Post by tiger beetle on Nov 5, 2016 22:24:58 GMT -5
"intro" post
Fire and tiger have met again, and now the lake runs red with blood. Fire alone was supposed to save ThunderClan, but now they are left leaderless at the onset of a harsh, bitter leafbare…and it’s the fault of a ThunderClan cat. With ThunderClan weakened and the elements of nature closing in, their situation isn’t looking promising. And WindClan still will not let them rest. As dark shadows collect on ThunderClan’s horizon, will their spirit be enough to carry on their traditions? Or will this spell the end for the once-fierce Clan? (you can tell I wasn't into writing this part)
SPOILER ALERT!
Spoilers for books technically all the way up to The Last Hope, as well as mention in this post (not the story itself) of a scene in Tallstar’s Revenge. Some spoilers may not be distinguishable as actual spoilers, however, so if you’re willing to brave it, it can be read without too much danger starting after Long Shadows.
Warning: This fanfiction contains character death (including kit death), blood, several battles, and occasional implications of suicide. In addition, a couple of characters make some violent threats. None of these are depicted visually.
Note that it’s been a long time since I’ve had the time to write (and even longer since I’ve read Warriors, aside from a couple specific scenes in Sunset, Outcast, Eclipse, Long Shadows, and Sunrise that should all be evident in the writing), and this is the first and only draft of this fanfiction*, so please forgive the inevitable slip-ups and disjointed bits. (Planning Start Date: 10/22/15; Original Forum Post Date: 1/2/16)
Additionally: due to plot convenience, Goldenflower died in the badger battle, though she did not in canon, and I have shifted ages around since it’s hard to follow the Erins’ canon for the background characters (like seriously? Sunstrike came out of nowhere). (I should have gone back and edited, especially since this was posted all at once instead of chapter by chapter) I have not read anything published after The Sun Trail, so there will undoubtedly be inconsistencies there as well. Missing Kits is not taken into account either.
As for the tunneling issue: I am aware that Heatherstar ended it and that Heathertail claimed it was discontinued in the lake territories. However, this fanfiction operates under two assumptions. One, it was reinstated after Tallstar’s Revenge, because otherwise the elders would not have had any reason to search for tunnels at all. Two, Heathertail was lying; it would be difficult to miss a system as implicitly extensive as the one in the lake territories, and she would have wanted to keep some Clan secrets—remember that the other Clans don’t know of the tunnelers. The whole "where did the kits go" thing could be explained as WindClan simply not noticing the scent trail (since, you know, they kind of…didn't notice the scent trail). The fact that WindClan did not use the tunnels to invade before then could be as simple as that using the tunnels presents a danger to moor-runners, and they did not need to use the tunnels before the time they actually did. (look at all this handwaving for something I could have just outright changed in-story)
This wasn’t originally intended to be so long, but after I planned out each chapter, I realized it was almost as long as a six-book Warriors series. So it was supposed to be read entirely as one story, but it can also be read as six. That’s why there’s only one prologue and one epilogue.
Art: The backgrounds of the chapter heading images are all taken from official Warriors artwork; everything else is drawn by me.
Of note: I accidentally outlined over 170 chapters, and when cutting down the length (just a bit) I am afraid I cut out some content. So. There’s stuff missing. Whoops. (yeah because I'm a lazy writer…don't be like me)
No allegiances here, for reasons that will become apparent soon. I may eventually post a (very long) list of the cats in alphabetical order. (I have this list but never posted it)
Another important note: the beginning of the prologue is ripped directly from Sunset. That's why it switches from black to white; once it switches to white it's my own writing.
Hollyfrost14 of StoneClan
Back on wcf I was active on WFF around 2011 and early 2012, but I was never a major part of the WFF community. My old fanfictions were called Three United: Swiftpaw's Prophecy, Three United: Secrets of the Night, Sun and Shadows, Time, and Broken Glass. (I may revive and finish Time and repost Sun and Shadows here, but not yet.) I've technically been writing for a long time, but I don't have much to show for it: I have plenty of ideas but very little motivation. (have you seen my threads about these?)
If you know me, it's probably from my comics, I Am Very Strangeness. Shameless self-promotion! I also have a short story on here called Atrocity. I spend a good amount of time drawing characters and sketching comics.
There's not much else to say, really.
I have some other stories in the works, two of which might become Warriors fanfictions. There is also a possibility that I will eventually write a sequel series to this, but no promises. I have very basic ideas for it, but that is quite different from writing a whole story. (this is still true)
*Not enough for me to consider it a true revised draft, but I did make a few minor edits between posting it on wcf and posting it on wcrf. This was mostly to bring two particular chapters slightly closer to my initial conception of them, because I changed them somewhat to fit wcf rules. I also fixed the wording of a couple sentences that I happened to see were clumsy. If you find any egregious errors (especially remnants of html code from the wcf days), please feel free point out the mistake and the chapter in which it takes place.
prologue
(I should have saved the colors I used for the background, but I didn't…)
PROLOGUE
book one Nightfall
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SPOILER ALERT!
Spoilers for books technically all the way up to The Last Hope, as well as mention in this post (not the story itself) of a scene in Tallstar’s Revenge. Some spoilers may not be distinguishable as actual spoilers, however, so if you’re willing to brave it, it can be read without too much danger starting after Long Shadows.
Warning: This fanfiction contains character death (including kit death), blood, several battles, and occasional implications of suicide. In addition, a couple of characters make some violent threats. None of these are depicted visually.
Note that it’s been a long time since I’ve had the time to write (and even longer since I’ve read Warriors, aside from a couple specific scenes in Sunset, Outcast, Eclipse, Long Shadows, and Sunrise that should all be evident in the writing), and this is the first and only draft of this fanfiction*, so please forgive the inevitable slip-ups and disjointed bits. (Planning Start Date: 10/22/15; Original Forum Post Date: 1/2/16)
Additionally: due to plot convenience, Goldenflower died in the badger battle, though she did not in canon, and I have shifted ages around since it’s hard to follow the Erins’ canon for the background characters (like seriously? Sunstrike came out of nowhere). (I should have gone back and edited, especially since this was posted all at once instead of chapter by chapter) I have not read anything published after The Sun Trail, so there will undoubtedly be inconsistencies there as well. Missing Kits is not taken into account either.
As for the tunneling issue: I am aware that Heatherstar ended it and that Heathertail claimed it was discontinued in the lake territories. However, this fanfiction operates under two assumptions. One, it was reinstated after Tallstar’s Revenge, because otherwise the elders would not have had any reason to search for tunnels at all. Two, Heathertail was lying; it would be difficult to miss a system as implicitly extensive as the one in the lake territories, and she would have wanted to keep some Clan secrets—remember that the other Clans don’t know of the tunnelers. The whole "where did the kits go" thing could be explained as WindClan simply not noticing the scent trail (since, you know, they kind of…didn't notice the scent trail). The fact that WindClan did not use the tunnels to invade before then could be as simple as that using the tunnels presents a danger to moor-runners, and they did not need to use the tunnels before the time they actually did. (look at all this handwaving for something I could have just outright changed in-story)
This wasn’t originally intended to be so long, but after I planned out each chapter, I realized it was almost as long as a six-book Warriors series. So it was supposed to be read entirely as one story, but it can also be read as six. That’s why there’s only one prologue and one epilogue.
Art: The backgrounds of the chapter heading images are all taken from official Warriors artwork; everything else is drawn by me.
Of note: I accidentally outlined over 170 chapters, and when cutting down the length (just a bit) I am afraid I cut out some content. So. There’s stuff missing. Whoops. (yeah because I'm a lazy writer…don't be like me)
No allegiances here, for reasons that will become apparent soon. I may eventually post a (very long) list of the cats in alphabetical order. (I have this list but never posted it)
Another important note: the beginning of the prologue is ripped directly from Sunset. That's why it switches from black to white; once it switches to white it's my own writing.
Hollyfrost14 of StoneClan
Back on wcf I was active on WFF around 2011 and early 2012, but I was never a major part of the WFF community. My old fanfictions were called Three United: Swiftpaw's Prophecy, Three United: Secrets of the Night, Sun and Shadows, Time, and Broken Glass. (I may revive and finish Time and repost Sun and Shadows here, but not yet.) I've technically been writing for a long time, but I don't have much to show for it: I have plenty of ideas but very little motivation. (have you seen my threads about these?)
If you know me, it's probably from my comics, I Am Very Strangeness. Shameless self-promotion! I also have a short story on here called Atrocity. I spend a good amount of time drawing characters and sketching comics.
There's not much else to say, really.
I have some other stories in the works, two of which might become Warriors fanfictions. There is also a possibility that I will eventually write a sequel series to this, but no promises. I have very basic ideas for it, but that is quite different from writing a whole story. (this is still true)
*Not enough for me to consider it a true revised draft, but I did make a few minor edits between posting it on wcf and posting it on wcrf. This was mostly to bring two particular chapters slightly closer to my initial conception of them, because I changed them somewhat to fit wcf rules. I also fixed the wording of a couple sentences that I happened to see were clumsy. If you find any egregious errors (especially remnants of html code from the wcf days), please feel free point out the mistake and the chapter in which it takes place.
prologue
(I should have saved the colors I used for the background, but I didn't…)
PROLOGUE
BRAMBLECLAW
Brambleclaw stared down at his Clan leader. He still couldn’t move. He knew that all he had to do was tighten the noose around Firestar’s neck, and he would lose his remaining six lives at once. His gaze met Firestar’s, where his leader lay helpless in front of him. But there was no pleading in the green eyes, only a fierce, proud question: What will you do, Brambleclaw? It’s your choice.
Brambleclaw thought of how Firestar and Tigerstar had confronted each other, time after time. Each hated the other for what they stood for, the plans they had for their Clan. But Firestar had never needed to fight Tigerstar to the death. Scourge, the vicious leader of BloodClan, whom Tigerstar himself had invited into the forest, had killed him with a single blow.
This time it looked as though Tigerstar would win. Brambleclaw was aware of his father’s spirit close beside him, urging him on. Fool! Kill him now!
Closing his eyes, Brambleclaw remembered the clearing at Fourtrees, the blood pouring out onto the grass as Tigerstar lost all nine lives at once. He saw Scourge looking down at his twitching body with cold triumph. Was that what Hawkfrost and Tigerstar wanted him to become?
“Six lives…” he murmured. Six lives stood between him and the leadership of ThunderClan.
“That’s right,” Hawkfrost hissed. “This is our chance to take revenge on Firestar for our father’s death. He could have tried to stop Scourge, but he just stood there and watched Tigerstar die, over and over and over.” All I want is to lead my Clan, thought Brambleclaw.
And here he is. The only cat in the forest who could ever stand in my way. Was this really what he wanted? Could Brambleclaw kill Firestar—anyone—like this, in cold blood? (I really tried to keep a consistent style throughout, but I didn't do a very good job)
“Hawkfrost,” he murmured, pained. “This isn’t about revenge.”
(I had a lot of people back on wcf assume I hated Bramblestar--which isn't the case! I just needed him to do this one evil thing)
“Kill him now,” Hawkfrost ordered. “Kill him now, or we may never have another chance.”
Brambleclaw tensed, braced himself, and stepped toward Firestar. The leader attempted to meet his gaze, but he was weak now, too weak to lift his eyes. His tongue poked from his mouth, paler than it should have been, and his muscles had slackened. (look how dramatic)
“We shouldn’t do this.” Brambleclaw hated his own faltering voice. He was the senior warrior here; he needed Hawkfrost’s respect. Why do I need the respect of a RiverClan cat? he wondered briefly, but the thought was displaced by another: Why do I need Tigerstar’s respect? (the writing is clumsy)
The life had gone out of Firestar’s eyes, and Brambleclaw looked down at him, remembering again when his father had died. It was a pitiful sight: the leader was reduced to this still mass of fur, his glory all but nonexistent. Brambleclaw could feel Hawkfrost move closer. The RiverClan cat walked heavily, and his breath was hot on Brambleclaw’s pelt.
“This is all we have been waiting for,” Hawkfrost whispered. “No cat will ever know the difference, save for you and I.” (it was supposed to be part of Hawkfrost's characterization that he said dramatic things like this but I wasn't very good at it)
Brambleclaw took another step, avoiding the blood that had run from Firestar’s neck. Imaginary heat rolled over him as he bent down. Firestar shuddered and let out a gasp of pain; Brambleclaw recoiled, then stopped.
This was the cat who had nearly driven him from the Clan for the crime of looking like Tigerstar.
The snarl was still on Brambleclaw’s lips. Firestar stared back, almost emotionless—he was daring Brambleclaw to continue: What will you do? Anger surged through Brambleclaw, and defiantly he struck at the cord, pulling it tighter. He heard a terrible noise from Firestar—at the same moment he pulled, Firestar had tried to speak one last time, and it had come out as a tiny, sorrowful wail. (why though)
Still enraged, somewhat dazed, and put off by the sound, Brambleclaw lashed angrily at Firestar’s blood. He stumbled forward and found his forepaw on Firestar’s motionless ginger pelt. Brambleclaw felt like he was choking; he turned to face Hawkfrost, panting for air. He had never seen this look in another cat’s eye before—his half-brother’s blue eyes glittered icily, greedily, at the image of the dying leader. Brambleclaw looked down again: Firestar was alive, writhing in the noose, which was still around his neck—he looked away—This was not what I wanted—but Tigerstar was there, in his mind, telling him it was all right.
He stared off at the lake. The sunset tinted the water a deep orange-red to mirror Firestar’s final moments. (wasn't I just so clever)
“I hear Leopardstar has been a bit ill,” Hawkfrost meowed. His voice was lower and rougher than usual; the RiverClan warrior was holding back glee. Brambleclaw nodded before understanding, then shook his head again, backing away from Firestar without another look. “What do you say, Bramblestar?”
Brambleclaw started. He had forgotten. “I—yes,” he managed. Speaking broke the numbness. He had done it. He was the ThunderClan leader. Dirty though killing Firestar may have been, it was all for the greater good, and there were still more Clans to take care of. “I guess it’s time to get my lives, isn’t it.”
Hawkfrost nodded, his gaze impossible to read. “Yes, I guess it is. Well done. But I should head home; it wouldn’t be a good idea to get myself caught out here.”
Brambleclaw and Hawkfrost padded away in opposite directions down the lakeshore. The ThunderClan cat waded ankles-deep into the lake, rubbing his paws in the sandy mud. The blood of the cat he had tried so hard to respect floated free from his forepaws, shockingly dark against the dull lakebed, shockingly bright against the murky water. Glancing over his shoulder Brambleclaw saw his brother slip into the lake and swim away. The blood trails, already diffusing into nothing, seemed almost to be tugged in Hawkfrost’s direction by the ripples his strong strokes caused.
Brambleclaw slogged through the water toward the Moonpool. He was worried now: his Clan would find Firestar’s body, and there was bound to be investigation. But what did they know? Birchpaw had said he was to meet Blackstar there, and no one but himself could distinguish Hawkfrost’s scent from any other RiverClan cat—except possibly Leafpool, who would certainly know Mothwing’s scent if she smelled it. And no one could know for certain that he had stepped on Firestar before the tom had died. I was investigating the murder, he told himself, like a deputy should. They will believe me. Leafpool—
And that was just it! Leafpool said StarClan told her he should be the new deputy. He knew better than to doubt Leafpool’s integrity, and StarClan was never wrong. StarClan itself sanctioned his—it wasn’t a murder, really, was it? not if StarClan approved?—of Firestar. (why did I get so fancy)
Now that the sun was gone the water was frigid, permeating his pelt and sloshing around his paws, but he had reached the stream that led to the Moonpool. The running water was crueler than the still lake water had been, but it brought back a nostalgic flow of memories of his time with Stormfur and Feathertail at the Tribe of Rushing Water. Like Feathertail, he would be a hero for two groups of cats. My family and my Clan.
Spurred on by his memories, and remembering just how cold the waterfall in front of the cave entrance had been, Brambleclaw barely felt the stream around his feet. When he had nearly reached the Moonpool he climbed out of the water and dried his paws on the grass.
His ceremony of nine lives seemed rather terse, but he supposed he had never really known what to expect, and it could have been anything. StarClan said nothing of Firestar’s death, although a small bunch of cats muttered amongst one another about his lack of a medicine cat and whether this was the right thing to do. (doesn't he need Leafpool there? for all my hangups about ceremonies I sure forgot a lot)
He received his lives from more familiar than unfamiliar cats. Whitestorm, whose death he had avenged long ago, gifted him compassion; Feathertail—seeing her struck him with a sudden pang of guilt, but she was gentle, if clearly upset—gave devotion. A small black kitten he had never seen with a gait mirroring Hawkfrost and Mothwing gave him loyalty. Goldenflower spoke almost ruefully of a mother’s love. A Tribe cat warily thanked him for helping save his family and gave him the power to look beyond himself. A tortoiseshell tom with a long, brilliant ginger tail gave him an extraordinarily painful life with what sounded like a warning about the power to change the future. Mudclaw, the former WindClan deputy, told him that sometimes a storm was just a storm and gave caution, saying wisdom outweighed a name. Bluestar and Firestar both appeared, granting clear judgment of character and the courage to make the most painful decisions. The gathered StarClan cats chanted his name less than enthusiastically—Mudclaw never broke eye contact. (by the way, we have a few arc words in here)
(so I used Whitestorm and Feathertail for obvious reasons…
according to the DocumentationTM, the Tribe cat is named Feather Drifting through Bright Sky (Feather), he's a gray and white tom with green eyes, and I guess I used him because I didn't know who to kill off from the canon cats?
