the whole Clan to look after, though. I can’t expect life to be like it was yesterday.”
“No, I suppose not.” Maplestar stared at the leader’s den. His den now. He should have said something to Elmpatch before he left. Had he lost his chance?
“I’m going to see my moms,” Elmpatch sighed. “I’m happy you’re back. It’s the start of a new life.” She picked a robin out from the bottom of the fresh-kill pile and trotted to the elder’s den. Elmpatch was right, this was a new life (literally in Maplestar’s case). Maybe that meant friendship had passed and romance could grow!
“If you’re hoping to court Elmpatch, StarClan would approve,” Murkstream hummed, slipping around Maplestar and grabbing the hare. “Come, we’ve returned from a long trip. We’ve earned the right to eat.” Murkstream flicked her tail and headed back to the holy den. Maplestar hesitated before he joined her. Did StarClan still speak with Murkstream, even though they planned to replace her?
Nettlestone was testing out her back paw, gently putting weight on it as Murkstream and Maplestar entered. Brightpaw was asleep, cobwebs spread between her shoulders. Nettlestone limped to Maplestar and rested her chin on his head.
“I’ll get out of your fur,” she whispered. “Just wanted to congratulate you. You’re a good tom, Maplestar. You’ll do PuffinClan proud.” Nettlestone left the holy den, keeping her weight off her injured paw. Murkstream settled into her nest and pulled a spare close. Maplestar took that spot and began to eat. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he took the first bite.
“You’ll need to tell me what your nine lives were,” Murkstream explained. Maplestar took his time, mentioning each cat between bites. He left out Thrushpaw’s involvement, and described Luanne as “a unique guardian for the Clans.” If Murkstream was suspicious, she said nothing.
“I should gather a list from Shimmerblaze of all the herbs we need,” Maplestar noted, glancing at the bare stores. “Autumn is a wonderful time for stockpiling.”
“There’s something else you should do today,” Murkstream added. “You should hint to the mates and mollies that if they want kits, they should get to it.” Maplestar gaped at Murkstream, who rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Maplestar. PuffinClan could use more kits.”
“They’ll be born at the start of winter,” Maplestar pointed out. “Should we really be encouraging that?”
“Better than the middle of winter,” Murkstream huffed. “Do you want a summer without apprentices? Half the Clan knows you like Elmpatch. Make her understand what you want and see what comes of it. You’ll be grateful you finally did something when you have tiny red kits racing about.” Maplestar chewed on the hare’s shoulder to avoid answering. Should he be listening to Murkstream’s advice, knowing what that future would bring?
Maplestar found many reasons to avoid resting until nightfall. Whether he was hunting, checking in with Codpaw, noting Twigbrook’s progress on defending Snailnose and Brownleap in the upcoming trial, or even mentioning a second litter to a surprised Seabranch, he didn’t have to look at the leader’s den until Deerwhisker sent Tallfur and Swiftflake to guard the camp and everyone retired to the warrior’s den. He found himself sitting on the boulder staring into the den. It still reeked of Whalestar.
Claws itching in his feet, his missing claw burning, Maplestar approached the den. Codpaw must have replaced the nest when he was gone, for the matted moss was now freshly placed with feathers lining the edges. He plucked a feather from the nest and examined it. A puffin feather. How much had a name change transformed his position to his clanmates? He put the feather back and trudged towards the warrior’s den.
Haddockpath was awake and grooming herself when Maplestar stood outside the den. He didn’t want to wake up his Clan, but it would be difficult to explain himself in the morning. Was his old nest still there?
“Do you need someone, Maplestar?” Haddockpath wondered. Elmpatch, sleeping near the entrance that night, groaned and blinked, rubbing a paw over her face.
“Maplestar?” she mumbled.
“I’m no better than I was yesterday,” Maplestar sighed. “I’m the same tom doing most of the same tasks. The leader’s den is to distinguish the leader from their clanmates. I want to be one of you.” He squeezed against the den wall and settled in front of Ibisleap and Breezeclaw. “I’m sleeping with my Clan, as I always have.”
“Less talk, more snooze,” Elmpatch murmured, her tail flicking back at Maplestar’s nose. Haddockpath hummed and went back to grooming. The leader purred. For a moment, he was Maplesong once more.