Tadpole and Goldenflower are kind of obvious, but I had to retroactively kill off Goldenflower in Twilight to get her to be dead here
Redtail is here because Tigerstar killed him, of course; Mudclaw is here for the whole deputy thing
Firestar is there because I always made the previous leader give the new leader their ninth life; I know there's no canon basis for this, but it was true of Bluestar to Firestar, and I liked its symbolism
Bluestar is there because I couldn't think of a better cat to add)
Upon waking Bramblestar traveled cautiously to camp, flinching at every twig and leaf he stepped on in his exhaustion. (look at this I couldn't figure out where to go from there)
He was not welcomed quietly. (or, like, at all)
Brambleclaw stared down at his Clan leader. He still couldn’t move. He knew that all he had to do was tighten the noose around Firestar’s neck, and he would lose his remaining six lives at once. His gaze met Firestar’s, where his leader lay helpless in front of him. But there was no pleading in the green eyes, only a fierce, proud question: What will you do, Brambleclaw? It’s your choice.
Brambleclaw thought of how Firestar and Tigerstar had confronted each other, time after time. Each hated the other for what they stood for, the plans they had for their Clan. But Firestar had never needed to fight Tigerstar to the death. Scourge, the vicious leader of BloodClan, whom Tigerstar himself had invited into the forest, had killed him with a single blow.
This time it looked as though Tigerstar would win. Brambleclaw was aware of his father’s spirit close beside him, urging him on. Fool! Kill him now!
Closing his eyes, Brambleclaw remembered the clearing at Fourtrees, the blood pouring out onto the grass as Tigerstar lost all nine lives at once. He saw Scourge looking down at his twitching body with cold triumph. Was that what Hawkfrost and Tigerstar wanted him to become?
“Six lives…” he murmured. Six lives stood between him and the leadership of ThunderClan.
“That’s right,” Hawkfrost hissed. “This is our chance to take revenge on Firestar for our father’s death. He could have tried to stop Scourge, but he just stood there and watched Tigerstar die, over and over and over.” All I want is to lead my Clan, thought Brambleclaw.
And here he is. The only cat in the forest who could ever stand in my way. Was this really what he wanted? Could Brambleclaw kill Firestar—anyone—like this, in cold blood? (I really tried to keep a consistent style throughout, but I didn't do a very good job)
“Hawkfrost,” he murmured, pained. “This isn’t about revenge.”
(I had a lot of people back on wcf assume I hated Bramblestar--which isn't the case! I just needed him to do this one evil thing)
“Kill him now,” Hawkfrost ordered. “Kill him now, or we may never have another chance.”
Brambleclaw tensed, braced himself, and stepped toward Firestar. The leader attempted to meet his gaze, but he was weak now, too weak to lift his eyes. His tongue poked from his mouth, paler than it should have been, and his muscles had slackened. (look how dramatic)
“We shouldn’t do this.” Brambleclaw hated his own faltering voice. He was the senior warrior here; he needed Hawkfrost’s respect. Why do I need the respect of a RiverClan cat? he wondered briefly, but the thought was displaced by another: Why do I need Tigerstar’s respect? (the writing is clumsy)
The life had gone out of Firestar’s eyes, and Brambleclaw looked down at him, remembering again when his father had died. It was a pitiful sight: the leader was reduced to this still mass of fur, his glory all but nonexistent. Brambleclaw could feel Hawkfrost move closer. The RiverClan cat walked heavily, and his breath was hot on Brambleclaw’s pelt.
“This is all we have been waiting for,” Hawkfrost whispered. “No cat will ever know the difference, save for you and I.” (it was supposed to be part of Hawkfrost's characterization that he said dramatic things like this but I wasn't very good at it)
Brambleclaw took another step, avoiding the blood that had run from Firestar’s neck. Imaginary heat rolled over him as he bent down. Firestar shuddered and let out a gasp of pain; Brambleclaw recoiled, then stopped.
This was the cat who had nearly driven him from the Clan for the crime of looking like Tigerstar.
The snarl was still on Brambleclaw’s lips. Firestar stared back, almost emotionless—he was daring Brambleclaw to continue: What will you do? Anger surged through Brambleclaw, and defiantly he struck at the cord, pulling it tighter. He heard a terrible noise from Firestar—at the same moment he pulled, Firestar had tried to speak one last time, and it had come out as a tiny, sorrowful wail. (why though)
Still enraged, somewhat dazed, and put off by the sound, Brambleclaw lashed angrily at Firestar’s blood. He stumbled forward and found his forepaw on Firestar’s motionless ginger pelt. Brambleclaw felt like he was choking; he turned to face Hawkfrost, panting for air. He had never seen this look in another cat’s eye before—his half-brother’s blue eyes glittered icily, greedily, at the image of the dying leader. Brambleclaw looked down again: Firestar was alive, writhing in the noose, which was still around his neck—he looked away—This was not what I wanted—but Tigerstar was there, in his mind, telling him it was all right.
He stared off at the lake. The sunset tinted the water a deep orange-red to mirror Firestar’s final moments. (wasn't I just so clever)
“I hear Leopardstar has been a bit ill,” Hawkfrost meowed. His voice was lower and rougher than usual; the RiverClan warrior was holding back glee. Brambleclaw nodded before understanding, then shook his head again, backing away from Firestar without another look. “What do you say, Bramblestar?”
Brambleclaw started. He had forgotten. “I—yes,” he managed. Speaking broke the numbness. He had done it. He was the ThunderClan leader. Dirty though killing Firestar may have been, it was all for the greater good, and there were still more Clans to take care of. “I guess it’s time to get my lives, isn’t it.”
Hawkfrost nodded, his gaze impossible to read. “Yes, I guess it is. Well done. But I should head home; it wouldn’t be a good idea to get myself caught out here.”
Brambleclaw and Hawkfrost padded away in opposite directions down the lakeshore. The ThunderClan cat waded ankles-deep into the lake, rubbing his paws in the sandy mud. The blood of the cat he had tried so hard to respect floated free from his forepaws, shockingly dark against the dull lakebed, shockingly bright against the murky water. Glancing over his shoulder Brambleclaw saw his brother slip into the lake and swim away. The blood trails, already diffusing into nothing, seemed almost to be tugged in Hawkfrost’s direction by the ripples his strong strokes caused.
Brambleclaw slogged through the water toward the Moonpool. He was worried now: his Clan would find Firestar’s body, and there was bound to be investigation. But what did they know? Birchpaw had said he was to meet Blackstar there, and no one but himself could distinguish Hawkfrost’s scent from any other RiverClan cat—except possibly Leafpool, who would certainly know Mothwing’s scent if she smelled it. And no one could know for certain that he had stepped on Firestar before the tom had died. I was investigating the murder, he told himself, like a deputy should. They will believe me. Leafpool—
And that was just it! Leafpool said StarClan told her he should be the new deputy. He knew better than to doubt Leafpool’s integrity, and StarClan was never wrong. StarClan itself sanctioned his—it wasn’t a murder, really, was it? not if StarClan approved?—of Firestar. (why did I get so fancy)
Now that the sun was gone the water was frigid, permeating his pelt and sloshing around his paws, but he had reached the stream that led to the Moonpool. The running water was crueler than the still lake water had been, but it brought back a nostalgic flow of memories of his time with Stormfur and Feathertail at the Tribe of Rushing Water. Like Feathertail, he would be a hero for two groups of cats. My family and my Clan.
Spurred on by his memories, and remembering just how cold the waterfall in front of the cave entrance had been, Brambleclaw barely felt the stream around his feet. When he had nearly reached the Moonpool he climbed out of the water and dried his paws on the grass.
His ceremony of nine lives seemed rather terse, but he supposed he had never really known what to expect, and it could have been anything. StarClan said nothing of Firestar’s death, although a small bunch of cats muttered amongst one another about his lack of a medicine cat and whether this was the right thing to do. (doesn't he need Leafpool there? for all my hangups about ceremonies I sure forgot a lot)
He received his lives from more familiar than unfamiliar cats. Whitestorm, whose death he had avenged long ago, gifted him compassion; Feathertail—seeing her struck him with a sudden pang of guilt, but she was gentle, if clearly upset—gave devotion. A small black kitten he had never seen with a gait mirroring Hawkfrost and Mothwing gave him loyalty. Goldenflower spoke almost ruefully of a mother’s love. A Tribe cat warily thanked him for helping save his family and gave him the power to look beyond himself. A tortoiseshell tom with a long, brilliant ginger tail gave him an extraordinarily painful life with what sounded like a warning about the power to change the future. Mudclaw, the former WindClan deputy, told him that sometimes a storm was just a storm and gave caution, saying wisdom outweighed a name. Bluestar and Firestar both appeared, granting clear judgment of character and the courage to make the most painful decisions. The gathered StarClan cats chanted his name less than enthusiastically—Mudclaw never broke eye contact. (by the way, we have a few arc words in here)
(so I used Whitestorm and Feathertail for obvious reasons…
according to the DocumentationTM, the Tribe cat is named Feather Drifting through Bright Sky (Feather), he's a gray and white tom with green eyes, and I guess I used him because I didn't know who to kill off from the canon cats?
Tadpole and Goldenflower are kind of obvious, but I had to retroactively kill off Goldenflower in Twilight to get her to be dead here
Redtail is here because Tigerstar killed him, of course; Mudclaw is here for the whole deputy thing
Firestar is there because I always made the previous leader give the new leader their ninth life; I know there's no canon basis for this, but it was true of Bluestar to Firestar, and I liked its symbolism
Bluestar is there because I couldn't think of a better cat to add)
Upon waking Bramblestar traveled cautiously to camp, flinching at every twig and leaf he stepped on in his exhaustion. (look at this I couldn't figure out where to go from there)
He was not welcomed quietly. (or, like, at all)
book one Nightfall
CHAPTER ONE
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
“It’s him!” Rainwhisker yowled from near the camp entrance. “Brambleclaw is here!”
The huge tabby flinched. “Firestar is dead,” he meowed. Rainwhisker sniffed at him from a distance, frowning. (fair warning, I couldn't remember any of Rainwhisker's canon characterization, so I just made stuff up)
Squirrelflight stared at him. “Brambleclaw.” Her voice was hard. She hesitated, then approached him, lashing her tail. “Did you kill Firestar?” For once she spoke quietly; the words caught fast in her throat—had she been able, she would have shouted the words at the top of her lungs. (I was so dramatic a year ago)
“No, it was—it was Blackstar, and some RiverClan cat, I don’t know what one.” Brambleclaw’s amber eyes met hers. She didn’t know what expression she was seeing there, but it scared her. He seemed conflicted—but differently from usual. Oh, Ashfur, how I hope you’re wrong.
“Ashfur showed us your scent,” Brackenfur asserted, staring down the larger warrior fearlessly. “He witnessed you, along with a RiverClan cat he also said he didn’t recognize, standing over Firestar in a fox trap. The scent trails verified this.”
(get it? because Ashfur, in canon, had second thoughts and ran to get Leafpool to tell her something was wrong…)
“I didn’t,” Brambleclaw insisted wearily.
“I should have done more,” Ashfur moaned, trembling, ears flattened against his neck. “I should have stopped them. I should have tried—”
Squirrelflight tried to rest her tail on his shoulder, but stiff with anger and grief she only managed to drag it roughly across his leg. “You did all you could.” His blue eyes were still dark and glimmering with pain, so she added, “Losing you too would only have made it worse,” and he looked grateful, though his tail still drooped. (is it clear that I hate Ashfur?)
“I didn’t kill Firestar,” Brambleclaw snarled suddenly. “I didn’t kill him; it wasn’t me; I didn’t do it. I found him dead and I wasn’t going to track some cat halfway around the lake to see who did it. And besides, didn’t anyone smell Blackstar?”
“Blackstar’s scent was not there,” Brackenfur reported. “ShadowClan scent did not extend beyond the border, but Firestar was found in our territory. Your scent approached the lake and disappeared.”
“He was!” Brambleclaw hissed.
“We all know it was you,” Spiderleg burst out. “Quit pretending you’re anything more than what you are. You are a traitor, and that’s all.” (while writing Spiderleg I imagined Slick's voice and it made it easier)
“I am the leader of this Clan,” the dark tabby meowed. “My name is Bramblestar. I have nine lives, granted by StarClan. You can ask them! Ask Firestar!” He swung his head to face Leafpool, who cowered frightened near the medicine den. Was it Squirrelflight’s imagination, or did Bramblestar’s ears twitch too much as he said it, and his body falter as he turned?
“You’re no leader of mine,” snapped Spiderleg.
“Your scent was found trailing blood into the lake,” Leafpool said. Squirrelflight could feel how much effort this was taking her sister. (I hated trying to work around that obnoxious psychic link) “Firestar’s blood got tracked into the lake.”
“So?” Bramblestar took a step back—a startlingly defensive posture for the courageous, bold cat Squirrelflight had known. Well, thought I had known, at least.
“Before there is peace,” Leafpool replied evenly, “blood will spill blood, and the lake will run red.” Bramblestar looked afraid and bewildered.
“That was you,” Squirrelflight interrupted. Leafpool wanted to disappear right now, and Squirrelflight would defend her sister to the last. (yeah I keep telling you guys stuff I need to take a step out of the story) “You’re Tigerstar’s blood. You spilled Firestar’s blood.”
Bramblestar spat out a few sounds, unable to form words. “None of this makes any sense,” he eventually choked. “StarClan chose me.”
Spiderleg shook his head while Ashfur drew closer to Squirrelflight. The black-and-brown cat spoke again, his voice ringing loudly through the hollow: “How many of us can truly say we never doubted Leafpool’s ‘sign?’ How many of us will follow you to our deaths? We do not believe the word of liars twice. You might have fought for us before, but that brother has gotten his paws on you, and I say you’re no better than Tigerstar himself.”
Bramblestar was enraged now, his hackles raised. “I am not my father.”
Squirrelflight backed away; she had never been as afraid of her mate as she was now. She had always resented Ashfur’s insistence on protecting her every step of the way, but now—now he was right.
“I, and everyone else in this camp, would say the same if you were Firestar’s son, or Bluestar’s, or my own. You are no ThunderClan cat.”
Clearly stung, Bramblestar drew back, curling his lips. “Well, I—I’ve done more than any cat to prove my loyalty! What more do I have to do?” He met Squirrelflight’s gaze pleadingly, but she turned away, and Ashfur squared up to face the tabby instead.
“Turn back time,” Mousefur snapped.
“Don’t you think I tried everything I could do?” Bramblestar’s voice was rising. “I never wanted him dead. But this is what was always going to happen—this is how StarClan said it would be!”
“Get out,” Cloudtail meowed. “StarClan is no more than our own way of telling ourselves how we think the future will be. If you could see no future without Firestar dead, then you are not a cat I want in my Clan. Firestar was my uncle and my mentor, so you had—”
“You know me better than this!” Bramblestar snarled. “Firestar was my mentor too. I owe him my life. Why would I ever want to kill someone who did so much for me?”
“Hawkfrost,” Squirrelflight answered, hoping her voice was icy enough to pierce his heart.
Bramblestar immediately turned to face her again. His expression was now one of guilt. “Squirrelflight, you know I am a loyal ThunderClan cat through and through. My heart has and will always lie with you and with the Clan.” Squirrelflight felt cold shock ripple through Leafpool and fought to clear her head of the image of still gray mountains looming before her.
“But not with Firestar.” This time she glared at him through narrowed eyes that burned painfully with hatred and—she felt guilty, too. It was her own determination to believe Bramblestar had been a good cat that had swayed Firestar; it must have been. “Never with him.”
Sandstorm, who had hardly spoken since receiving the news, padded menacingly toward Bramblestar. There could be no doubt in any cat’s mind that she was prepared to battle to the death to avenge her mate.
He stared longingly still at Squirrelflight. She shook her head. “Go.”
Bramblestar took two steps backward, then turned tail and fled. Now the blood and white noise rose high in Squirrelflight’s ears. Her mother was saying something, but she couldn’t hear. She was acutely aware of Ashfur—was he speaking, too? She closed her eyes.
Leafpool’s mind was focused on another vision: that of two cats walking side by side over the lake. Bramblestar was unmistakable—but the ginger cat was no longer Squirrelflight with her side to her mate; instead it was Firestar, dead and shimmering with the stars Bramblestar trailed behind. (well he's not walking by Bramblestar's side then is he)
“It’s him!” Rainwhisker yowled from near the camp entrance. “Brambleclaw is here!”
The huge tabby flinched. “Firestar is dead,” he meowed. Rainwhisker sniffed at him from a distance, frowning. (fair warning, I couldn't remember any of Rainwhisker's canon characterization, so I just made stuff up)
Squirrelflight stared at him. “Brambleclaw.” Her voice was hard. She hesitated, then approached him, lashing her tail. “Did you kill Firestar?” For once she spoke quietly; the words caught fast in her throat—had she been able, she would have shouted the words at the top of her lungs. (I was so dramatic a year ago)
“No, it was—it was Blackstar, and some RiverClan cat, I don’t know what one.” Brambleclaw’s amber eyes met hers. She didn’t know what expression she was seeing there, but it scared her. He seemed conflicted—but differently from usual. Oh, Ashfur, how I hope you’re wrong.
“Ashfur showed us your scent,” Brackenfur asserted, staring down the larger warrior fearlessly. “He witnessed you, along with a RiverClan cat he also said he didn’t recognize, standing over Firestar in a fox trap. The scent trails verified this.”
(get it? because Ashfur, in canon, had second thoughts and ran to get Leafpool to tell her something was wrong…)
“I didn’t,” Brambleclaw insisted wearily.
“I should have done more,” Ashfur moaned, trembling, ears flattened against his neck. “I should have stopped them. I should have tried—”
Squirrelflight tried to rest her tail on his shoulder, but stiff with anger and grief she only managed to drag it roughly across his leg. “You did all you could.” His blue eyes were still dark and glimmering with pain, so she added, “Losing you too would only have made it worse,” and he looked grateful, though his tail still drooped. (is it clear that I hate Ashfur?)
“I didn’t kill Firestar,” Brambleclaw snarled suddenly. “I didn’t kill him; it wasn’t me; I didn’t do it. I found him dead and I wasn’t going to track some cat halfway around the lake to see who did it. And besides, didn’t anyone smell Blackstar?”
“Blackstar’s scent was not there,” Brackenfur reported. “ShadowClan scent did not extend beyond the border, but Firestar was found in our territory. Your scent approached the lake and disappeared.”
“He was!” Brambleclaw hissed.
“We all know it was you,” Spiderleg burst out. “Quit pretending you’re anything more than what you are. You are a traitor, and that’s all.” (while writing Spiderleg I imagined Slick's voice and it made it easier)
“I am the leader of this Clan,” the dark tabby meowed. “My name is Bramblestar. I have nine lives, granted by StarClan. You can ask them! Ask Firestar!” He swung his head to face Leafpool, who cowered frightened near the medicine den. Was it Squirrelflight’s imagination, or did Bramblestar’s ears twitch too much as he said it, and his body falter as he turned?
“You’re no leader of mine,” snapped Spiderleg.
“Your scent was found trailing blood into the lake,” Leafpool said. Squirrelflight could feel how much effort this was taking her sister. (I hated trying to work around that obnoxious psychic link) “Firestar’s blood got tracked into the lake.”
“So?” Bramblestar took a step back—a startlingly defensive posture for the courageous, bold cat Squirrelflight had known. Well, thought I had known, at least.
“Before there is peace,” Leafpool replied evenly, “blood will spill blood, and the lake will run red.” Bramblestar looked afraid and bewildered.
“That was you,” Squirrelflight interrupted. Leafpool wanted to disappear right now, and Squirrelflight would defend her sister to the last. (yeah I keep telling you guys stuff I need to take a step out of the story) “You’re Tigerstar’s blood. You spilled Firestar’s blood.”
Bramblestar spat out a few sounds, unable to form words. “None of this makes any sense,” he eventually choked. “StarClan chose me.”
Spiderleg shook his head while Ashfur drew closer to Squirrelflight. The black-and-brown cat spoke again, his voice ringing loudly through the hollow: “How many of us can truly say we never doubted Leafpool’s ‘sign?’ How many of us will follow you to our deaths? We do not believe the word of liars twice. You might have fought for us before, but that brother has gotten his paws on you, and I say you’re no better than Tigerstar himself.”
Bramblestar was enraged now, his hackles raised. “I am not my father.”
Squirrelflight backed away; she had never been as afraid of her mate as she was now. She had always resented Ashfur’s insistence on protecting her every step of the way, but now—now he was right.
“I, and everyone else in this camp, would say the same if you were Firestar’s son, or Bluestar’s, or my own. You are no ThunderClan cat.”
Clearly stung, Bramblestar drew back, curling his lips. “Well, I—I’ve done more than any cat to prove my loyalty! What more do I have to do?” He met Squirrelflight’s gaze pleadingly, but she turned away, and Ashfur squared up to face the tabby instead.
“Turn back time,” Mousefur snapped.
“Don’t you think I tried everything I could do?” Bramblestar’s voice was rising. “I never wanted him dead. But this is what was always going to happen—this is how StarClan said it would be!”
“Get out,” Cloudtail meowed. “StarClan is no more than our own way of telling ourselves how we think the future will be. If you could see no future without Firestar dead, then you are not a cat I want in my Clan. Firestar was my uncle and my mentor, so you had—”
“You know me better than this!” Bramblestar snarled. “Firestar was my mentor too. I owe him my life. Why would I ever want to kill someone who did so much for me?”
“Hawkfrost,” Squirrelflight answered, hoping her voice was icy enough to pierce his heart.
Bramblestar immediately turned to face her again. His expression was now one of guilt. “Squirrelflight, you know I am a loyal ThunderClan cat through and through. My heart has and will always lie with you and with the Clan.” Squirrelflight felt cold shock ripple through Leafpool and fought to clear her head of the image of still gray mountains looming before her.
“But not with Firestar.” This time she glared at him through narrowed eyes that burned painfully with hatred and—she felt guilty, too. It was her own determination to believe Bramblestar had been a good cat that had swayed Firestar; it must have been. “Never with him.”
Sandstorm, who had hardly spoken since receiving the news, padded menacingly toward Bramblestar. There could be no doubt in any cat’s mind that she was prepared to battle to the death to avenge her mate.
He stared longingly still at Squirrelflight. She shook her head. “Go.”
Bramblestar took two steps backward, then turned tail and fled. Now the blood and white noise rose high in Squirrelflight’s ears. Her mother was saying something, but she couldn’t hear. She was acutely aware of Ashfur—was he speaking, too? She closed her eyes.
Leafpool’s mind was focused on another vision: that of two cats walking side by side over the lake. Bramblestar was unmistakable—but the ginger cat was no longer Squirrelflight with her side to her mate; instead it was Firestar, dead and shimmering with the stars Bramblestar trailed behind. (well he's not walking by Bramblestar's side then is he)
CHAPTER TWO
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
Ashfur’s pelt was warm against Squirrelflight’s side. The noise of birds had awoken her. I should have signed up for the dawn patrol, she thought.
Firestar’s death and Brambleclaw’s treachery had shaken her worse than many of her Clanmates; of course Sandstorm was distraught over her mate’s death, and Leafpool felt terrible for announcing her sign of bramble claws surrounding the camp—the sign Squirrelflight was absolutely certain her sister had not invented. StarClan was wrong.
Or maybe Leafpool had simply misinterpreted it: Firestar had once been unnecessarily harsh toward a young Bramblestar simply for the latter speaking to Squirrelflight because he believed the two together would consume the forest. Their power had been not to end the Clan but to save it, bringing all four Clans to the lake. And look at us now.
ThunderClan had been left without a leader or a deputy. Brackenfur had stepped up to assign the patrols for the coming day, but Spiderleg’s sniping had prevented any whole-Clan decisions from being made.
Was that Spiderleg’s voice now? Yawning in exhaustion and exasperation Squirrelflight pulled herself to her paws. The movement was enough to stir Ashfur from his sleep; ruffling his dappled gray pelt he followed her from the den, stretching stiffly.
Spiderleg was indeed speaking; he stood with an arched back on the Highledge, facing down a crouching Brightheart. Squirrelflight was alarmed for a heartbeat but realized quickly that neither cat planned to strike—still, their argument was heated. ("still, their argument was heated" what is this)
“The sign was not real,” Spiderleg meowed, sounding harried. “You know how close they are.”
“Leafpool would not lie,” Brightheart replied, patience wearing thin, “or she would not have returned from the mountains. I trust her, as we all should.”
Spiderleg laughed derisively, an ear flaring as he realized how piercing a sound he had made. “Are you honestly telling me she can’t be a liar because of the time she ran off with a WindClan cat? Leafpool has already shown her true colors, and that’s that she can’t be trusted.”
“I’m sorry, Brightheart, but I don’t believe the sign was real either,” Cloudtail said gently. “I think Leafpool thought it was real, but she only dreamed about it because she wanted what was best for Squirrelflight.”
“Well, I’m not in the habit of disbelieving StarClan.” Rainwhisker began to dip his head, then seemed to remember Spiderleg was not in fact his superior. “Brambles and thorns do look much alike.”
Ashfur nodded, apparently now realizing what was going on. “Thorn claws! Of course.” He padded forward, brushing his tail against Squirrelflight as he passed her. “I think Rainwhisker is right.”
Leafpool’s face appeared momentarily in the mouth of the medicine den and vanished again. Squirrelflight blearily saw the bramble claws again, heard Leafpool’s excitement. Maybe Rainwhisker was right.
“I don’t think so,” Spiderleg said, looking put out. “Leafpool said they were definitely brambles, and if I remember correctly—” he narrowed his eyes and stared pointedly first at Ashfur, then Dustpelt, then the nursery where Daisy was frantically ushering Sorreltail’s kits back inside, “not everyone here was convinced anyway.
“I will stand with ThunderClan,” he added hastily, “and I want this resolved, but I don’t think we can trust Leafpool for it, that’s all.”
Squirrelflight stiffened, but a warning gaze from Ashfur stopped her from shouting Spiderleg off the Highledge. “Leafpool is the last of our worries right now. What matters most is that we are ThunderClan. We will not let this be the end of us; we must have a leader.”
“If it was a real sign, I want to follow it,” said Rainwhisker.
“Thornclaw is a pretty good cat,” Spiderleg conceded.
“This could go on awhile,” Ashfur muttered. “Want to hunt a bit?”
Squirrelflight nodded, relieved not to have been the one to suggest it—she would have felt too guilty about her father’s death to leave, but Spiderleg’s endless commandeering of Clan meetings couldn’t hold her interest. (did Spiderleg ever do this in canon? the most I ever remember him doing is looking uneasy when Firestar asked if anyone besides Ashfur doubted the bramble claws sign)
On their way to warmer hunting grounds they passed the returning dawn patrol; Brackenfur, Thornclaw, Sandstorm, and Whitepaw all looked exhausted, but it seemed there had been no trouble.
“I know it’s a lot,” Ashfur murmured, face turned away; Squirrelflight thought he must be hiding pain. “My own parents died. It was…”
Squirrelflight pressed her pelt against his. “I know.” He seemed surprised at the gesture. “What happened? I mean—you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He’s not as fiery as Bramblestar was, she thought, then admonished herself for it. He’s not as fiery as the traitor, you mean.
“Losing a loved one can be the greatest pain of all,” he said. His words tore at her like a claw: he’d thought he had lost her, too, hadn’t he? She had always assumed he was only angry that Brambleclaw was Tigerstar’s son, but—maybe he knew something she didn’t.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
“I’ll tell you some other time, but for now, all I want to say is that Tigerstar killed them.” (yeah, go ahead, keep her coming back for stories) His eyes glimmered. Eventually he whispered, “No cat blames you, Squirrelflight. He lied to all of us. Do you want to hunt now?”
Squirrelflight padded away, still slightly numb. She had slept surprisingly well, but even so it was fitful sleep and much less than usual. How long had it taken Brambleclaw to convince her he was loyal? She had never trusted Hawkfrost. I should have seen this coming, she thought again.
Their hunt was successful. Ashfur helped her unearth her half-buried catches and together they carried the freshkill back to camp. (I'm torn here because the sentence should have a comma but I like how it flows a little better without)
Ashfur’s pelt was warm against Squirrelflight’s side. The noise of birds had awoken her. I should have signed up for the dawn patrol, she thought.
Firestar’s death and Brambleclaw’s treachery had shaken her worse than many of her Clanmates; of course Sandstorm was distraught over her mate’s death, and Leafpool felt terrible for announcing her sign of bramble claws surrounding the camp—the sign Squirrelflight was absolutely certain her sister had not invented. StarClan was wrong.
Or maybe Leafpool had simply misinterpreted it: Firestar had once been unnecessarily harsh toward a young Bramblestar simply for the latter speaking to Squirrelflight because he believed the two together would consume the forest. Their power had been not to end the Clan but to save it, bringing all four Clans to the lake. And look at us now.
ThunderClan had been left without a leader or a deputy. Brackenfur had stepped up to assign the patrols for the coming day, but Spiderleg’s sniping had prevented any whole-Clan decisions from being made.
Was that Spiderleg’s voice now? Yawning in exhaustion and exasperation Squirrelflight pulled herself to her paws. The movement was enough to stir Ashfur from his sleep; ruffling his dappled gray pelt he followed her from the den, stretching stiffly.
Spiderleg was indeed speaking; he stood with an arched back on the Highledge, facing down a crouching Brightheart. Squirrelflight was alarmed for a heartbeat but realized quickly that neither cat planned to strike—still, their argument was heated. ("still, their argument was heated" what is this)
“The sign was not real,” Spiderleg meowed, sounding harried. “You know how close they are.”
“Leafpool would not lie,” Brightheart replied, patience wearing thin, “or she would not have returned from the mountains. I trust her, as we all should.”
Spiderleg laughed derisively, an ear flaring as he realized how piercing a sound he had made. “Are you honestly telling me she can’t be a liar because of the time she ran off with a WindClan cat? Leafpool has already shown her true colors, and that’s that she can’t be trusted.”
“I’m sorry, Brightheart, but I don’t believe the sign was real either,” Cloudtail said gently. “I think Leafpool thought it was real, but she only dreamed about it because she wanted what was best for Squirrelflight.”
“Well, I’m not in the habit of disbelieving StarClan.” Rainwhisker began to dip his head, then seemed to remember Spiderleg was not in fact his superior. “Brambles and thorns do look much alike.”
Ashfur nodded, apparently now realizing what was going on. “Thorn claws! Of course.” He padded forward, brushing his tail against Squirrelflight as he passed her. “I think Rainwhisker is right.”
Leafpool’s face appeared momentarily in the mouth of the medicine den and vanished again. Squirrelflight blearily saw the bramble claws again, heard Leafpool’s excitement. Maybe Rainwhisker was right.
“I don’t think so,” Spiderleg said, looking put out. “Leafpool said they were definitely brambles, and if I remember correctly—” he narrowed his eyes and stared pointedly first at Ashfur, then Dustpelt, then the nursery where Daisy was frantically ushering Sorreltail’s kits back inside, “not everyone here was convinced anyway.
“I will stand with ThunderClan,” he added hastily, “and I want this resolved, but I don’t think we can trust Leafpool for it, that’s all.”
Squirrelflight stiffened, but a warning gaze from Ashfur stopped her from shouting Spiderleg off the Highledge. “Leafpool is the last of our worries right now. What matters most is that we are ThunderClan. We will not let this be the end of us; we must have a leader.”
“If it was a real sign, I want to follow it,” said Rainwhisker.
“Thornclaw is a pretty good cat,” Spiderleg conceded.
“This could go on awhile,” Ashfur muttered. “Want to hunt a bit?”
Squirrelflight nodded, relieved not to have been the one to suggest it—she would have felt too guilty about her father’s death to leave, but Spiderleg’s endless commandeering of Clan meetings couldn’t hold her interest. (did Spiderleg ever do this in canon? the most I ever remember him doing is looking uneasy when Firestar asked if anyone besides Ashfur doubted the bramble claws sign)
On their way to warmer hunting grounds they passed the returning dawn patrol; Brackenfur, Thornclaw, Sandstorm, and Whitepaw all looked exhausted, but it seemed there had been no trouble.
“I know it’s a lot,” Ashfur murmured, face turned away; Squirrelflight thought he must be hiding pain. “My own parents died. It was…”
Squirrelflight pressed her pelt against his. “I know.” He seemed surprised at the gesture. “What happened? I mean—you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He’s not as fiery as Bramblestar was, she thought, then admonished herself for it. He’s not as fiery as the traitor, you mean.
“Losing a loved one can be the greatest pain of all,” he said. His words tore at her like a claw: he’d thought he had lost her, too, hadn’t he? She had always assumed he was only angry that Brambleclaw was Tigerstar’s son, but—maybe he knew something she didn’t.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
“I’ll tell you some other time, but for now, all I want to say is that Tigerstar killed them.” (yeah, go ahead, keep her coming back for stories) His eyes glimmered. Eventually he whispered, “No cat blames you, Squirrelflight. He lied to all of us. Do you want to hunt now?”
Squirrelflight padded away, still slightly numb. She had slept surprisingly well, but even so it was fitful sleep and much less than usual. How long had it taken Brambleclaw to convince her he was loyal? She had never trusted Hawkfrost. I should have seen this coming, she thought again.
Their hunt was successful. Ashfur helped her unearth her half-buried catches and together they carried the freshkill back to camp. (I'm torn here because the sentence should have a comma but I like how it flows a little better without)
CHAPTER THREE
LEAFPOOL
Leafpool had watched Squirrelflight and Ashfur leave camp side by side. It’s for the best; if I hadn’t interfered with my vision—I swear it was real; perhaps for once a dream really was a dream, but then I can’t be blamed for that, can I?—she would have been his mate anyway, wouldn’t she? Leafpool had thought, although something had felt very wrong about it all the same.
A few more cats had woken; the noise of Spiderleg’s insistent argument had roused Mousefur and the last few warriors, and Sorreltail had finally grown impatient enough to leave her bed despite her exhaustion. As always Leafpool had felt a tinge of jealousy; Sorreltail’s kits would grow up knowing their mother, and Sorreltail herself could care for them. But Leafpool had known this might happen, although she had hoped it would not.
The dawn patrol had returned, and Thornclaw had walked in on a discussion largely of himself. Shortly the decision had been made that, sign or no sign, Thornclaw was as good a candidate as any, and he had set off to ask StarClan for nine lives. Brackenfur had been appointed deputy despite his modesty; he didn’t want to be in charge, he had said, but his Clanmates had pointed out that he had already been arranging patrols for some time and would make a good second-in-command to the sometimes overly hotheaded Thornclaw.
Yellowfang had berated Leafpool the previous night. What were you thinking, telling her that cat was safe? Yet it seemed the gray cat had no better suggestions for what Leafpool might have done: No cat could have seen this coming. (@ me drag her)
Not sure what else to do with herself, Leafpool had retreated once again into her den and set about ensuring the herbs were all well stocked, hoping there would be a shortage. But she had been falling back on this for so long that there was a large supply of everything. Her eyes fell on the parsley, and she drew back.
“What’d those plants do to you?” Sorreltail mewed softly behind her. Leafpool whirled to face her friend, but the tortoiseshell queen dipped her head and sat down on the medicine floor. “I thought you might want some company. The kits are busy now.”
“Big day,” Leafpool said.
Sorreltail’s eyes were clouded with grief. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. I loved Firestar—we all did—but I wasn’t close to him.”
Grateful for her friend’s presence, Leafpool checked the herbs again out of habit. The oversupply of parsley was not too noticeable, was it? Sorreltail certainly wasn’t reacting to it, but then, she had never been interested in herbs or their uses; Brightheart would surely know what it was for.
“I believed you, and I still do,” said Sorreltail. “Thorns and brambles are easy to confuse. Or maybe it was bramble claws ensnaring the camp. But I believe what you saw.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t think clearly enough to say more, but hopefully Sorreltail understood. She had a vision of herself, scared, guilty, sad, alone with him, his gray fur rippling and blue eyes glittering in the wind as Ash—It’s Squirrelflight, not me. There was no time for daydreaming and no room for thoughts of Crowfeather inside her head.