Life seemed normal as Maplestar watched his Clan from the boulder the next morning. Shimmerblaze helped Brightpaw stretch her injured back, soothing the angered muscles. Twigbrook had a serious discussion with Snailnose and Brownleap while their kits wobbled around camp, their cousins eagerly trying to play moss ball. Shellkit’s claws had yet to retract, so she had clumps of moss stuck between her toes. Deerwhisker watched her kits from below the boulder, talking to Haddockpath about some training Brightpaw could accomplish while recovering. Nettlestone entertained Murkstream and Hollyshine with stories of her mother, Halfstar. It was even unseasonably warm, something Murkstream called a sign to work hard and resolve whatever issues with the war they could.
“Spare us a little kindness, Twigbrook,” Snailnose sighed. “Are we going to be separated?”
“There’s a good chance Maplestar will send Brownleap back to CliffClan with her kits,” Twigbrook explained. “Cross-Clan love is banned for a reason. When conflict arises over a Clan’s rights or the need for resources beyond what counselors are willing to offer, there is the chance that kin would have to fight one another.”
“I’m sorry, Twigbrook, but that’s a shallow argument,” Snailnose huffed, pressing into Brownleap. “Just look at Tallfur and Mistblossom after the battle. They were tearing into each other, but they ended up forgiving the other.”
“It takes a special maturity to separate friendships from the politics of interClan combat,” Twigbrook hummed. “Still, kits have to decide whether to honor their relation to their family in another Clan. Maybe it could work, but it isn’t up to me to change the code.”
“Brownleap, this is it,” Snailnose said, meeting his mate’s eyes. “This is how we start changing minds.”
“Snailnose, wait a moment,” Twigbrook warned. “If you really want to change the code, there’s something else to consider. Having a mate join another Clan may prove to cause more problems than it solves. The Clans have different cultures.”
“Brownleap can adapt,” Snailnose promised, licking her ear.
“Snailnose…” Brownleap sighed. Snailnose startled softly, one ear flicking.
“Our Clans aren’t that different,” Snailnose insisted. “We all follow the same rules.”
“Let’s not talk about this right here, please?” Brownleap begged, glancing at Maplestar. The leader did not hide his eavesdropping.
“There’s a cropping of rocks I used to stargaze on when I was young,” Twigbrook huffed. “Let’s go there. Tawnytide can watch the kits.” Brownleap nodded. Twigbrook led the pair out of camp. The once-happy couple walked with Twigbrook between them. As they left, Seabranch trotted into camp.
“Are there any counselors available?” she asked. Maplestar rose, ready to help, but Deerwhisker beat him to it.
“Your brother should be in the dirt place,” Deerwhisker hummed. “Was there activity at the ElkClan border?”
“Rainsong and Smalltail want reparations for raiding their camp,” Seabranch explained. “A piece of prey for each injured cat. Tallfur is keeping them busy.”
“Let’s see if we can cut that down, or replace prey with something else,” Deerwhisker huffed. “Grab Swiftflake when he’s done and head back to Tallfur.”
“Thank you, Deerwhisker,” Seabranch said. She quickly turned and jumped up the slope and out of camp. Maplestar sat back down. If Deerwhisker would handle all these little things, how would Maplestar fill his days? That was when Elmpatch slipped out of the warrior’s den and crossed camp, leaving and heading east. Maplestar watched her, curious. Another chance to talk!
“I’ll be back soon, Deerwhisker,” he sighed, hopping off the boulder. “I’m going hunting.” He paused, front paws on the next level of camp. He turned back to his deputy and said, stuffing down his pride, “Thank you for handling that.”
“It’s simply my job,” Deerwhisker purred with a twitch of her whiskers. “Be careful out there.” Maplestar climbed onto the hills. Elmpatch dipped under the crest of a hill and Maplestar trotted after her. This wasn’t creepy, he was just curious. He was going to tell her he was there, if she didn’t know already.
The color of the goldenrod field had dulled as autumn crept through the territories, but it still glimmered like a gold sunset as Elmpatch stepped through the flowers. Maplestar’s heart pounded. This was it. Confessing his love amidst the field of lovers? It was a sign from StarClan!
“Elmpatch!” Maplestar called. He charged into the flowers. Elmpatch waited for him, a little stunned.
“Hey,” she chirped. “Is this one of those “we’re still friends” moments or do you have something for me?”
“Something else,” Maplestar chuckled, claws sliding in and out. “Are you hunting?”
“This is a little embarrassing,” Elmpatch laughed with a lick of her chest. “I hoped no one would see me. I was going to find a sire.” Maplestar didn’t process the words. Well, his body did as cold desperation sunk through him. His mind merely thought no .
“Why?” he gulped, his paw reaching for her. He missed by a kit-step as Elmpatch paced through the flowers.