Squirrelflight had all the time in the world.
“The Clan won’t stay mad at you. It’s a natural reaction, to blame anyone you can—but plenty of us know you wouldn’t lie, and the others will come around soon.”
Leafpool nodded. Sorreltail was probably wrong, but she appreciated the gesture.
Now Brightheart pushed through the screen and padded into the den. Suddenly it was stifling, the air dry and hot and sticky on Leafpool’s whiskers. She had tried as best she could to forgive the gold-and-white warrior, but now that the Clan thought she had lied again, would she ever be accepted? And StarClan forbid they find out about the kits! But this thought only made her jealousy worse: Brightheart had Cloudtail and Whitepaw, yet she was still allowed to function as medicine cat.
Brightheart gathered up a mouthful of daisy leaves, saying “Mousefur” as she bent to grab them. At least she had one use, Leafpool thought with bitter triumph; now she could collect daisy leaves.
“I have to go,” she said quietly; Sorreltail rose to her paws and left the den but didn’t follow her out of camp. Leafpool knew already where to find daisy leaves, so she padded slowly along the trail.
She could run away again, just her and Crowfeather, and they could have their kits in peace. Maybe I’ll name one Firekit and one Squirrelkit, she mused.
But that was ridiculous. Leafpool had returned home because in the end her Clan, her home, was more important than a mate. She had known from the moment she set her heart on being a medicine cat it would mean never raising a family, although she had not been ready when the feelings had begun.
The Clan still needs me, she told herself. My kits will be safer with a whole Clan protecting them. And Sorreltail might need help, and she can’t come with us.
Leafpool reached the daisies and lay down for a few minutes, wanting to waste as much time as possible before facing her Clanmates again, but every moment she spent on the grass was tense and wrought her nerves as she thought of how angry they might be if they found her slacking.
When she couldn’t take it anymore she stripped a few daisies of their leaves and trudged home, halfheartedly trying to make a game out of feeling the grass beneath her paws, giving up on the game entirely when she realized how little sense it made and what a kitten she was being. (Clan cats don't say "kitten" Leafpool)
None of the cats in the camp called attention to her, but she was sure she could feel hostile glares on her pelt.
The only thing she could think of now was to sleep. Maybe StarClan would answer some of her questions. But she saw no cats in her nightmares. A fox trap, a silent forest, three burning stars in the sky—and it all went up in flames. Tongues of fire licked at her, but she wasn’t there; she braced herself for the heat, but it was cold. It settled much faster than it should have, and the now charred and blackened forest was covered in a layer of ash. Her pawsteps stirred up the cinders and dust into her throat and she was choking. The fox trap had her by the neck, thorns digging into her skin. She knew she was dying, but she felt no pain. (quit being dramatic)
Waking with a start, Leafpool gasped and pawed at her throat. She had been Firestar, caught in the trap, suffocated by brambles, reduced to ash.
And the three stars had been there, brighter even than the fire. She still wasn’t sure what they meant, but maybe…no, it was too soon. There are no signs.
“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the Highledge for a Clan meeting!” yowled Thornstar’s voice. Still haunted by the dream, she left the den, falling into step with Squirrelflight and an Ashfur brewing with emotion.
“Birchpaw has told me something interesting,” Thornstar announced. “It seems Bramblestar was not the only cat who wanted Firestar dead.”
Birchpaw? But how would he know? wondered Leafpool; after all, shouldn’t he really only have been with—
“Ashfur.”
Leafpool had watched Squirrelflight and Ashfur leave camp side by side. It’s for the best; if I hadn’t interfered with my vision—I swear it was real; perhaps for once a dream really was a dream, but then I can’t be blamed for that, can I?—she would have been his mate anyway, wouldn’t she? Leafpool had thought, although something had felt very wrong about it all the same.
A few more cats had woken; the noise of Spiderleg’s insistent argument had roused Mousefur and the last few warriors, and Sorreltail had finally grown impatient enough to leave her bed despite her exhaustion. As always Leafpool had felt a tinge of jealousy; Sorreltail’s kits would grow up knowing their mother, and Sorreltail herself could care for them. But Leafpool had known this might happen, although she had hoped it would not.
The dawn patrol had returned, and Thornclaw had walked in on a discussion largely of himself. Shortly the decision had been made that, sign or no sign, Thornclaw was as good a candidate as any, and he had set off to ask StarClan for nine lives. Brackenfur had been appointed deputy despite his modesty; he didn’t want to be in charge, he had said, but his Clanmates had pointed out that he had already been arranging patrols for some time and would make a good second-in-command to the sometimes overly hotheaded Thornclaw.
Yellowfang had berated Leafpool the previous night. What were you thinking, telling her that cat was safe? Yet it seemed the gray cat had no better suggestions for what Leafpool might have done: No cat could have seen this coming. (@ me drag her)
Not sure what else to do with herself, Leafpool had retreated once again into her den and set about ensuring the herbs were all well stocked, hoping there would be a shortage. But she had been falling back on this for so long that there was a large supply of everything. Her eyes fell on the parsley, and she drew back.
“What’d those plants do to you?” Sorreltail mewed softly behind her. Leafpool whirled to face her friend, but the tortoiseshell queen dipped her head and sat down on the medicine floor. “I thought you might want some company. The kits are busy now.”
“Big day,” Leafpool said.
Sorreltail’s eyes were clouded with grief. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. I loved Firestar—we all did—but I wasn’t close to him.”
Grateful for her friend’s presence, Leafpool checked the herbs again out of habit. The oversupply of parsley was not too noticeable, was it? Sorreltail certainly wasn’t reacting to it, but then, she had never been interested in herbs or their uses; Brightheart would surely know what it was for.
“I believed you, and I still do,” said Sorreltail. “Thorns and brambles are easy to confuse. Or maybe it was bramble claws ensnaring the camp. But I believe what you saw.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t think clearly enough to say more, but hopefully Sorreltail understood. She had a vision of herself, scared, guilty, sad, alone with him, his gray fur rippling and blue eyes glittering in the wind as Ash—It’s Squirrelflight, not me. There was no time for daydreaming and no room for thoughts of Crowfeather inside her head.
Squirrelflight had all the time in the world.
“The Clan won’t stay mad at you. It’s a natural reaction, to blame anyone you can—but plenty of us know you wouldn’t lie, and the others will come around soon.”
Leafpool nodded. Sorreltail was probably wrong, but she appreciated the gesture.
Now Brightheart pushed through the screen and padded into the den. Suddenly it was stifling, the air dry and hot and sticky on Leafpool’s whiskers. She had tried as best she could to forgive the gold-and-white warrior, but now that the Clan thought she had lied again, would she ever be accepted? And StarClan forbid they find out about the kits! But this thought only made her jealousy worse: Brightheart had Cloudtail and Whitepaw, yet she was still allowed to function as medicine cat.
Brightheart gathered up a mouthful of daisy leaves, saying “Mousefur” as she bent to grab them. At least she had one use, Leafpool thought with bitter triumph; now she could collect daisy leaves.
“I have to go,” she said quietly; Sorreltail rose to her paws and left the den but didn’t follow her out of camp. Leafpool knew already where to find daisy leaves, so she padded slowly along the trail.
She could run away again, just her and Crowfeather, and they could have their kits in peace. Maybe I’ll name one Firekit and one Squirrelkit, she mused.
But that was ridiculous. Leafpool had returned home because in the end her Clan, her home, was more important than a mate. She had known from the moment she set her heart on being a medicine cat it would mean never raising a family, although she had not been ready when the feelings had begun.
The Clan still needs me, she told herself. My kits will be safer with a whole Clan protecting them. And Sorreltail might need help, and she can’t come with us.
Leafpool reached the daisies and lay down for a few minutes, wanting to waste as much time as possible before facing her Clanmates again, but every moment she spent on the grass was tense and wrought her nerves as she thought of how angry they might be if they found her slacking.
When she couldn’t take it anymore she stripped a few daisies of their leaves and trudged home, halfheartedly trying to make a game out of feeling the grass beneath her paws, giving up on the game entirely when she realized how little sense it made and what a kitten she was being. (Clan cats don't say "kitten" Leafpool)
None of the cats in the camp called attention to her, but she was sure she could feel hostile glares on her pelt.
The only thing she could think of now was to sleep. Maybe StarClan would answer some of her questions. But she saw no cats in her nightmares. A fox trap, a silent forest, three burning stars in the sky—and it all went up in flames. Tongues of fire licked at her, but she wasn’t there; she braced herself for the heat, but it was cold. It settled much faster than it should have, and the now charred and blackened forest was covered in a layer of ash. Her pawsteps stirred up the cinders and dust into her throat and she was choking. The fox trap had her by the neck, thorns digging into her skin. She knew she was dying, but she felt no pain. (quit being dramatic)
Waking with a start, Leafpool gasped and pawed at her throat. She had been Firestar, caught in the trap, suffocated by brambles, reduced to ash.
And the three stars had been there, brighter even than the fire. She still wasn’t sure what they meant, but maybe…no, it was too soon. There are no signs.
“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the Highledge for a Clan meeting!” yowled Thornstar’s voice. Still haunted by the dream, she left the den, falling into step with Squirrelflight and an Ashfur brewing with emotion.
“Birchpaw has told me something interesting,” Thornstar announced. “It seems Bramblestar was not the only cat who wanted Firestar dead.”
Birchpaw? But how would he know? wondered Leafpool; after all, shouldn’t he really only have been with—
“Ashfur.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
“Ashfur,” called Thornstar. Fear and confusion shot through Squirrelflight’s pelt: Ashfur had nothing to do with this! He himself had been the one to reveal Bramblestar’s treachery.
“Yesterday we determined that Bramblestar and a RiverClan cat led Firestar to the fox trap to die,” Thornstar said, “but that isn’t the whole story. Birchpaw, can you tell them what you said before?”
“Ashfur said Blackstar was waiting on the border near the lake, and I was supposed to tell Firestar he wanted to talk to him.” Birchpaw swallowed and glanced at Ashfur. “And, um, I did what he said. Firestar asked me if he really had to go alone, and he told me that he did, so Firestar went.”
“We searched for ShadowClan scent and found none,” Brackenfur reminded the Clan.
“I swear I did not see Bramblestar or a RiverClan cat there,” Ashfur meowed, his voice wavering slightly. “Blackstar was on his side of the territory and wanted to meet Firestar. I know it sounds…too convenient, but I am telling the truth.”
Thornstar nodded. “Very recently every cat would trust you. But you said it yourself—it seems too convenient. Would ShadowClan not intervene if they heard a cat dying?”
“They left a kit screaming in a trap once,” Ashfur reminded him, referring to when a patrol led by the ShadowClan deputy Russetfur had not only ignored but stood by and watched from the other side of the border as Berrypaw wailed to be freed from the snare.
“What did Blackstar look like?” Brightheart asked, a sad, knowing look in her calm blue eye. Ashfur made a noise as if he had gasped and clacked his jaws together without intending to do either.
“Dark,” the apprentice replied with certainty. Squirrelflight felt her blood turn to ice. “Big and dark.”
Thornstar surveyed the Clan coldly before asking, “Ashfur, how many Gatherings have you been to?” (more importantly, why doesn't Birchpaw know what Blackstar looks like? even if he hasn't been to a Gathering because of the Journey--I don't remember if he went to one--he spent the journey hanging out with ShadowClan kits)
“Dark paws,” Ashfur hissed. “Big, dark paws!”
Birchpaw looked scared. “He was almost a black cat,” he told Thornstar. “He was dark and white, and he was really big.”
Ashfur was standing now, spitting. “You cannot honestly think I of all cats would kill Firestar!”
Thornstar’s gaze was sorrowful. Ashfur stared for a moment—then fled.
Squirrelflight was the first to give chase. She couldn’t lose another cat, not this soon.
Before she could think through what she was going to say to him, he rounded on her. “I did this for your own good!” Cold fire flared in his eyes, which had always been so warm before. “Do you have any idea how much pain I’m in? It’s like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I had to make you see the blood. I had to take your father away—you could never understand before how much pain I was in! You did this, Squirrelflight. You have never looked past your own whiskers to see a cat for who he truly was. I love you; you can’t do this to me!” (there was no need to use/mangle his real quotes for this)
Disgust had risen in Squirrelflight’s chest. Wrong twice over. “That isn’t love.”
Ashfur snarled. “How can you still be so wrong?” He advanced on her, but a yellowish paw connected with his shoulder. Sandstorm had struck him down. Teeth bared, she hissed at him; he scrambled to his paws—Squirrelflight could see a gash in his shoulder—and dashed away. Several more warriors passed Squirrelflight, stopping short and turning to Thornstar for orders.
“Send someone after him,” Thornstar commanded. “We don’t want him coming back.”
Sandstorm took off after the gray cat. Squirrelflight stared after her mother, hoping she would be safe, then realized she had been staring longer than any cat had stayed in the clearing. She took a step, but the world was sideways; somehow she staggered all the way to the medicine den, where Leafpool helped her lie down farther in.
The full realization of what had happened was beginning to sink in. Last night the news had been so sudden, and she had already been exhausted; none of it had felt real. But now that she was in the quiet medicine den and even Ashfur had betrayed her, Squirrelflight was forced to come to terms with the fact that her old life was gone.
There was no sleeping now, not with the pain boiling just behind her ears, so she heard the clicking of claws on stone and the swish of ferns as some cat entered the den. It was Thornstar; he said he needed to talk to Leafpool. She could hardly hear him, but his tone was urgent. Squirrelflight strained to hear or to read Leafpool’s mind.
“I don’t want the Clan to know, because it would only cause more trouble. But my ceremony didn’t go as planned.”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
“First they said you should be there, but then Firestar told me that this had happened before. (so I apparently remembered eventually that the medicine cat is supposed to be there) A leader had gone for the ceremony while the other leader was still alive. And when that happens—”
“Did that interfere with your lives?” Leafpool breathed.
“They gave me none,” he admitted.
Squirrelflight blinked. A leader without nine lives. Just what our Clan needs right now.
“They said that I am still allowed to be recognized as an official ThunderClan leader, and my name is Thornstar, but I won’t be able to get nine lives unless Bramblestar loses all of his.” He sighed. “And Bramblestar’s got to be far away by now.”
Leafpool didn’t say anything. Squirrelflight tried to listen to her sister’s thoughts, but her mind was closed off, full of fuzzy interference and cold mountain air.
“Thank you for telling me,” Leafpool eventually murmured, upset. “The other Clans won’t know anything is different, at least. Just try to be a little careful.”
“As careful as I was before,” Thornstar meowed; Squirrelflight wasn’t sure if this qualified as agreement, since he had plenty of rash moments, but at least he seemed to respect his medicine cat. (did Thornstar have plenty of rash moments?) “All we can hope now is that that RiverClan cat doesn’t know.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” said Leafpool grimly. “The Gathering is coming up.”
Squirrelflight heard Thornstar say goodbye and leave; she noticed how stiff her neck was from craning to hear their conversation and tried to relax. Leafpool didn’t mention Thornstar’s visit, and Squirrelflight thought she must not have realized the dark ginger warrior had heard. They were rather quiet.
Brackenfur didn’t assign Squirrelflight to a patrol that day, which was a relief; he apparently realized how hurt she had been by the past two days. But she knew she would have to get over her mood before the Gathering, just in case the other Clans found out Thornstar’s secret. (you're not that important Squirrelflight)
“Ashfur,” called Thornstar. Fear and confusion shot through Squirrelflight’s pelt: Ashfur had nothing to do with this! He himself had been the one to reveal Bramblestar’s treachery.
“Yesterday we determined that Bramblestar and a RiverClan cat led Firestar to the fox trap to die,” Thornstar said, “but that isn’t the whole story. Birchpaw, can you tell them what you said before?”
“Ashfur said Blackstar was waiting on the border near the lake, and I was supposed to tell Firestar he wanted to talk to him.” Birchpaw swallowed and glanced at Ashfur. “And, um, I did what he said. Firestar asked me if he really had to go alone, and he told me that he did, so Firestar went.”
“We searched for ShadowClan scent and found none,” Brackenfur reminded the Clan.
“I swear I did not see Bramblestar or a RiverClan cat there,” Ashfur meowed, his voice wavering slightly. “Blackstar was on his side of the territory and wanted to meet Firestar. I know it sounds…too convenient, but I am telling the truth.”
Thornstar nodded. “Very recently every cat would trust you. But you said it yourself—it seems too convenient. Would ShadowClan not intervene if they heard a cat dying?”
“They left a kit screaming in a trap once,” Ashfur reminded him, referring to when a patrol led by the ShadowClan deputy Russetfur had not only ignored but stood by and watched from the other side of the border as Berrypaw wailed to be freed from the snare.
“What did Blackstar look like?” Brightheart asked, a sad, knowing look in her calm blue eye. Ashfur made a noise as if he had gasped and clacked his jaws together without intending to do either.
“Dark,” the apprentice replied with certainty. Squirrelflight felt her blood turn to ice. “Big and dark.”
Thornstar surveyed the Clan coldly before asking, “Ashfur, how many Gatherings have you been to?” (more importantly, why doesn't Birchpaw know what Blackstar looks like? even if he hasn't been to a Gathering because of the Journey--I don't remember if he went to one--he spent the journey hanging out with ShadowClan kits)
“Dark paws,” Ashfur hissed. “Big, dark paws!”
Birchpaw looked scared. “He was almost a black cat,” he told Thornstar. “He was dark and white, and he was really big.”
Ashfur was standing now, spitting. “You cannot honestly think I of all cats would kill Firestar!”
Thornstar’s gaze was sorrowful. Ashfur stared for a moment—then fled.
Squirrelflight was the first to give chase. She couldn’t lose another cat, not this soon.
Before she could think through what she was going to say to him, he rounded on her. “I did this for your own good!” Cold fire flared in his eyes, which had always been so warm before. “Do you have any idea how much pain I’m in? It’s like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I had to make you see the blood. I had to take your father away—you could never understand before how much pain I was in! You did this, Squirrelflight. You have never looked past your own whiskers to see a cat for who he truly was. I love you; you can’t do this to me!” (there was no need to use/mangle his real quotes for this)
Disgust had risen in Squirrelflight’s chest. Wrong twice over. “That isn’t love.”
Ashfur snarled. “How can you still be so wrong?” He advanced on her, but a yellowish paw connected with his shoulder. Sandstorm had struck him down. Teeth bared, she hissed at him; he scrambled to his paws—Squirrelflight could see a gash in his shoulder—and dashed away. Several more warriors passed Squirrelflight, stopping short and turning to Thornstar for orders.
“Send someone after him,” Thornstar commanded. “We don’t want him coming back.”
Sandstorm took off after the gray cat. Squirrelflight stared after her mother, hoping she would be safe, then realized she had been staring longer than any cat had stayed in the clearing. She took a step, but the world was sideways; somehow she staggered all the way to the medicine den, where Leafpool helped her lie down farther in.
The full realization of what had happened was beginning to sink in. Last night the news had been so sudden, and she had already been exhausted; none of it had felt real. But now that she was in the quiet medicine den and even Ashfur had betrayed her, Squirrelflight was forced to come to terms with the fact that her old life was gone.
There was no sleeping now, not with the pain boiling just behind her ears, so she heard the clicking of claws on stone and the swish of ferns as some cat entered the den. It was Thornstar; he said he needed to talk to Leafpool. She could hardly hear him, but his tone was urgent. Squirrelflight strained to hear or to read Leafpool’s mind.
“I don’t want the Clan to know, because it would only cause more trouble. But my ceremony didn’t go as planned.”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
“First they said you should be there, but then Firestar told me that this had happened before. (so I apparently remembered eventually that the medicine cat is supposed to be there) A leader had gone for the ceremony while the other leader was still alive. And when that happens—”
“Did that interfere with your lives?” Leafpool breathed.
“They gave me none,” he admitted.
Squirrelflight blinked. A leader without nine lives. Just what our Clan needs right now.
“They said that I am still allowed to be recognized as an official ThunderClan leader, and my name is Thornstar, but I won’t be able to get nine lives unless Bramblestar loses all of his.” He sighed. “And Bramblestar’s got to be far away by now.”
Leafpool didn’t say anything. Squirrelflight tried to listen to her sister’s thoughts, but her mind was closed off, full of fuzzy interference and cold mountain air.
“Thank you for telling me,” Leafpool eventually murmured, upset. “The other Clans won’t know anything is different, at least. Just try to be a little careful.”
“As careful as I was before,” Thornstar meowed; Squirrelflight wasn’t sure if this qualified as agreement, since he had plenty of rash moments, but at least he seemed to respect his medicine cat. (did Thornstar have plenty of rash moments?) “All we can hope now is that that RiverClan cat doesn’t know.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” said Leafpool grimly. “The Gathering is coming up.”
Squirrelflight heard Thornstar say goodbye and leave; she noticed how stiff her neck was from craning to hear their conversation and tried to relax. Leafpool didn’t mention Thornstar’s visit, and Squirrelflight thought she must not have realized the dark ginger warrior had heard. They were rather quiet.
Brackenfur didn’t assign Squirrelflight to a patrol that day, which was a relief; he apparently realized how hurt she had been by the past two days. But she knew she would have to get over her mood before the Gathering, just in case the other Clans found out Thornstar’s secret. (you're not that important Squirrelflight)
CHAPTER FIVE
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
The vole’s fur tickled Squirrelflight’s mouth as she scratched at the earth. Dropping it into the hole and scraping loose soil over it, she flinched as she saw a gray-furred cat in the corner of her eye, even knowing it was only Rainwhisker. Ashfur is dead now, she told herself.
Leafbare was truly setting in now; it had been only a few days since Ashfur had been chased from the camp, but frost had settled on the grass and there was a bite in the air that had not been there before.
Rainwhisker buried a squirrel and padded away again, pelt bristling against the cold. Squirrelflight shook her head to clear it and headed down a narrow path. Hunting was still easy enough that ThunderClan didn’t need to worry about starvation, or wouldn’t have if not for both WindClan and ShadowClan stealing prey. During greenleaf it was easy enough to fend them away, but down two warriors and with a new leader—one with no deputy experience—and the onset of frost ThunderClan was nowhere near their former strength.
Something nearby rattled the grass, and Squirrelflight could hear prey scattering. “Mouse dung,” she muttered.
“This way,” she heard someone call; she froze. Not again. The voice was Tornear’s; the battered warrior always seemed to be chosen to lead the raids on ThunderClan territory. (the raids that, uh, stopped after Twilight, you mean?)
“Rainwhisker! Brightheart!” she yowled. A furious rattling alerted her to the WindClan patrol’s position even before they appeared over the crest of the hill; there were only four cats, and one was a bit small. Tornear barreled straight for Squirrelflight, the other cats flanking him.
Squirrelflight dodged Tornear’s first strike, but his claws connected with her jaw on the second. She let out an involuntary squeal of pain, and one of the other fully-grown cats, a lean, white-pawed ginger warrior, headbutted her other shoulder.
Rainwhisker arrived before Brightheart; the mottled brownish tabby met him head-on, bowling him over, but Rainwhisker kicked at his belly and Owlwhisker released him. The ThunderClan cats were still more muscular than the invaders, although hunger had weakened them.
Squirrelflight grabbed a mouthful of Tornear’s fur just behind his shoulder. He screeched with rage and clawed at her; he hit a scar and she released him with a roar.
“Get the other one,” Tornear barked. The white-pawed cat looked surprised as Brightheart pounced, followed by a curse from Tornear. “Gorsepaw, do something,” he added as he swatted at Squirrelflight’s face.
“Leave us alone,” hissed Brightheart, twisting her neck to keep her ginger-and-white attacker in her sight. “The forest is not your land; it belongs to ThunderClan.”
“That could change,” said the cat.
Brightheart snarled ferociously. “ThunderClan will never give up our home!” She swung heavily at the lithe warrior, apparently abandoning her usual careful style.
It seemed to Squirrelflight that the other cat’s threat was not what Tornear intended, as for a heartbeat he hesitated stiff-jawed before attempting to throw the ginger queen to the ground. ("the ginger queen" is Squirrelflight)
Taking advantage of this momentary weakness, Squirrelflight shoved him back, pinning him firmly to the ground with her forepaws on his chest. He still reached for her with his claws, but she pressed down until he gasped for breath. Squirrelflight lifted her head and growled, “Surrender.” Tornear didn’t respond, but Owlwhisker slowly, grudgingly nodded.
Squirrelflight relaxed her forepaws slightly. Tornear scrambled out from underneath, pulling himself stiffly to his paws. Hissing and arching his back, he muttered an order to his Clanmates and they retreated over the hill, glancing over their shoulders at the ThunderClan hunting patrol.
Brightheart was panting harshly. Her blue eye was round and vacant, tracking the path the WindClan cats had taken. Her legs were rigid and her toes splayed, claws digging into the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Squirrelflight asked. “Are you hurt?”
Brightheart’s jaw moved, but Squirrelflight didn’t catch what she said. Leaning in closer she repeated her questions; the gold-and-white queen whispered, “Pack, pack, kill, kill.”
The hair rose on Squirrelflight’s spine. “That’s not good,” she said, unsure if she should console the older warrior.
Brightheart tilted her head down and worked her jaw for a moment. “No,” she finally said in a small voice, uncharacteristic of the brave warrior Squirrelflight knew. “But that was a long time ago.”
Rainwhisker looked nervous. “We should tell Thornstar and Leafpool.” Stopping to pick up the prey they had caught, the three cats returned to camp.
Leafpool met them at the entrance, fretting, but Brightheart assured her they would be fine and treatment could wait a few minutes. Looking crushed Leafpool hunched down closer to the ground.
“Is Thornstar here?” Brightheart asked her.
Leafpool shook her head. “He’s patrolling the ShadowClan border.”
Brightheart sighed. “Of course. Still a warrior at heart. Anyway, we should get our wounds treated if we’re going to have to wait.”
Brightheart had been right; none of the cats bore serious wounds. Leafpool pressed a poultice of comfrey against the reopened gash behind Squirrelflight’s shoulder, saying it would heal quickly but she should be more careful next time.
Squirrelflight winced, feeling the comfrey sting her side. “I’ll try,” she promised, pelt prickling at the realization that there would definitely be a next time, and that it would definitely be soon. Tornear had only withdrawn because Squirrelflight had gotten the upper paw.
Maybe you should have trained harder, she thought, instead of going off with Bramblestar on his quest! But she knew that was silly. She had saved the Clan then, she had flown into ThunderClan’s camp, she had fought as hard as anyone against the badgers!
Brightheart waited by the freshkill pile for Thornstar’s return. Squirrelflight’s mouth was watering; she picked up a vole and carried it over to the wall of the hollow. Next time, we’ll be ready.
The vole’s fur tickled Squirrelflight’s mouth as she scratched at the earth. Dropping it into the hole and scraping loose soil over it, she flinched as she saw a gray-furred cat in the corner of her eye, even knowing it was only Rainwhisker. Ashfur is dead now, she told herself.
Leafbare was truly setting in now; it had been only a few days since Ashfur had been chased from the camp, but frost had settled on the grass and there was a bite in the air that had not been there before.
Rainwhisker buried a squirrel and padded away again, pelt bristling against the cold. Squirrelflight shook her head to clear it and headed down a narrow path. Hunting was still easy enough that ThunderClan didn’t need to worry about starvation, or wouldn’t have if not for both WindClan and ShadowClan stealing prey. During greenleaf it was easy enough to fend them away, but down two warriors and with a new leader—one with no deputy experience—and the onset of frost ThunderClan was nowhere near their former strength.
Something nearby rattled the grass, and Squirrelflight could hear prey scattering. “Mouse dung,” she muttered.
“This way,” she heard someone call; she froze. Not again. The voice was Tornear’s; the battered warrior always seemed to be chosen to lead the raids on ThunderClan territory. (the raids that, uh, stopped after Twilight, you mean?)
“Rainwhisker! Brightheart!” she yowled. A furious rattling alerted her to the WindClan patrol’s position even before they appeared over the crest of the hill; there were only four cats, and one was a bit small. Tornear barreled straight for Squirrelflight, the other cats flanking him.
Squirrelflight dodged Tornear’s first strike, but his claws connected with her jaw on the second. She let out an involuntary squeal of pain, and one of the other fully-grown cats, a lean, white-pawed ginger warrior, headbutted her other shoulder.
Rainwhisker arrived before Brightheart; the mottled brownish tabby met him head-on, bowling him over, but Rainwhisker kicked at his belly and Owlwhisker released him. The ThunderClan cats were still more muscular than the invaders, although hunger had weakened them.
Squirrelflight grabbed a mouthful of Tornear’s fur just behind his shoulder. He screeched with rage and clawed at her; he hit a scar and she released him with a roar.
“Get the other one,” Tornear barked. The white-pawed cat looked surprised as Brightheart pounced, followed by a curse from Tornear. “Gorsepaw, do something,” he added as he swatted at Squirrelflight’s face.
“Leave us alone,” hissed Brightheart, twisting her neck to keep her ginger-and-white attacker in her sight. “The forest is not your land; it belongs to ThunderClan.”
“That could change,” said the cat.
Brightheart snarled ferociously. “ThunderClan will never give up our home!” She swung heavily at the lithe warrior, apparently abandoning her usual careful style.
It seemed to Squirrelflight that the other cat’s threat was not what Tornear intended, as for a heartbeat he hesitated stiff-jawed before attempting to throw the ginger queen to the ground. ("the ginger queen" is Squirrelflight)
Taking advantage of this momentary weakness, Squirrelflight shoved him back, pinning him firmly to the ground with her forepaws on his chest. He still reached for her with his claws, but she pressed down until he gasped for breath. Squirrelflight lifted her head and growled, “Surrender.” Tornear didn’t respond, but Owlwhisker slowly, grudgingly nodded.
Squirrelflight relaxed her forepaws slightly. Tornear scrambled out from underneath, pulling himself stiffly to his paws. Hissing and arching his back, he muttered an order to his Clanmates and they retreated over the hill, glancing over their shoulders at the ThunderClan hunting patrol.
Brightheart was panting harshly. Her blue eye was round and vacant, tracking the path the WindClan cats had taken. Her legs were rigid and her toes splayed, claws digging into the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Squirrelflight asked. “Are you hurt?”
Brightheart’s jaw moved, but Squirrelflight didn’t catch what she said. Leaning in closer she repeated her questions; the gold-and-white queen whispered, “Pack, pack, kill, kill.”
The hair rose on Squirrelflight’s spine. “That’s not good,” she said, unsure if she should console the older warrior.
Brightheart tilted her head down and worked her jaw for a moment. “No,” she finally said in a small voice, uncharacteristic of the brave warrior Squirrelflight knew. “But that was a long time ago.”
Rainwhisker looked nervous. “We should tell Thornstar and Leafpool.” Stopping to pick up the prey they had caught, the three cats returned to camp.
Leafpool met them at the entrance, fretting, but Brightheart assured her they would be fine and treatment could wait a few minutes. Looking crushed Leafpool hunched down closer to the ground.
“Is Thornstar here?” Brightheart asked her.
Leafpool shook her head. “He’s patrolling the ShadowClan border.”
Brightheart sighed. “Of course. Still a warrior at heart. Anyway, we should get our wounds treated if we’re going to have to wait.”
Brightheart had been right; none of the cats bore serious wounds. Leafpool pressed a poultice of comfrey against the reopened gash behind Squirrelflight’s shoulder, saying it would heal quickly but she should be more careful next time.
Squirrelflight winced, feeling the comfrey sting her side. “I’ll try,” she promised, pelt prickling at the realization that there would definitely be a next time, and that it would definitely be soon. Tornear had only withdrawn because Squirrelflight had gotten the upper paw.
Maybe you should have trained harder, she thought, instead of going off with Bramblestar on his quest! But she knew that was silly. She had saved the Clan then, she had flown into ThunderClan’s camp, she had fought as hard as anyone against the badgers!
Brightheart waited by the freshkill pile for Thornstar’s return. Squirrelflight’s mouth was watering; she picked up a vole and carried it over to the wall of the hollow. Next time, we’ll be ready.
CHAPTER SIX
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
The full moon hung heavy and orange in the sky, dark against Silverpelt but unthreatened by the few wisps of cloud passing underneath. A bat flittered past Squirrelflight; a rustle and thud behind her announced that Birchpaw had tried to catch it. She heard Sandstorm, Birchpaw’s new mentor, chide him halfheartedly.
Tonight was a warmer night than the past few had been, but the breeze over the lake promised this would not last. Squirrelflight shivered as the wind sliced through her pelt, trying to fluff out her fur to warm herself. If Bramblestar hadn’t gone off with Hawkfrost I could probably get him to block the wind for me.
Thornstar had not seemed to have high hopes about the Gathering, though he had still tried to rally his Clan. Firestar’s untimely death might come as a surprise to some cats, although Squirrelflight had a feeling that news had spread to all the Clans by now. A leader so involved in every cat’s business simply dropping dead was unlikely to go unnoticed.
ThunderClan’s Gathering patrol filed along the lakeshore. Squirrelflight’s heart still clenched as she passed the place where Firestar had been snared. Feeling sick, she turned to the lake, but the rust-colored moon glittered darkly against the water, looking as thick as blood.
ShadowClan had already started for the island; Squirrelflight could smell their scent lingering beneath her paws on the RiverClan shore. She hauled herself onto the fallen tree, left shoulder twinging where Tornear had ripped it open. The bark was chipped and worn, clawed apart by the few seasons of cats walking across it, but the tree itself was still strong.
Hopping down, Squirrelflight spotted Tawnypelt and padded toward her. The tortoiseshell cat still scanned ThunderClan’s ranks as she greeted Squirrelflight. “It’s good to see you. Times rough now?”
“Things could be better,” Squirrelflight admitted. “Onestar is still hunting in our territory. But we’re eating.”
Tawnypelt nodded. “We heard you had some trouble with—with one of your warriors, that’s all.” She still sounded nervous.
Oh, right, thought Squirrelflight nervously. They’re littermates. She shrugged. “Yeah, a while ago. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Tawnypelt narrowed her green eyes but didn’t ask any further. Eventually she spoke again. “We’ve been having a decent time for it being leafbare,” she offered. “We’ve got plenty of prey. Must be a first.”
WindClan was finally beginning to arrive. The lithe ginger tom from the border skirmish leered at Squirrelflight as he passed. She caught a glimpse of boxy Tornear shouldering his way through the crowd with Gorsepaw behind him.
Tawnypelt tried to follow Squirrelflight’s gaze, but before Squirrelflight could point out the three cats they had disappeared. “Nothing,” she assured the ShadowClan cat.
Leopardstar began to speak, but Onestar cut her off. “Welcome, Thornstar,” he meowed. “I didn’t expect to see another cat in Firestar’s place for quite some time.” He didn’t sound surprised; Squirrelflight bristled at his arrogant tone. Lifting his muzzle, Onestar added, “I knew something was amiss when I heard ThunderClan was stepping over its borders.” (I imagined Slick for Onestar's voice too)
“We are not,” Squirrelflight snapped, leaping to her paws. Sandstorm shushed her as several cats craned their necks to see who had spoken out. “Well, we’re not,” she said defensively, but slightly more quietly.
Onestar’s amber gaze met Squirrelflight, but he said nothing more. He looked small next to the other leaders.
“We have heard some interesting news,” Blackstar meowed. “But that is not why we are here. Prey is running well in ShadowClan, and we are pleased to announce that we have a new warrior, Smokefoot.”
A black cat near Squirrelflight looked pleased as everyone chanted his name. Tawnypelt muttered into Squirrelflight’s ear that he had been a traveling rogue picked up by the Clan and Blackstar had named him after an unfortunate apprentice who had died crossing the mountains.