“I’ve thought about it a lot,” she admitted. “I talked to my moms and asked Haddockpath. I really want to spend time with young cats, and I’m not going to be a mentor anytime soon. Seabranch said the Clan needed more kits, so I thought I should go.”
“Right now?” Maplestar stuttered.
“Might as well,” Elmpatch hummed. “I could be a queen with my sisters. I’ll bring back some prey, I promise. I’ll keep hunting as long as I can.” She marched through the flowers. Words clawed up Maplestar’s throat. Not this, he had to stop it!
“Be my mate!” he yowled. The goldenrods stopped moving. Elmpatch poked her head out.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“Do you remember the Fire of the Long Heat?” Maplestar stammered. “We had ElkClan helping us around camp, and they weren’t happy. Flyflight’s fog-head was starting to kill her and I had to keep Twigbrook from ordering ElkClan like apprentices. That whole time, you were so happy. You made friends with the apprentices and tried to make ElkClan feel welcome.” He stepped closer as Elmpatch moved into full view. “I fell in love with you, Elmpatch. I’ve never had the courage to tell you. It was never the right time.”
“You want to be my mate?” Elmpatch repeated.
“Yes,” Maplestar purred. “I know it is sudden. We could wait to have a mating ceremony if you wish. I want to raise your kits.” Elmpatch blinked. Maplestar held his breath. This wasn’t working. Why did Elmpatch look ready to die? “Was this too much? We can take it slow. A few private hunting patrols would be nice.” Elmpatch’s ears drooped and Maplestar’s voice faded.
“I want to love you,” Elmpatch muttered, voice soft. “I know a lot of toms want to be with me, Tawnytide’s told me as much., but Maplestar, I… I don’t want romance. From anyone.” Maplestar sat, soaking in Elmpatch’s words. “Deerwhisker’s described how she felt for Archpelt, and I’ve never felt that way for anyone. You’re one of my closest friends, but romance? It’s not the same.” Maplestar’s future crumbled before him. He stood alone looking over the Clan, a leader apart from his old friends. There wouldn’t be anyone else for him. He sat hunched, unable to respond.
“Hey,” Elmpatch huffed. She shoved her muzzle against Maplestar’s shoulder. “Don’t be mad at me and don’t be mad at yourself.”
“I’m not mad, I’m scared!” Maplestar snapped, chest aching. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Is romance that important?” Elmpatch asked innocently. Maplestar gaped at her, clawing back a sudden rush of anger. “You have friends and family.”
“Don’t you remember what you said?” Maplestar snorted, keeping his voice steady.
“I thought we learned from that,” Elmpatch admitted. “Your friends are still friends and your family is your family, the relationship just changes a bit.” Maplestar laughed, watching Elmpatch’s casual movement like a lost friend returning.
“This is why I love you,” Maplestar chuckled, shaking his head.
“And I love you too,” Elmpatch purred like lightning in Maplestar’s blood, “but not as a mate. Is that okay?” Maplestar couldn’t be honest and say yes. He wanted to raise Elmpatch’s kits and be at her side.
“I’ll try to make it be okay,” Maplestar promised. He cleared his throat and tried to perk himself up. “Can I ask that you wait to find a sire until winter begins? I don’t want you to have kits only for them to die in the cold.”
“That gives me more time to beat you up,” Elmpatch chuckled, batting Maplestar’s ear. “Can I still train you?”
“Absolutely,” Maplestar purred.
“Then let’s go!” Elmpatch chirped. She marched through the goldenrods, lacking shame or embarrassment. Maplestar cleared his throat. How typical of Elmpatch, to bounce from one mood to another with such ease. Meanwhile Maplestar would have to wrangle a counselor when he returned to camp to work through everything. He followed Elmpatch through the goldenrod.
He stepped into the open fields, only to bump into Elmpatch’s flank. She stared into the distance, pupils narrow.
“Elmpatch?” Maplestar asked. Elmpatch stuffed her tail in his open mouth. As he gagged on her fur, he noticed what caught her attention. A silvery white molly rooted through a patch of betony and marsh woundwort, one of the many fields Shimmerblaze and the healers of old cared for. Maplestar unsheathed his claws as Hailbranch carefully plucked betony stems from the earth, forming a small pile beside her.
“How do you want to handle this?” Elmpatch whispered, crouching. Maplestar copied her as Hailbranch picked up her pile of betony and trotted for the territory’s edge.
“She’s not injured,” Maplestar muttered, “so where is she taking that?”
“Maybe she wants to make sure we can’t use it,” Elmpatch hissed. “She can’t destroy us with CliffClan, so she’ll do it herself!”