Leopardstar was much thinner than Squirrelflight had expected—was she not eating anymore? The spotted cat still made a regal figure on her branch, but something definitely looked amiss. “Rippletail and Beechfur have become warriors. Our streams are full of fish.” Again the Clans chanted the warriors’ names.
Onestar announced that Gorsetail had been made a warrior. Now Squirrelflight found the rough-pelted cat again, sitting next to Beechfur.
Leafpool was afraid.
Squirrelflight wanted to rush to her sister’s side, but she knew she had already made enough of a scene. She tried to tune out Leafpool’s fear and concentrate on Onestar, but his smugness was too much to bear.
Finally it was Thornstar’s turn to speak. But as he introduced himself, Hawkfrost stood. “I think we’re all waiting for an explanation,” the RiverClan cat said. “Where is Firestar, and where is Brambleclaw? Shouldn’t it be one of them sitting up there?”
“It is not your place to speak,” Mistyfoot warned him from the base of the tree. But Squirrelflight could hear some murmurs from the crowd as the moonlight faltered.
“Firestar is dead,” said Thornstar.
“Is Brambleclaw dead, too?” asked Hawkfrost. “I thought he was your deputy.”
“Bramblestar does not walk with ThunderClan anymore, either,” said Thornstar, an edge creeping into his voice. “It is none of your concern.” The light had faded a bit more now. (just pretend he's dead and call him Brambleclaw)
“Mothwing spoke to StarClan just the other night. Would you like to know what they said?” Hawkfrost pushed past a couple of cats and marched onto the Great Tree’s roots. “Bramblestar was chased from your Clan after being given nine lives.”
Leafpool’s fear swept back into her at these words. Somehow Squirrelflight thought StarClan had nothing to do with it. (get it???)
“You are not the rightful leader of ThunderClan!” Hawkfrost challenged. “StarClan did not grant you any lives. Whatever Bramblestar did, StarClan approved his leadership.”
“StarClan approved Tigerstar’s leadership, and Brokenstar’s,” Thornstar growled. “I may not have Bramblestar’s lives, but I am a truer leader than he ever was.”
“But was there not a sign?” Bramblestar must have told him about Leafpool’s vision. Thornstar didn’t have a chance to answer—the clouds that had moved over the moon now obscured it fully.
“The Gathering is over,” announced Onestar, leaping fluidly from his branch. Leopardstar followed stiffly. Thornstar looked nervous as Blackstar watched him leave.
Leafpool and Mothwing walked together, whispering urgently. Tawnypelt headed off with her ShadowClan friends, playfully headbutting Rowanclaw’s shoulder.
Leafpool was still distracted the whole way home. Squirrelflight had no one to talk to now that Bramblestar and Ashfur were both gone. She walked in silence, the lake lapping at her paws.
The full moon hung heavy and orange in the sky, dark against Silverpelt but unthreatened by the few wisps of cloud passing underneath. A bat flittered past Squirrelflight; a rustle and thud behind her announced that Birchpaw had tried to catch it. She heard Sandstorm, Birchpaw’s new mentor, chide him halfheartedly.
Tonight was a warmer night than the past few had been, but the breeze over the lake promised this would not last. Squirrelflight shivered as the wind sliced through her pelt, trying to fluff out her fur to warm herself. If Bramblestar hadn’t gone off with Hawkfrost I could probably get him to block the wind for me.
Thornstar had not seemed to have high hopes about the Gathering, though he had still tried to rally his Clan. Firestar’s untimely death might come as a surprise to some cats, although Squirrelflight had a feeling that news had spread to all the Clans by now. A leader so involved in every cat’s business simply dropping dead was unlikely to go unnoticed.
ThunderClan’s Gathering patrol filed along the lakeshore. Squirrelflight’s heart still clenched as she passed the place where Firestar had been snared. Feeling sick, she turned to the lake, but the rust-colored moon glittered darkly against the water, looking as thick as blood.
ShadowClan had already started for the island; Squirrelflight could smell their scent lingering beneath her paws on the RiverClan shore. She hauled herself onto the fallen tree, left shoulder twinging where Tornear had ripped it open. The bark was chipped and worn, clawed apart by the few seasons of cats walking across it, but the tree itself was still strong.
Hopping down, Squirrelflight spotted Tawnypelt and padded toward her. The tortoiseshell cat still scanned ThunderClan’s ranks as she greeted Squirrelflight. “It’s good to see you. Times rough now?”
“Things could be better,” Squirrelflight admitted. “Onestar is still hunting in our territory. But we’re eating.”
Tawnypelt nodded. “We heard you had some trouble with—with one of your warriors, that’s all.” She still sounded nervous.
Oh, right, thought Squirrelflight nervously. They’re littermates. She shrugged. “Yeah, a while ago. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Tawnypelt narrowed her green eyes but didn’t ask any further. Eventually she spoke again. “We’ve been having a decent time for it being leafbare,” she offered. “We’ve got plenty of prey. Must be a first.”
WindClan was finally beginning to arrive. The lithe ginger tom from the border skirmish leered at Squirrelflight as he passed. She caught a glimpse of boxy Tornear shouldering his way through the crowd with Gorsepaw behind him.
Tawnypelt tried to follow Squirrelflight’s gaze, but before Squirrelflight could point out the three cats they had disappeared. “Nothing,” she assured the ShadowClan cat.
Leopardstar began to speak, but Onestar cut her off. “Welcome, Thornstar,” he meowed. “I didn’t expect to see another cat in Firestar’s place for quite some time.” He didn’t sound surprised; Squirrelflight bristled at his arrogant tone. Lifting his muzzle, Onestar added, “I knew something was amiss when I heard ThunderClan was stepping over its borders.” (I imagined Slick for Onestar's voice too)
“We are not,” Squirrelflight snapped, leaping to her paws. Sandstorm shushed her as several cats craned their necks to see who had spoken out. “Well, we’re not,” she said defensively, but slightly more quietly.
Onestar’s amber gaze met Squirrelflight, but he said nothing more. He looked small next to the other leaders.
“We have heard some interesting news,” Blackstar meowed. “But that is not why we are here. Prey is running well in ShadowClan, and we are pleased to announce that we have a new warrior, Smokefoot.”
A black cat near Squirrelflight looked pleased as everyone chanted his name. Tawnypelt muttered into Squirrelflight’s ear that he had been a traveling rogue picked up by the Clan and Blackstar had named him after an unfortunate apprentice who had died crossing the mountains.
Leopardstar was much thinner than Squirrelflight had expected—was she not eating anymore? The spotted cat still made a regal figure on her branch, but something definitely looked amiss. “Rippletail and Beechfur have become warriors. Our streams are full of fish.” Again the Clans chanted the warriors’ names.
Onestar announced that Gorsetail had been made a warrior. Now Squirrelflight found the rough-pelted cat again, sitting next to Beechfur.
Leafpool was afraid.
Squirrelflight wanted to rush to her sister’s side, but she knew she had already made enough of a scene. She tried to tune out Leafpool’s fear and concentrate on Onestar, but his smugness was too much to bear.
Finally it was Thornstar’s turn to speak. But as he introduced himself, Hawkfrost stood. “I think we’re all waiting for an explanation,” the RiverClan cat said. “Where is Firestar, and where is Brambleclaw? Shouldn’t it be one of them sitting up there?”
“It is not your place to speak,” Mistyfoot warned him from the base of the tree. But Squirrelflight could hear some murmurs from the crowd as the moonlight faltered.
“Firestar is dead,” said Thornstar.
“Is Brambleclaw dead, too?” asked Hawkfrost. “I thought he was your deputy.”
“Bramblestar does not walk with ThunderClan anymore, either,” said Thornstar, an edge creeping into his voice. “It is none of your concern.” The light had faded a bit more now. (just pretend he's dead and call him Brambleclaw)
“Mothwing spoke to StarClan just the other night. Would you like to know what they said?” Hawkfrost pushed past a couple of cats and marched onto the Great Tree’s roots. “Bramblestar was chased from your Clan after being given nine lives.”
Leafpool’s fear swept back into her at these words. Somehow Squirrelflight thought StarClan had nothing to do with it. (get it???)
“You are not the rightful leader of ThunderClan!” Hawkfrost challenged. “StarClan did not grant you any lives. Whatever Bramblestar did, StarClan approved his leadership.”
“StarClan approved Tigerstar’s leadership, and Brokenstar’s,” Thornstar growled. “I may not have Bramblestar’s lives, but I am a truer leader than he ever was.”
“But was there not a sign?” Bramblestar must have told him about Leafpool’s vision. Thornstar didn’t have a chance to answer—the clouds that had moved over the moon now obscured it fully.
“The Gathering is over,” announced Onestar, leaping fluidly from his branch. Leopardstar followed stiffly. Thornstar looked nervous as Blackstar watched him leave.
Leafpool and Mothwing walked together, whispering urgently. Tawnypelt headed off with her ShadowClan friends, playfully headbutting Rowanclaw’s shoulder.
Leafpool was still distracted the whole way home. Squirrelflight had no one to talk to now that Bramblestar and Ashfur were both gone. She walked in silence, the lake lapping at her paws.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LEAFPOOL
Ever since the Gathering, ThunderClan had been even more tense than before. It seemed Hawkfrost’s announcement had reminded everyone of ShadowClan’s Nightstar. No cat save Spiderleg had challenged Thornstar’s authority, but the news had not been taken well.
WindClan’s raids had continued in earnest. Leafpool felt a grim guilt every time she pawed through her dwindling herb stock. It had been so full just one moon ago. But now ThunderClan cats were receiving more wounds than before, and the approaching leafbare made herbs more difficult to find.
Leafpool had thought that maybe after Firestar’s death Onestar’s onslaught would cease. The WindClan tom had been one of Firestar’s closest friends until he had suddenly been appointed leader. It was fear that other Clans would accuse him of favoring ThunderClan, she had thought, that spurred his attacks—but they almost seemed to be getting more aggressive.
Today it was Birchfall, one of ThunderClan’s newest warriors, who had needed the most attention. According to Brackenfur, whose muzzle was laced with new scars, some of WindClan’s strongest warriors had been involved in the battle—even an only slightly abashed Ashfoot. (what was my obsession with this word I needed to Stop)
The screen of Leafpool’s den swished, and she turned to see Sorreltail carrying Honeykit in her jaws. Cinderkit and Molekit pattered in behind her, keeping their distance to peer apprehensively around their mother’s legs.
“Honeykit’s cough has gotten worse,” mewed Sorreltail, setting the dappled kit on the floor of the medicine den. “I don’t know if it’s serious, but I thought you ought to know.”
Leafpool dipped her head. “Have any of the other kits caught it?”
“No,” said Sorreltail, “and they won’t, as long as they stay away—” She shot a glance at the kits behind her, who backed out of the den; Leafpool could see them trying to find a good view. “Poppykit is the only one I could get to sleep,” she added apologetically.
“That’s all right,” purred Leafpool. Honeykit coughed weakly. Leafpool nosed through her herbs and hooked a claw into a catmint leaf. “If it’s whitecough or kitcough, this will take care of it. If it’s not, this should still work, but this doesn’t look like greencough or blackcough.” Leafpool shredded the leaf and pushed the scraps toward Honeykit. “Eat this.”
Honeykit eagerly gulped down the catmint. Leafpool noticed that Sorreltail was smelling the air appreciatively—perhaps Leafpool had become desensitized to the herb’s compelling scent; she had a vague memory of being overwhelmed the first time.
“Honeykit should stay here for the night, just to make sure she isn’t contagious,” Leafpool instructed Sorreltail. She was also concerned about the cold, but Sorreltail probably had enough to deal with.
Honeykit cried out indignantly. “I don’t want to!”
“Don’t worry, Honeykit,” Sorreltail murmured soothingly, bending to touch her nose to her kit’s. “It’s only for one night. Think of it as an adventure.”
Honeykit did not seem appeased, but she sat sullenly in place as Sorreltail padded away. Leafpool watched her leave, wondering how her friend could let her kits out of sight so easily. But then, I’ll have to get used to it, she thought. I can’t even stay in the nursery with them.
If only the badgers had come some other time! Instantly Leafpool felt horrible for this thought. It’s not the timing; it’s the badgers themselves. If only the badgers had never come. But her pelt still pricked at the realization of her first reflex. Is my heart with ThunderClan or not?
That was over; there was no use dwelling on the past. At least, not right now, with danger from WindClan so imminent.
Honeykit coughed a couple more times; Leafpool considered giving her a second leaf, but the kit was probably too small to handle much more. Instead she offered the kit poppy seeds. Honeykit tentatively licked them up.
Leafpool arranged some moss in a small nest near her own, then nervously ate some of her parsley. Honeykit curled up in the nest, still upset but drowsy. Now it was time to fill up the stores again. Marigold would be the most pressing; Birchfall’s injury had taken much more than Leafpool would have liked.
I bet Cinderpelt wouldn’t be running low, she thought, creeping out of the den. One of the more rational parts of her mind knew no one was paying her much mind, but she still felt hot stares on her pelt. Some of her Clanmates still didn’t fully trust her, especially now that even the second guess about StarClan’s chosen cat had fallen through.
Thornstar himself was returning from a hunting patrol. He was trying to keep up with usual leader duties, but having had no deputy experience the tabby struggled. Most of ThunderClan’s warriors had been working harder now than they had during the few comfortable moons toward the end of Firestar’s leadership, but Leafpool feared Thornstar might be overworking himself to prove his worth.
The patrol brought back a meager amount of prey to add to the pile; Leafpool caught Spiderleg’s unmistakable voice scoff something, but she was too far away to discern his words. Fortunately, she thought wryly. (how is that wry) Spiderleg certainly knew how to capture a crowd, but usually he did this by spouting conspiracies and challenging anyone who might disagree.
She knew exactly where to find the marigold. She had been going through it so quickly that her paws carried her there almost automatically.
Something was wrong.
Leafpool knew she had used up more marigold than she could afford, especially this long after newleaf, but she had made sure to leave some. Yet now the patch of wilting leaves had been reduced to nearly bare stems.
A familiar scent reached her nose, and Leafpool was struck by nostalgia hard enough that she stepped back a few paces; her fur felt thinner than ever against the leafbare air. Crowfeather.
Suddenly rage burst through her chest. WindClan had stolen their herbs! Wasn’t the prey enough? Couldn’t they be satisfied with the territory they had? And certainly there was enough land toward the mountains. Leafpool remembered her trek to the Clans—and to and from the mountains with Crowfeather. The hills past WindClan’s outer edge were perfectly safe.
Even knowing what Leafpool would be going through, Crowfeather had destroyed her herbs. She almost regretted treating Birchfall’s wound so thoroughly; he’d have been fine. But she knew she had done the right thing.
Uncertain of what to do without herbs, Leafpool searched her mind frantically. What else could substitute for marigold? Chervil would prevent infections, but she still needed to heal the wounds. Goldenrod would not be plentiful enough in this season.
Comfrey, she remembered. It could be hard to come by, but she didn’t need flowers or even leaves; just the roots would do.
Leafpool dug up all the comfrey she could find. It wasn’t the bounty she had hoped for, but it was better than nothing. Crunching over the frost-covered grass she returned to camp, where she noticed with relief that no warriors nursed new wounds.
Leafpool nearly tripped over Poppykit as the tiny tortoiseshell darted beneath her paws. Her comfrey roots tumbled to the ground as she squawked in surprise. The kit scuttled away, looking scared.
To Leafpool’s surprise, it was Daisy who volunteered to gather up the spilled roots. The cream-colored queen had never shown much interest in medicine, and Leafpool would have expected her to take charge of Poppykit instead of cleaning up her mess. But she was grateful for the help.
Daisy seemed to know that Leafpool wasn’t telling her everything; several moons of working with kits had probably taught her a lot about emotions. Her ice blue eyes were darkly knowing.
“We could return to the horseplace,” she suggested softly. “If it ever becomes too hard here.” A chill shot through Leafpool’s body, but Daisy continued. “I brought my kits here twice. Once because I was afraid to lose them, and once because I realized this was my family.” She stared straight into Leafpool’s eyes. “But now our entire family is in danger here.”
“ThunderClan are warriors, and the warrior code forbids the kittypet life,” said Leafpool, a bit more harshly than she meant.
Daisy shook her head. “I know honor means a lot to you. But if we cannot stay here, then there is no use dying when we could have escaped. I will stand by ThunderClan until our last hope has been dashed, but I will not lose my kits if I can prevent it.”
“You would really leave us.”
“Not all of us could stay at the horseplace,” Daisy admitted. “But some could. And there are lands beyond it.”
Leafpool stared silently back at her.
“Your kits would appreciate it, too.”
The queen held Leafpool’s gaze for a few heartbeats longer, then padded out of the den without another word. (I thought it was a little ridiculous that apparently no one noticed Leafpool was pregnant so have Perceptive Daisy)
Ever since the Gathering, ThunderClan had been even more tense than before. It seemed Hawkfrost’s announcement had reminded everyone of ShadowClan’s Nightstar. No cat save Spiderleg had challenged Thornstar’s authority, but the news had not been taken well.
WindClan’s raids had continued in earnest. Leafpool felt a grim guilt every time she pawed through her dwindling herb stock. It had been so full just one moon ago. But now ThunderClan cats were receiving more wounds than before, and the approaching leafbare made herbs more difficult to find.
Leafpool had thought that maybe after Firestar’s death Onestar’s onslaught would cease. The WindClan tom had been one of Firestar’s closest friends until he had suddenly been appointed leader. It was fear that other Clans would accuse him of favoring ThunderClan, she had thought, that spurred his attacks—but they almost seemed to be getting more aggressive.
Today it was Birchfall, one of ThunderClan’s newest warriors, who had needed the most attention. According to Brackenfur, whose muzzle was laced with new scars, some of WindClan’s strongest warriors had been involved in the battle—even an only slightly abashed Ashfoot. (what was my obsession with this word I needed to Stop)
The screen of Leafpool’s den swished, and she turned to see Sorreltail carrying Honeykit in her jaws. Cinderkit and Molekit pattered in behind her, keeping their distance to peer apprehensively around their mother’s legs.
“Honeykit’s cough has gotten worse,” mewed Sorreltail, setting the dappled kit on the floor of the medicine den. “I don’t know if it’s serious, but I thought you ought to know.”
Leafpool dipped her head. “Have any of the other kits caught it?”
“No,” said Sorreltail, “and they won’t, as long as they stay away—” She shot a glance at the kits behind her, who backed out of the den; Leafpool could see them trying to find a good view. “Poppykit is the only one I could get to sleep,” she added apologetically.
“That’s all right,” purred Leafpool. Honeykit coughed weakly. Leafpool nosed through her herbs and hooked a claw into a catmint leaf. “If it’s whitecough or kitcough, this will take care of it. If it’s not, this should still work, but this doesn’t look like greencough or blackcough.” Leafpool shredded the leaf and pushed the scraps toward Honeykit. “Eat this.”
Honeykit eagerly gulped down the catmint. Leafpool noticed that Sorreltail was smelling the air appreciatively—perhaps Leafpool had become desensitized to the herb’s compelling scent; she had a vague memory of being overwhelmed the first time.
“Honeykit should stay here for the night, just to make sure she isn’t contagious,” Leafpool instructed Sorreltail. She was also concerned about the cold, but Sorreltail probably had enough to deal with.
Honeykit cried out indignantly. “I don’t want to!”
“Don’t worry, Honeykit,” Sorreltail murmured soothingly, bending to touch her nose to her kit’s. “It’s only for one night. Think of it as an adventure.”
Honeykit did not seem appeased, but she sat sullenly in place as Sorreltail padded away. Leafpool watched her leave, wondering how her friend could let her kits out of sight so easily. But then, I’ll have to get used to it, she thought. I can’t even stay in the nursery with them.
If only the badgers had come some other time! Instantly Leafpool felt horrible for this thought. It’s not the timing; it’s the badgers themselves. If only the badgers had never come. But her pelt still pricked at the realization of her first reflex. Is my heart with ThunderClan or not?
That was over; there was no use dwelling on the past. At least, not right now, with danger from WindClan so imminent.
Honeykit coughed a couple more times; Leafpool considered giving her a second leaf, but the kit was probably too small to handle much more. Instead she offered the kit poppy seeds. Honeykit tentatively licked them up.
Leafpool arranged some moss in a small nest near her own, then nervously ate some of her parsley. Honeykit curled up in the nest, still upset but drowsy. Now it was time to fill up the stores again. Marigold would be the most pressing; Birchfall’s injury had taken much more than Leafpool would have liked.
I bet Cinderpelt wouldn’t be running low, she thought, creeping out of the den. One of the more rational parts of her mind knew no one was paying her much mind, but she still felt hot stares on her pelt. Some of her Clanmates still didn’t fully trust her, especially now that even the second guess about StarClan’s chosen cat had fallen through.
Thornstar himself was returning from a hunting patrol. He was trying to keep up with usual leader duties, but having had no deputy experience the tabby struggled. Most of ThunderClan’s warriors had been working harder now than they had during the few comfortable moons toward the end of Firestar’s leadership, but Leafpool feared Thornstar might be overworking himself to prove his worth.
The patrol brought back a meager amount of prey to add to the pile; Leafpool caught Spiderleg’s unmistakable voice scoff something, but she was too far away to discern his words. Fortunately, she thought wryly. (how is that wry) Spiderleg certainly knew how to capture a crowd, but usually he did this by spouting conspiracies and challenging anyone who might disagree.
She knew exactly where to find the marigold. She had been going through it so quickly that her paws carried her there almost automatically.
Something was wrong.
Leafpool knew she had used up more marigold than she could afford, especially this long after newleaf, but she had made sure to leave some. Yet now the patch of wilting leaves had been reduced to nearly bare stems.
A familiar scent reached her nose, and Leafpool was struck by nostalgia hard enough that she stepped back a few paces; her fur felt thinner than ever against the leafbare air. Crowfeather.
Suddenly rage burst through her chest. WindClan had stolen their herbs! Wasn’t the prey enough? Couldn’t they be satisfied with the territory they had? And certainly there was enough land toward the mountains. Leafpool remembered her trek to the Clans—and to and from the mountains with Crowfeather. The hills past WindClan’s outer edge were perfectly safe.
Even knowing what Leafpool would be going through, Crowfeather had destroyed her herbs. She almost regretted treating Birchfall’s wound so thoroughly; he’d have been fine. But she knew she had done the right thing.
Uncertain of what to do without herbs, Leafpool searched her mind frantically. What else could substitute for marigold? Chervil would prevent infections, but she still needed to heal the wounds. Goldenrod would not be plentiful enough in this season.
Comfrey, she remembered. It could be hard to come by, but she didn’t need flowers or even leaves; just the roots would do.
Leafpool dug up all the comfrey she could find. It wasn’t the bounty she had hoped for, but it was better than nothing. Crunching over the frost-covered grass she returned to camp, where she noticed with relief that no warriors nursed new wounds.
Leafpool nearly tripped over Poppykit as the tiny tortoiseshell darted beneath her paws. Her comfrey roots tumbled to the ground as she squawked in surprise. The kit scuttled away, looking scared.
To Leafpool’s surprise, it was Daisy who volunteered to gather up the spilled roots. The cream-colored queen had never shown much interest in medicine, and Leafpool would have expected her to take charge of Poppykit instead of cleaning up her mess. But she was grateful for the help.
Daisy seemed to know that Leafpool wasn’t telling her everything; several moons of working with kits had probably taught her a lot about emotions. Her ice blue eyes were darkly knowing.
“We could return to the horseplace,” she suggested softly. “If it ever becomes too hard here.” A chill shot through Leafpool’s body, but Daisy continued. “I brought my kits here twice. Once because I was afraid to lose them, and once because I realized this was my family.” She stared straight into Leafpool’s eyes. “But now our entire family is in danger here.”
“ThunderClan are warriors, and the warrior code forbids the kittypet life,” said Leafpool, a bit more harshly than she meant.
Daisy shook her head. “I know honor means a lot to you. But if we cannot stay here, then there is no use dying when we could have escaped. I will stand by ThunderClan until our last hope has been dashed, but I will not lose my kits if I can prevent it.”
“You would really leave us.”
“Not all of us could stay at the horseplace,” Daisy admitted. “But some could. And there are lands beyond it.”
Leafpool stared silently back at her.
“Your kits would appreciate it, too.”
The queen held Leafpool’s gaze for a few heartbeats longer, then padded out of the den without another word. (I thought it was a little ridiculous that apparently no one noticed Leafpool was pregnant so have Perceptive Daisy)
CHAPTER EIGHT
LEAFPOOL
Leafpool woke the next morning to find that leafbare had finally set in. The moment she stirred it was as if icy talons reached down through her fur, gripping her fiercely. (gripping her fiercely)
Honeykit shivered in her nearby nest. Leafpool realized she had not done much to insulate the poor kit; of course, her own kits would have Daisy. Unless she leaves. Leafpool supposed it wasn’t much of a surprise, really, considering Daisy had tried to leave when Berrypaw’s tail had been cut off, but it would certainly not be helpful for her kits.
Though she was cold, Honeykit’s cough seemed better, so Leafpool nosed her awake and escorted her out of the medicine den. The kit’s legs seemed a bit stiff from sleeping so long, but she eagerly joined her littermates in the nursery.
Hearing voices echoing from Thornstar’s den, Leafpool climbed onto the Highledge to find Thornstar speaking with Brightheart, Spiderleg, and Squirrelflight. Squirrelflight was tense with fear enough to make Leafpool’s heartbeat quicken.
Spiderleg looked as self-important as ever as he meowed, “We need to do something now, or we’re all going to die.”
A growl started in the back of Squirrelflight’s throat, but she suppressed it. “The best thing we can do is step up our defenses.”
Spiderleg hissed. “We’re losing ground every day. We have to finish this immediately, and we have to strike before they do.”
“We aren’t going after WindClan,” Thornstar asserted. “ThunderClan cannot afford a full-scale battle right now.”
“Our herbs are running low,” agreed Brightheart. “We would only lose cats in the battle, and Onestar could use it as an excuse to crush us entirely. We can’t beat them as we are.”
Spiderleg kneaded the ground in frustration, flicking his whiskers. “But then—Thornclaw, you can’t allow them to keep stealing our prey!”
Thornstar’s eyes hardened, and Leafpool saw his shoulders tense. “I am not allowing WindClan to do anything. Onestar has overstepped his boundaries. But there is only so much I can do. It’s difficult enough trying to feed the Clan right now; our only option is to last this leafbare. Come greenleaf, or better, newleaf, we can take further actions.”
“That’s not enough,” spat Spiderleg. “You’re going to lead us into disaster.”
Squirrelflight growled, “I’m all for showing those pieces of fox dung that ThunderClan will never surrender. But we can’t start battles we have no chance of winning.”
Leafpool padded forward nervously. “Spiderleg, Thornstar is right.”
The black-and-brown tom laughed, scorning, strident, “You can say whatever you’d like. Brambleclaw, Thornclaw, what’s the difference?” He flicked an ear toward Thornstar. “At least Thornclaw didn’t kill Firestar, but you have to know that no one believes you. Not even StarClan.” The words were like a claw to the heart. Leafpool had finally started to believe her Clanmates trusted her. (show don't tell) How many other cats agreed with Spiderleg after all?
Thornstar muscled between Spiderleg and Leafpool, forcing the black warrior back a few pawsteps. “Do not speak to your medicine cat this way. My name is Thornstar, and I am your leader.”
“Not according to StarClan,” Spiderleg sniffed.
Squirrelflight’s hackles bushed out. “You know that’s not true! StarClan didn’t kick him out or tell him to step down. They have to follow the rules just as much as you do.”
“Says the cat who ran off with Brambleclaw ’cause her father wouldn’t let her run the Clan.”
“Get out of my den,” ordered Thornstar. “You are to lead a hunting patrol toward the outer edge of our territory. Go as far as you can without risking getting lost.” (see I don't get why they never go to the outer edge in canon)
Spiderleg started to protest, but Brightheart rose to her paws. “Yes, come on, Spiderleg. We will take Sandstorm and Dustpelt with us.”
Spiderleg’s amber eyes were livid as he stalked past Leafpool, but for once he didn’t try to argue. Brightheart followed him, tail lashing.
Thornstar dismissed Squirrelflight as well. When the ginger she-cat had left, he turned to Leafpool. “I need guidance. Can I trust you to talk to StarClan for me?”
“I can try,” she said numbly, knowing she should not complain about his wariness but stung nonetheless. “I can’t make them talk to me, but I can hope.”
The golden-brown tabby sighed. “That’s good enough.” Leafpool thought he was finished speaking, but after a long pause he added, “I should have known the news would get out. I’m not the only cat who remembers Brokenstar. He was…one of the worst cats the Clans have ever seen. Those were dark times. But we survived then, and we will survive now.” (oh we're starting the history lessons early apparently)
Leafpool nodded. She hadn’t been alive when Brokenstar had ruled ShadowClan, but she remembered Sandstorm telling her of his evils to explain why she had to wait to become an apprentice.
“That’s all. You may go. I have to go to the border anyway.” He slowly leapt down from the Highledge, landing with a jolt. Leafpool knew he was exhausted.
Thornstar beckoned the returning Birchfall and Whitewing to join him. They dropped their catches on the freshkill pile and hastily followed Thornstar out of the camp.
Leafpool woke the next morning to find that leafbare had finally set in. The moment she stirred it was as if icy talons reached down through her fur, gripping her fiercely. (gripping her fiercely)
Honeykit shivered in her nearby nest. Leafpool realized she had not done much to insulate the poor kit; of course, her own kits would have Daisy. Unless she leaves. Leafpool supposed it wasn’t much of a surprise, really, considering Daisy had tried to leave when Berrypaw’s tail had been cut off, but it would certainly not be helpful for her kits.
Though she was cold, Honeykit’s cough seemed better, so Leafpool nosed her awake and escorted her out of the medicine den. The kit’s legs seemed a bit stiff from sleeping so long, but she eagerly joined her littermates in the nursery.
Hearing voices echoing from Thornstar’s den, Leafpool climbed onto the Highledge to find Thornstar speaking with Brightheart, Spiderleg, and Squirrelflight. Squirrelflight was tense with fear enough to make Leafpool’s heartbeat quicken.
Spiderleg looked as self-important as ever as he meowed, “We need to do something now, or we’re all going to die.”
A growl started in the back of Squirrelflight’s throat, but she suppressed it. “The best thing we can do is step up our defenses.”
Spiderleg hissed. “We’re losing ground every day. We have to finish this immediately, and we have to strike before they do.”
“We aren’t going after WindClan,” Thornstar asserted. “ThunderClan cannot afford a full-scale battle right now.”
“Our herbs are running low,” agreed Brightheart. “We would only lose cats in the battle, and Onestar could use it as an excuse to crush us entirely. We can’t beat them as we are.”
Spiderleg kneaded the ground in frustration, flicking his whiskers. “But then—Thornclaw, you can’t allow them to keep stealing our prey!”
Thornstar’s eyes hardened, and Leafpool saw his shoulders tense. “I am not allowing WindClan to do anything. Onestar has overstepped his boundaries. But there is only so much I can do. It’s difficult enough trying to feed the Clan right now; our only option is to last this leafbare. Come greenleaf, or better, newleaf, we can take further actions.”
“That’s not enough,” spat Spiderleg. “You’re going to lead us into disaster.”
Squirrelflight growled, “I’m all for showing those pieces of fox dung that ThunderClan will never surrender. But we can’t start battles we have no chance of winning.”
Leafpool padded forward nervously. “Spiderleg, Thornstar is right.”
The black-and-brown tom laughed, scorning, strident, “You can say whatever you’d like. Brambleclaw, Thornclaw, what’s the difference?” He flicked an ear toward Thornstar. “At least Thornclaw didn’t kill Firestar, but you have to know that no one believes you. Not even StarClan.” The words were like a claw to the heart. Leafpool had finally started to believe her Clanmates trusted her. (show don't tell) How many other cats agreed with Spiderleg after all?
Thornstar muscled between Spiderleg and Leafpool, forcing the black warrior back a few pawsteps. “Do not speak to your medicine cat this way. My name is Thornstar, and I am your leader.”
“Not according to StarClan,” Spiderleg sniffed.
Squirrelflight’s hackles bushed out. “You know that’s not true! StarClan didn’t kick him out or tell him to step down. They have to follow the rules just as much as you do.”
“Says the cat who ran off with Brambleclaw ’cause her father wouldn’t let her run the Clan.”
“Get out of my den,” ordered Thornstar. “You are to lead a hunting patrol toward the outer edge of our territory. Go as far as you can without risking getting lost.” (see I don't get why they never go to the outer edge in canon)
Spiderleg started to protest, but Brightheart rose to her paws. “Yes, come on, Spiderleg. We will take Sandstorm and Dustpelt with us.”
Spiderleg’s amber eyes were livid as he stalked past Leafpool, but for once he didn’t try to argue. Brightheart followed him, tail lashing.
Thornstar dismissed Squirrelflight as well. When the ginger she-cat had left, he turned to Leafpool. “I need guidance. Can I trust you to talk to StarClan for me?”
“I can try,” she said numbly, knowing she should not complain about his wariness but stung nonetheless. “I can’t make them talk to me, but I can hope.”
The golden-brown tabby sighed. “That’s good enough.” Leafpool thought he was finished speaking, but after a long pause he added, “I should have known the news would get out. I’m not the only cat who remembers Brokenstar. He was…one of the worst cats the Clans have ever seen. Those were dark times. But we survived then, and we will survive now.” (oh we're starting the history lessons early apparently)
Leafpool nodded. She hadn’t been alive when Brokenstar had ruled ShadowClan, but she remembered Sandstorm telling her of his evils to explain why she had to wait to become an apprentice.
“That’s all. You may go. I have to go to the border anyway.” He slowly leapt down from the Highledge, landing with a jolt. Leafpool knew he was exhausted.
Thornstar beckoned the returning Birchfall and Whitewing to join him. They dropped their catches on the freshkill pile and hastily followed Thornstar out of the camp.
CHAPTER NINE
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
The ginger-and-white cat raked thorn-sharp claws over Squirrelflight’s muzzle. She roared with rage and reared onto her hind paws, slamming the WindClan warrior into the ground. (I have never written a good battle scene; this will be a long road)
“Weaselfur!” barked Onestar, paws on Dustpelt’s neck, Dustpelt’s claws scrabbling at the WindClan leader’s throat. “Get to your paws!” The cat struggled underneath Squirrelflight; she drew back a paw and brought it back down on Weaselfur’s cheek.
Crowfeather—We were friends once! Well, not friends, but—charged at Squirrelflight, catching the side of her neck. She recoiled and released Weaselfur, who slipped away amidst the turmoil. The gray warrior boxed at Squirrelflight’s ears before springing aside; she stumbled where he should have been.
“Stop it,” Squirrelflight whispered, not sounding half as fierce as she had intended. Crowfeather hissed back, striking at her jaw. Two of his claws connected; Squirrelflight felt the blood spurt from her lip.
Out of the corner of her eye Squirrelflight could see Daisy fleeing, kits in tow, a smallish brown cat on her heels. Not like she was going to be much help here—but fox dung! Fox dung! We’ve just lost four cats!
Crowfeather took Squirrelflight’s distraction as an opportunity; he darted forward and sank his teeth into her neck. She yowled in anguish. Was her traveling partner—her sister’s mate—really going to kill her?
Suddenly Crowfeather’s teeth dragged backward. Already running out of breath, Squirrelflight gasped from the pain, but the gray cat no longer had her throat in his jaws; Sandstorm was hauling him away with the strength only a true ThunderClan warrior could muster. His blue eyes burned with hatred; Squirrelflight wondered briefly whether his spine hurt as he twisted to grapple at the cream-colored cat.