“Let’s stay back and see where she goes,” Maplestar whispered, sneaking after the murderer. Elmpatch stayed at his side, pawsteps in sync with his own. Was it wrong for him to imagine her as something more as he walked by his side?
Hailbranch kept a quick and focused pace, walking along the edges of the territory. Maplestar expected her to leave the Clans, but she eventually turned towards the Hollow and ElkClan territory, keeping away from the thick scent markers of the border. He couldn’t understand her plans.
Sunhigh shimmered through the clouds as Hailbranch finally veered away from the border into the thick trees beyond PuffinClan and ElkClan. Maplestar and Elmpatch left PuffinClan territory, slipping around thick vegetation. Camping near the ElkClan border, it was rather ingenious. Hailbranch knew CliffClan and PuffinClan would be limited here. The faded smell of blood drifted past Maplestar, accompanied by a thick curtain of herbs. Hailbranch approached a thick bramble bush, clumps of fur clinging to the thorns. She squeezed inside.
“We have her!” Elmpatch cheered quietly. “Do we kill her?”
“CliffClan and PuffinClan wouldn’t accept anything less,” Maplestar grumbled. He waved his tail for Elmpatch to crouch on the other side of the den entrance. Elmpatch obeyed as Maplestar took the other side. He stayed low, listening for Hailbranch inside.
“I gotta say, you can make a den in any old bush,” a strange voice laughed, “but you can’t make every bush a home.” Elmpatch shot Maplestar a confused look. Maplestar was equally bewildered.
“You heal best in your own nest,” Hailbranch sighed. “I’m sorry I took so long. Betony doesn’t grow close by.”
“Ah, I’m healed enough to be on my own for a while,” the stranger chuckled. Maplestar snapped out of it. He flicked his ears forward.
Elmpatch and Maplestar spun into the den entrance with a loud hiss, claws out and fur raised. Hailbranch stood over a dark gray tom covered in cobwebs and herbal remedies. Dry blood stained the webs and smashed his long fur.
“Back!” Hailbranch hissed, shielding the tom. “Get back!”
“Hey, I recognize you!” the tom gasped, staring at Maplestar. “You were sleeping in the tree!” Maplestar paused, fur lowering. “Did that Breezeclaw fellow tell you about me?”
“You’re the loner that wandered past,” Maplestar realized, attention darting between Hailbranch and the injured tom.
“Dolphin’s the name,” the loner explained. “Talk to ElkClan, they’d recognize me. Now can we all breathe and talk things through?”
“You should have left the territory when you had the chance,” Elmpatch growled, lips curled.
“Hold on!” Dolphin snapped, struggling to his paws. “Hailbranch here saved my life!”
“You don’t know what she’s done,” Elmpatch hissed, barely restraining herself. “She started a war between the Clans!”
“Dolphin, this isn’t your fight,” Hailbranch muttered, trying to push Dolphin back.
“Listen, that night your friend saw me, I got ambushed by a fox,” Dolphin explained, now shielding Hailbranch. “I would have died if Hailbranch hadn’t wandered past.”
“No one from the Clans would have helped him,” Hailbranch grumbled. “I couldn’t allow him to die when I could do something.”
“Do we take her, Maplestar?” Elmpatch asked, half ready to answer the question for Maplestar. His gut told him to let Elmpatch loose, allow her to enact her sister’s revenge, but something else made him falter.
“Codebreakers deserve a chance to explain themselves,” Maplestar growled. “Hailbranch, what do you have to say?”
“She already talked at the battle,” Elmpatch insisted.
“You were a counselor before your leadership,” Hailbranch sighed, sitting beside Dolphin. As she spoke, she stuck crumpled betony leaves into his dressings. There was no fear in her voice, only subdued resignation. “You know of deathberries and other poisonous plants?”
“Of course I do,” Maplestar grunted.
“Perhaps PuffinClan healers do this as well, but from the cultural drift between you and CliffClan, I assume not,” Hailbranch hummed. “In CliffClan, if a cat is dying and suffering and their end seems prolonged, we healers would feed them poison, typically after drowning their pain with poppy seeds and similar herbs.” Maplestar and Elmpatch gaped at Hailbranch, their horror evident. “It’s a sin a healer must bear to help our Clan. We must do what others are not comfortable with, put ourselves aside, and swim within the world of pain and ugliness. That’s what I have been doing these past moons.”
“So you knew what you were doing was wrong?” Maplestar clarified, fury clouding with confusion.
“Partially,” Hailbranch admitted with a twitch of her ear. “Dolphin, please stop moving, these leaves will help your wounds close.”
“You expect me to sit still when you talk about killing your patients?” Dolphin laughed as Hailbranch quickly stuffed leaves under a dressing along his back.
“I know murder and border crossing and the actions I took were against the code,” Hailbranch explained. “When I began my plan, I had to come to terms with the idea of spending my afterlife in the Eternal Tide for what I was about to do. But if I succeeded, I saw a better future for CliffClan and PuffinClan. The rivalry would fade. We would be strong with enough territory for us all, never worrying about prey running dry or a lack of warriors. I had to try.”
“You killed Archpelt,” Elmpatch hissed. “You don’t regret that, you don’t regret anything!”
“Regret?” Hailbranch chuckled, pausing her work. “Regret is more complicated than you make it out to be. You believe you either regret everything or nothing at all. That’s not the truth. Regret and satisfaction can mix together like ginger and black on a tortoiseshell’s pelt. I regret that cats had to die for my plan to succeed. I regret what I had to do and who I had to leave behind. I regret that everything was for naught. But I’m satisfied that I tried to give our kits a better world, that I was a skilled healer and saved many. I am satisfied that I must live in exile.”
“CliffClan wants your pelt,” Maplestar reminded her. “They’d rather have us drag your body to their camp than allow you to continue on.”
“There’s nothing I can say to that,” Hailbranch muttered, eyes closed. “I’ve cried my woes and accepted my consequences. But here’s where I have something new to share. Dolphin is one of many loners who travel around the territories and live beyond your borders. These cats need someone to treat their wounds and keep them alive. I can be that cat.”
“You want us to let you go?” Elmpatch spat.
“I can’t ask you to leave me be,” Hailbranch scoffed. “Dolphin is still injured and needs someone to care for him. He should be able to hunt in a couple of days. Here’s what I ask. Walk away this one time. Tell the Clans you scented me near the outskirts, but let me care for my patient. At the full moon, you’re free to hunt me as you wish.”
“We would never let you go, right Maplestar?” Elmpatch huffed with a quick glance to her leader. When Maplestar didn’t respond, she repeated “Right, Maplestar?” Maplestar thought of his nine lives. Compassion and respect from victims of the war, and peace . Peace, from someone who was murdered. But what about sacrifice and duty? These had to be the guiding principles of his leadership.
“You want us destroyed,” Maplestar muttered. “If we let you go, how do I know you won’t try to slaughter my Clan?”
“I wanted PuffinClan to merge with CliffClan, not be killed,” Hailbranch corrected. “I’m in exile. What would be the point of attacking you? Revenge? As though you had any say in my plans being revealed.”
“Revenge against CliffClan, then,” Elmpatch growled. “Martenpaw found you out. Wouldn’t you like to kill her?”
“Never,” Hailbranch spat with sudden fury, pupils flattening. “No matter what I have done, I would never attack her.”
“I feel like I should step out,” Dolphin gulped, trying to squeeze around the PuffinClan cats and failing.
“So, Maplestar?” Hailbranch scoffed. “What will it be?” It should have been an easy decision. Could they bring Dolphin to PuffinClan, heal him there? They didn’t have the prey to spare to a loner. Did Maplestar have the courage to execute someone and leave Dolphin to wither?
“Maplestar, I have a question,” Elmpatch suddenly chirped. She crouched, ready to strike at Hailbranch. “Are you planning to let Hailbranch walk out of here?”
“I…” Maplestar stammered as Dolphin slowly backed into a corner.
“Would I be sent to trial for murdering a murderer we already planned to kill?” she growled. Hailbranch unsheathed her claws. “Maplestar, as your friend and warrior, I’m going to make this decision for you.”
Elmpatch lunged at Hailbranch, yowling at the top of her voice. Hailbranch ducked, squirming under Elmpatch’s lithe body. Maplestar pounced at her and bit her tail as she scrambled out of the den. She kicked Maplestar in the muzzle, claws striking his teeth. Maplestar fell back. Hailbranch bolted into the trees, vanishing like silver smoke.
“No!” Elmpatch roared, stumbling out. “Where did she go?”
“Did you have to fight her in my den?” Dolphin snapped, limping towards her. “She was taking care of me, now what am I gonna do?”
“Your wounds have been treated,” Maplestar huffed, dismissing him with a flick of a tail. “You’ll be able to hunt. Elmpatch, why did you do that?”
“You were thinking of leaving her!” Elmpatch groaned, tail thrashing. “She doesn’t deserve to live a peaceful life outside our lands. She hasn’t been punished!”
“I was thinking of Dolphin’s safety,” Maplestar grunted.
“Well I would much appreciate it if you two went back to your own lands now, please and thank you,” Dolphin huffed. His tail slapped Maplestar’s face as he turned and limped back inside. “I hope you’re sorry!”
“Elmpatch,” Maplestar growled as the molly stalked off.
“I’m sorry, Maplestar, but you can’t have everything your way just because you’re the leader now,” Elmpatch snapped, facing him. “I can’t be your mate and I couldn’t let Hailbranch go. We can train later, I’m going back to camp to tell Deerwhisker.” Elmpatch trudged towards PuffinClan. Gritting his teeth, Maplestar followed.
After a long walk back to camp with the afternoon half gone, Maplestar and Elmpatch slipped towards Deerwhisker, who watched her kits eat. Deerwhisker’s ears turned to them and she stood.
“Maplestar, I have some news for you,” Deerwhisker said.
“So do we,” Elmpatch sighed.
“You better share your news first,” Maplestar suggested.
“Flounderfire returned from the border patrol near CliffClan after running into their counselors,” Deerwhisker explained, hesitating. “Lemmingstar is ready for Snailnose and Brownleap’s trial. She will send her inquisitor and witnesses here at sunhigh tomorrow. Did something happen?”
“You could say that,” Maplestar groaned.
A cold snap settled over PuffinClan as Snailnose and Brownleap faced Maplestar upon the boulder, Twigbrook between them. Deerwhisker sat below Maplestar, attention occasionally flickering to the nursery where Cliffstripe and Tawnytide wrangled the kits. Maplestar had participated in a few trials as deputy so he knew what to teach Deerwhisker about controlling the situation and allowing everyone to speak. He had stopped being surprised at her initiative, how she told her sister to keep Dovekit and Shellkit in the nursery to avoid distracting their parents, how she greeted Ottersnout, the trial’s inquisitor, how she gave his witnesses (Martenpaw and Lynxshine) time to speak with Brownleap and make sure she was alright. He couldn’t have everything his way, he remembered. Not only did he have to deal with the sting of heartbreak and the strange world of leadership, but Murkstream sat close by, ready to advise Maplestar should he call upon her. What could he tell her? That StarClan was sending a replacement? And then there was the matter of Hailbranch, whose pursuit he was more than willing to let the furious Deerwhisker lead. Shouldn’t he have the same fury?
“Maplestar,” someone whispered below, drawing Maplestar to the present. Deerwhisker slipped from her spot to meet his eyes. “Should we call the Clan to order?”
“Yes,” Maplestar coughed, trying to center himself. “So long as you’re ready.”
“During the trial, all those who wish to watch must stay to the side and stay quiet unless called upon,” Deerwhisker declared, looking over PuffinClan. Most of Snailnose’s kin (his grandmothers, Shimmerblaze, and Elmpatch, namely) sat outside the elder’s den. The story-keepers settled in while others lurked along the upper rims of camp, going about their hushed routines. “All those going hunting or otherwise continuing their duties, speak with Ibisleap until the trial’s end.” Martenpaw and Lynxshine sat behind Ottersnout. Both had the focused and distant stare of cats from the holy den. Maplestar pretended not to see Snailnose’s tail loop over Brownleap’s.
“Members of PuffinClan,” Maplestar called. “We are gathered today to bear judgment upon Snailnose and Brownleap. They are accused of cross-Clan mating, producing half-Clan kits and fostering disloyalty. We seek to decide what should become of their relationship. Ottersnout, are you prepared to share proof of their crimes?”
“I am, Maplestar,” Ottersnout chirped, his youth leaking through with a trill.
“Twigbrook, are you prepared to protect your Clanmates from judgment?” Maplestar asked.
“I am,” Twigbrook sighed.
“Snailnose, Brownleap, are you prepared to defend yourselves and accept your punishment, should there be need to punish you?”
“We do,” Snailnose huffed.
“Then let the trial commence,” Maplestar said, laying upon the boulder with his front paws dangling. “Let’s begin with your argument, Twigbrook.”
Most of what Maplestar heard as the day passed was old information. There was no denying the guilt of forbidden romance, but Twigbrook still insisted the two should be allowed to stay together, with Snailnose bearing whatever punishment is required for the deceit. Ottersnout, meanwhile, demanded a dissolution of the relationship and for Brownleap and her kits to return to CliffClan, where he promised the kits would be treated fairly and Brownleap would be able to earn back her Clan’s trust. The only dissent Deerwhisker had to quell were Swiftflake’s murmurings on loyalty.
When Martenpaw testified to her treatment of Brownleap and assistance in hiding the relationship, Maplestar had expected harsh, blunt questions about Martenpaw’s own loyalties. Yet Ottersnout and Twigbrook were gentle; not coddling, but simple and to the point. It seemed Martenpaw’s devotion to patient care (and the other, unspoken events) spared her from her own trial. She discussed what she knew of the relationship, what Brownleap had her do, and how she helped her escape CliffClan. Lynxshine was more of the same, recounting his role in the get-away and how he and Harriershade missed their big sister.
Snailnose and Brownleap were the only witnesses Twigbrook called. It was actually part of his argument. The relationship did so little to harm either Clan that no living soul knew of it until the reveal. They kept the same stance; they did not see one another during the war, they never discussed the plans of the other Clan, they did not hunt in the other’s land, and there had been no plans to abandon their homes until Brownleap’s safety was threatened. Deerwhisker had to snap at Ottersnout for badgering the pair (“You asked Snailnose the same question, do you plan to repeat everything you asked him or should we have Brownleap step down and save us all the time?”) and starting a debate with Snailnose over his code-changing dreams.
Maplestar began to space out when the story-keepers gave their final statements. It was only a sharp cough from Murkstream that brought him back just as Twigbrook finished speaking. He shook out his pelt and stood, staring at Snailnose and Brownleap.
“Before I retire to decide the outcome of this trial,” he explained, “do the accused have anything they wish to say?”
“We—” Snailnose began.
“I want to speak,” Brownleap declared, stepping to the front of the group. Snailnose startled, ready to question his mate’s decision, but Twigbrook shushed him.
“You have our attention, Brownleap,” Deerwhisker sighed.
“I’m not skilled in speeches, so give me a little kindness, if that’s how the phrase goes,” Brownleap huffed. “Snailnose and I try to appear united before you to show how much we love each other. Snailnose feels things deeply, and when he wants something, he imagines the greatest future for it. That’s what it was like when we started meeting along the border. He never wanted to hide. As soon as we realized we were in love, he started planning how we would tell our Clans and change the code to allow anyone to love any cat from any Clan. I’ve supported him because that’s what good mates do, but if I’m honest? I really don't care if the code changes. That’s not why I’m standing here.”
“Brownleap,” Snailnose stammered. Deerwhisker and Twigbrook shushed him again.
“Your dreams are beautiful, Snailnose,” Brownleap purred, turning to her mate. “I’d like that future, but I won’t be heartbroken if it doesn’t come to pass.” She looked back to Maplestar. He was rather impressed; the queen stared him in the eye and would not be the first to break. “I’m emotional as well. Martenpaw saw it, when I am scared, I am out-of-my-mind scared. When I’m angry, nothing will get me to back down. I am so angry at everything I’ve had to go through. PuffinClan wasn’t supposed to be my home. I don’t know your territory or your customs. I am a CliffClan counselor who believes warriors are the most important part of a Clan and needs to know what I’m doing with my day when I wake up. I wanted to love Snailnose and live with my siblings and kits in the caves. I had to run for my life with two kits in my jaws because I thought my clanmates would attack us! I don’t want to go back to CliffClan because I won’t be safe in CliffClan! And I wish this wasn’t the case! I wish I got to choose what I wanted rather than have everyone and everything tell me.” Brownleap’s voice shook as she raged. Everyone in the camp, even those barely paying attention to the trial, sat focused on her.
“And?” Maplestar prodded her.
“I see a better life for me here,” Brownleap begged, backing up to sit next to Snailnose. “Don’t force me away again.” She nuzzled into Snailnose’s neck. Two pairs of tiny eyes peeked out of the nursery. Dovekit and Shellkit watched their mother cry, the situation flying over them.
“If that is all,” Maplestar sighed, clearing his throat, “I will deliberate my decision. You will have my verdict as soon as possible.” Maplestar jumped off the boulder and entered Whalestar’s old den. He didn’t call it “his den”, rather the den for private meetings and discussion. Maplestar knew where his gut pulled him, but he had to think through the consequences of every decision.
Murkstream slipped inside, surprising Maplestar. As he paced the den, she sat in the corner.
“Whalestar always called the seers for their thoughts when he began deliberation,” Murkstream explained, noticing Maplestar’s confusion. “I hope you want to continue the tradition.”
“Go ahead and say your piece,” Maplestar sighed with a flick of his tail.
“Love between Clans is forbidden for a reason,” Murkstream huffed. “Send Brownleap and her kits back to CliffClan and be done with the relationship. Snailnose can be restricted to the intra-Clan issues a counselor handles. He can earn back the right to talk with ElkClan and SealClan, but it would be safe to ban him from CliffClan diplomacy. He would also have to be monitored at Gatherings.”
“I’ll consider it,” Maplestar said. “If you could leave me to think…”
“No discussion?” Murkstream hummed. “It’s alright if you disagree with me. You won’t offend me.”
“I’ll make my own decision,” Maplestar huffed, stopping in front of the seer.
“Maplestar, are you alright?” Murkstream asked, peering into his amber eyes. “Why the hostility?” Maplestar’s throat burned. Was this why a future with Murkstream turned the world gray? Were her opinions too harsh? If he listened to her, what would happen to PuffinClan?
“Murkstream, did you always want to be a seer when you were younger?” Maplestar asked, resuming his pacing. Murkstream paused, caught by surprise.
“I thought about being a healer,” Murkstream admitted. “I even toyed with being a story-keeper. I decided my build wouldn’t help the Clan hunt or fight.”
“I would disagree,” Maplestar said. “You have an analytical mind. You would do well.”
“I’m a seer,” Murkstream grunted, eyes narrowing.
“When Thrushpaw returns from his Lone Wandering,” Maplestar groaned, pausing, “when he finishes his training, you might want to consider becoming a story-keeper.”
“Why in the world would you suggest that?” Murkstream snapped. “You want me to give up my position?”
“No,” Maplestar insisted, speaking from his heart. “I just don’t know if you’re happy as a seer. Aren’t you lonely?”
“I have all of StarClan walking alongside me,” Murkstream grunted, turning to go. “Thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly content where I am.” She trudged into camp, abandoning Maplestar to the silence of his den.
“StarClan why,” he groaned, looking up. He breathed deep and rubbed his paws into the dirt, centering himself. Murkstream wasn’t important, he had to decide what to do with Snailnose and Brownleap. He couldn’t sit aside and allow history to run in circles. He had to be a proactive leader.
Maplestar left his den when the sun was halfway underground. The CliffClan cats, who had each found someone to talk to during the long wait, were the first to notice Maplestar climb onto the boulder. Snailnose and Brownleap had been half-asleep by the nursery, Dovekit and Shellkit at Brownleap’s belly. Twigbrook shook them away and ushered them to their spots. Deerwhisker hopped out of the nursery to stand underneath Maplestar.
“I have heard the evidence for and against Snailnose and Brownleap in regards to their crimes,” Maplestar declared, catching the attention of the rest of PuffinClan. “I have made my decision. Does either side have anything to add?” The camp was silent. Murkstream lurked at the edge of the boulder, staring at the leader. Maplestar nodded and turned to the sky.
“Warriors of StarClan,” he called, “may my words and actions today honor your sacred code and protect PuffinClan. Snailnose, Brownleap, I find you guilty of a cross-Clan romance, for this was never the point of your trial. I do, however, find you not guilty of disloyalty to either Clan. Your actions did nothing to harm PuffinClan or CliffClan. In fact, your relationship played a role in ending our war. Brownleap, if you wish to continue your relationship with Snailnose, you will have to stay in PuffinClan. You will be accepted as a true member of our ranks if that is your choice.”
“Thank you, Maplestar,” Brownleap purred, rubbing against Snailnose. Lynxshine deflated, tearing his eyes off his older sister. Murkstream slipped into the holy den, showing no sign of her inner thoughts.
“You will still have to bear punishment for breaking the code,” Maplestar reminded her. “Snailnose, you will be relegated to apprentice tasks for the next moon. You will be kept from diplomatic discussions and a senior counselor must accompany you out of camp, just as a mentor would escort their young apprentice. This means you will be forced to sleep in the apprentice’s den.”
“Yes, sir,” Snailnose chirped. Maplestar could have sent him into isolation for the full nine days, he doubted Snailnose would have cared.
“This trial is over,” Maplestar decreed. “Cats of CliffClan, Elmpatch will escort you back to your border.” Ottersnout bowed to Maplestar as Elmpatch stuck her head out of the warrior’s den. As Maplestar hopped off the boulder and Snailnose’s kin congratulated his half-victory, he lost sight of Elmpatch in the crowd. It was strange as he wandered to his new nest among the warriors. He solved one problem, transformed another, and still had many lurking over his shoulder. Why was leadership so different from being a deputy?