Owlwhisker raced past, Poppykit in his jaws; the weight of the kit slowed his progress, and Sorreltail brought him down. Poppykit cried loudly. Squirrelflight swatted at a pale gray tabby who had swooped in to pick up the kit.
The tabby tried to swerve around Squirrelflight to catch her from behind, but Squirrelflight was ready; she had fought WindClan cats before. She bowled the cat over, kicking furiously with both of her hind paws. But the cat’s pelt was slick, and Squirrelflight lost her grip. (I needed to calm down on these fragments)
Dustpelt staggered past nearby as he tried to keep Onestar’s claws away from the soft part of his neck. Birchfall darted underneath and headbutted Onestar’s underbelly. The WindClan leader flinched, bending over the young warrior in pain as Birchfall bit at him.
Sorreltail had managed to return Poppykit to the nursery, but Squirrelflight spotted Webfoot preparing to make a run at her. Squirrelflight dodged past the battling cats and interrupted his charge. The dark gray tabby was smaller than Squirrelflight; he collided with her shoulder and fell to the ground, scrambling back to his paws with a snarl. Hardly affected by his fall at all, Squirrelflight swiped at his paws; she managed to hit one, but he jumped, bringing his upper teeth down on her forehead.
Webfoot’s throat was directly in front of her now; Squirrelflight reached forward to nip at him. He squealed and jerked backward, slipping on blood.
The taste of her own blood struck her now; Squirrelflight reflexively licked her lips, cringing at the dark, metallic flavor. Webfoot lashed at her; his claws caught in her fur, but with effectively no power behind them. Squirrelflight advanced, and he tore his paw away, ripping out tufts of ginger fur. (I also needed to calm down on the semicolons)
WindClan had attacked ThunderClan’s camp. There had been no warning; the dawn patrol had not even begun. A deathly pale blue was beginning to creep across the sky now; black shadows still obscured much of the fighting, but the gray light made the blood shimmer gently, sickeningly, against the dull, dusty ground.
Gorsetail, the new WindClan warrior, grabbed one of Squirrelflight’s ankles. Feeling the teeth sink into her foot, Squirrelflight yowled. Webfoot struck again, tearing her ear, but Sorreltail now pounced on him. The tortoiseshell queen quickly returned to the mouth of the nursery, where she stood, back arched, guarding her kits. Webfoot nervously glanced from the enraged Squirrelflight to the incensed Sorreltail before inching away.
Squirrelflight kicked at Gorsetail, and the gray-and-white warrior eventually let go of her paw. Limping, Squirrelflight whirled and whacked at Gorsetail’s ears until the smaller cat backed off.
Sandstorm was still dealing with Crowfeather; huge, square Tornear battled both Dustpelt and Ferncloud. Squirrelflight had to remind herself that Ferncloud had been an excellent warrior once.
Suddenly the atmosphere of the fight changed. It was as if all the older warriors were suddenly collectively holding their breath. Thornstar had brought his paw down hard on Onestar’s head, and the WindClan cat had collapsed.
Onestar was not dying. His sides still heaved, and his paws still held him up. He was dazed; rising slowly, he shook his head. Thornstar whacked him again, and the brown tabby crumpled. (did I ever explain why this was such a big deal? explanation coming eventually)
Thornstar looked a bit nervous as he raised his head to scan the cats in the clearing. “This battle is over,” he declared.
Ashfoot dipped her head, slowly touching her nose all the way to the ground. “WindClan, let’s go,” she growled.
Shortly the life returned to Onestar. Eyes sparking furiously, the WindClan leader snarled, “Let them have their moth-infested hollow. We don’t want it anyway.” Squirrelflight felt an urge to kick Webfoot as he slunk past her but kept her impulse under control. She didn’t want to risk starting the battle anew, especially since Leafpool had been having so much trouble finding herbs.
Now that she was standing still, with blood seeping through her pelt, Squirrelflight could feel the chill of leafbare. Bursts of wind hissed through the hollow, freezing the sticky mess in her fur. (aka I remembered it was supposed to be cold)
Leafpool had already crept from the medicine den with a bundle of leaves in her mouth. The vaguely bitter taste of leaves was much more pleasant than the blood on Squirrelflight’s teeth, in her nose, running down her chin.
Thornstar didn’t wait for his wounds to be treated before climbing onto the Highledge. “We have won,” he announced. “WindClan will probably not stop their raids, but we have shown them that as a Clan, we will not be defeated. We will not allow them to win. ThunderClan is strong, and we own this forest. Onestar lost a life today. I hope that his is the only one, but this is a victory they will not soon forget.”
The ginger-and-white cat raked thorn-sharp claws over Squirrelflight’s muzzle. She roared with rage and reared onto her hind paws, slamming the WindClan warrior into the ground. (I have never written a good battle scene; this will be a long road)
“Weaselfur!” barked Onestar, paws on Dustpelt’s neck, Dustpelt’s claws scrabbling at the WindClan leader’s throat. “Get to your paws!” The cat struggled underneath Squirrelflight; she drew back a paw and brought it back down on Weaselfur’s cheek.
Crowfeather—We were friends once! Well, not friends, but—charged at Squirrelflight, catching the side of her neck. She recoiled and released Weaselfur, who slipped away amidst the turmoil. The gray warrior boxed at Squirrelflight’s ears before springing aside; she stumbled where he should have been.
“Stop it,” Squirrelflight whispered, not sounding half as fierce as she had intended. Crowfeather hissed back, striking at her jaw. Two of his claws connected; Squirrelflight felt the blood spurt from her lip.
Out of the corner of her eye Squirrelflight could see Daisy fleeing, kits in tow, a smallish brown cat on her heels. Not like she was going to be much help here—but fox dung! Fox dung! We’ve just lost four cats!
Crowfeather took Squirrelflight’s distraction as an opportunity; he darted forward and sank his teeth into her neck. She yowled in anguish. Was her traveling partner—her sister’s mate—really going to kill her?
Suddenly Crowfeather’s teeth dragged backward. Already running out of breath, Squirrelflight gasped from the pain, but the gray cat no longer had her throat in his jaws; Sandstorm was hauling him away with the strength only a true ThunderClan warrior could muster. His blue eyes burned with hatred; Squirrelflight wondered briefly whether his spine hurt as he twisted to grapple at the cream-colored cat.
Owlwhisker raced past, Poppykit in his jaws; the weight of the kit slowed his progress, and Sorreltail brought him down. Poppykit cried loudly. Squirrelflight swatted at a pale gray tabby who had swooped in to pick up the kit.
The tabby tried to swerve around Squirrelflight to catch her from behind, but Squirrelflight was ready; she had fought WindClan cats before. She bowled the cat over, kicking furiously with both of her hind paws. But the cat’s pelt was slick, and Squirrelflight lost her grip. (I needed to calm down on these fragments)
Dustpelt staggered past nearby as he tried to keep Onestar’s claws away from the soft part of his neck. Birchfall darted underneath and headbutted Onestar’s underbelly. The WindClan leader flinched, bending over the young warrior in pain as Birchfall bit at him.
Sorreltail had managed to return Poppykit to the nursery, but Squirrelflight spotted Webfoot preparing to make a run at her. Squirrelflight dodged past the battling cats and interrupted his charge. The dark gray tabby was smaller than Squirrelflight; he collided with her shoulder and fell to the ground, scrambling back to his paws with a snarl. Hardly affected by his fall at all, Squirrelflight swiped at his paws; she managed to hit one, but he jumped, bringing his upper teeth down on her forehead.
Webfoot’s throat was directly in front of her now; Squirrelflight reached forward to nip at him. He squealed and jerked backward, slipping on blood.
The taste of her own blood struck her now; Squirrelflight reflexively licked her lips, cringing at the dark, metallic flavor. Webfoot lashed at her; his claws caught in her fur, but with effectively no power behind them. Squirrelflight advanced, and he tore his paw away, ripping out tufts of ginger fur. (I also needed to calm down on the semicolons)
WindClan had attacked ThunderClan’s camp. There had been no warning; the dawn patrol had not even begun. A deathly pale blue was beginning to creep across the sky now; black shadows still obscured much of the fighting, but the gray light made the blood shimmer gently, sickeningly, against the dull, dusty ground.
Gorsetail, the new WindClan warrior, grabbed one of Squirrelflight’s ankles. Feeling the teeth sink into her foot, Squirrelflight yowled. Webfoot struck again, tearing her ear, but Sorreltail now pounced on him. The tortoiseshell queen quickly returned to the mouth of the nursery, where she stood, back arched, guarding her kits. Webfoot nervously glanced from the enraged Squirrelflight to the incensed Sorreltail before inching away.
Squirrelflight kicked at Gorsetail, and the gray-and-white warrior eventually let go of her paw. Limping, Squirrelflight whirled and whacked at Gorsetail’s ears until the smaller cat backed off.
Sandstorm was still dealing with Crowfeather; huge, square Tornear battled both Dustpelt and Ferncloud. Squirrelflight had to remind herself that Ferncloud had been an excellent warrior once.
Suddenly the atmosphere of the fight changed. It was as if all the older warriors were suddenly collectively holding their breath. Thornstar had brought his paw down hard on Onestar’s head, and the WindClan cat had collapsed.
Onestar was not dying. His sides still heaved, and his paws still held him up. He was dazed; rising slowly, he shook his head. Thornstar whacked him again, and the brown tabby crumpled. (did I ever explain why this was such a big deal? explanation coming eventually)
Thornstar looked a bit nervous as he raised his head to scan the cats in the clearing. “This battle is over,” he declared.
Ashfoot dipped her head, slowly touching her nose all the way to the ground. “WindClan, let’s go,” she growled.
Shortly the life returned to Onestar. Eyes sparking furiously, the WindClan leader snarled, “Let them have their moth-infested hollow. We don’t want it anyway.” Squirrelflight felt an urge to kick Webfoot as he slunk past her but kept her impulse under control. She didn’t want to risk starting the battle anew, especially since Leafpool had been having so much trouble finding herbs.
Now that she was standing still, with blood seeping through her pelt, Squirrelflight could feel the chill of leafbare. Bursts of wind hissed through the hollow, freezing the sticky mess in her fur. (aka I remembered it was supposed to be cold)
Leafpool had already crept from the medicine den with a bundle of leaves in her mouth. The vaguely bitter taste of leaves was much more pleasant than the blood on Squirrelflight’s teeth, in her nose, running down her chin.
Thornstar didn’t wait for his wounds to be treated before climbing onto the Highledge. “We have won,” he announced. “WindClan will probably not stop their raids, but we have shown them that as a Clan, we will not be defeated. We will not allow them to win. ThunderClan is strong, and we own this forest. Onestar lost a life today. I hope that his is the only one, but this is a victory they will not soon forget.”
CHAPTER TEN
CROWFEATHER
Staying low in the brittle, cold grass, Crowfeather tasted the air. His wounds still stung from the last battle, but Onestar was determined enough to try again. “ThunderClan suffered more damage than we did,” he had said. “Hollow victories invite further attempts.”
Crowfeather had been close to killing Squirrelflight. She was the reason Leafpool had returned to the Clans; without her, maybe the two of them could run away. Start a new Clan with our kits.
Crowfeather had been so desperate for his Clanmates’ trust that he had taken another mate. A she-cat who wanted kits badly enough that she believed him from the start. A clingy, demanding cat he could never love. If Leafpool and I could just get away, I would never have to deal with Nightcloud or her squealing kits again…
And, of course, if all else failed, at least WindClan would have enough territory to live comfortably. Ashfoot had suggested traveling to the land farther from the lake, but Onestar had shot this down. He was still angry about ShadowClan and RiverClan’s assumption early in his reign that he would be soft on Firestar’s cats; apparently he wanted to erase ThunderClan from the lake entirely.
“But with more territory, we will have more room to train kits. Try to capture any kits you can,” he had ordered. Mousepebble had chased after a pale cat who had fled with her kits, but the brown warrior had been decisively defeated; the cats had been apprentices, and even the terrified queen could fight; although Mousepebble would have defeated any one alone, Crowfeather recalled the tale of how even the gargantuan Bone had been taken down by a swarm of apprentices.
ThunderClan had now posted a guard, it seemed. Brook Where Small Fish Swim, a tabby from the mountains, sat watch at the main entrance to camp. As the grass snapped beneath the WindClan cats’ paws, her ears flicked. Her gray eyes darted instantly to the front of the patrol cresting the hill, most of whom were obscured by the dense undergrowth of ThunderClan’s forests or still behind the tall rise of the earth.
“Attack!” Brook howled, leaping to her paws. She had been a prey-hunter, not a cave-guard, in the Tribe; her blows did not have much force behind them, though she was as skilled as any cat, since prey was harder to come by and to catch when every pawstep had the potential to send one falling into the abyss.
All stealth abandoned, Onestar bounded into the ThunderClan camp. Warriors had emerged from their den, ready to fight, but even in the few heartbeats Crowfeather had before he was upon them he noticed the hunger in their eyes and the wounds crossing their pelts.
Remembering the force with which Leafpool’s mother had yanked him away before, Crowfeather avoided her, instead aiming for Stormfur, hoping to take the broad-shouldered warrior off guard.
Crowfeather knew he was depleting Leafpool’s resources and giving her more work to do, but maybe if he talked to her later that would only encourage her to leave all this behind.
Stormfur had grown up a RiverClan cat and lived as a cave-guard in the Tribe of Rushing Water; he was a bulky, if starving, tom whose attacks were ferocious but predictable. Crowfeather easily dodged Stormfur’s first few strikes, nipping under the larger tom’s forelegs at the softer skin beneath.
A wide, heavy paw caught his spine; Crowfeather shrieked as Stormfur tore at one of the wounds Sandstorm had given him. Stormfur pulled him closer, crushing him.
But Stormfur didn’t know about one of the strategies that had given WindClan another paw over ThunderClan before. Crowfeather himself had had the idea, in fact. The WindClan warriors had rubbed dock leaves over their fur. The leaves had no medicinal use, so Barkface did not mind using them on cats’ pelts. Crowfeather had recalled using the slippery leaves to free Squirrelflight from a fence before. Apparently Weaselfur and Streamstripe had been saved largely by his plan in the last battle.
Crowfeather pulled himself out of Stormfur’s grasp, clutching the huge tom’s shoulders. Stormfur rolled over to smash him the way badgers often did, but the WindClan cat was faster, and had expected something like this. Springing aside, he was ready to pounce on Stormfur’s now exposed belly.
A powerful hind paw knocked Crowfeather’s muzzle away and made his teeth ache. Crowfeather hissed; Stormfur looked anguished as he snarled, “Did Feathertail’s sacrifice mean nothing?”
This made Crowfeather freeze. “Feathertail meant everything to me,” he hissed. “You think you understand—but you don’t know me at all.” He slammed his head into Stormfur’s jaw; it didn’t seem to do much actual damage, but it did startle Stormfur, who repeatedly shook his head to the side, retreating a few pawsteps.
Crowfeather sprang again, wrapping his paws around Stormfur and biting at his flank. The gray tom’s fur was thick and coarse, but Crowfeather’s teeth were sharp as gorse thorns. He heard his opponent let out a gasp of pain.
Stormfur rolled again, but Crowfeather tucked in his head and rolled with him; the Tribe cat’s weight was painful but bearable. “You’ll join Feathertail soon enough,” threatened Crowfeather, stretching his neck to reach Stormfur’s belly. He didn’t plan to kill his old traveling partner, but if worst came to worst, this would be the surest way to show Onestar how true he was to his Clan.
Stormfur swatted Crowfeather down. “I can’t believe StarClan wanted you. Of all of WindClan—” He broke off. “No, I can’t believe StarClan wanted any of WindClan.”
Some of WindClan, of course, had been uncomfortable with the plan to destroy ThunderClan. Particularly the older warriors, who apparently recalled the same thing being done to WindClan in the old forest by a ShadowClan leader. Crowfeather himself had not exactly been enthusiastic about ruining so many cats’ lives, but Onestar’s word was law.
Crowfeather felt someone grab his tail. “Let go!” he snarled, glancing over his shoulder to see a pale gray cat. Ferncloud, he thought Leafpool had called her. The dappled queen pulled his tail, tip held fast in her jaws.
Pain lanced from his tail tip through his spine. Reflexively he let go of Stormfur; still Ferncloud ground his tail in her teeth. Crowfeather grabbed her face in his right paw and her whiskers with his left, spine aching from the effort. Finally she freed his tail; the tip still throbbed.
Ferncloud hadn’t battled for a long time. Even if he hadn’t known from Leafpool that the gray queen now cared for kits instead of patrolling, Crowfeather could have told she had little experience. She had clearly fought in the last WindClan invasion, but one battle hadn’t done much to hone her dampened skills. Her strikes were clumsy from disuse.
Again, Crowfeather had no intent of killing his enemy, but he realized how difficult that would be while fighting like a true warrior. Maybe this cat would have to die.
Onestar yowled triumphantly from somewhere else in the clearing. “Surrender, or I’ll do it!” Crowfeather and Ferncloud both turned to look, pain shooting once more through his tail. Onestar had Thornstar pinned on the path to the Highledge. The ThunderClan leader’s head stuck out over the edge; his neck was pressed onto the rock, and Onestar could probably finish him off without even using his teeth.
Thornstar looked defiant and tried to rasp a rallying cry, but Brightheart bounded forward. “Don’t kill him!” she growled.
Onestar bared his teeth. “Surrender.”
Brightheart stood below the two leaders, lashing her tail. A black ThunderClan warrior said something; he spoke too quietly for Crowfeather to pick out the words, but his voice held a disparaging tone.
Onestar’s amber gaze glittered like the moon. His pelt was stained red. “Look around you,” he said coldly. “Look at your cats. This is what you’ve done, Thornclaw.” Onestar flicked his tail toward a body on the ground. “This is your fault.”
Thornstar grunted something, but his mouth could barely open. He was running out of breath.
Onestar surveyed the ThunderClan cats. “If you give up half of the territory between your camp and our border, I will end this battle now.”
Thornstar tried to shake his head, but Brightheart bowed hers. “We must.”
Onestar looked amused. “I’m impressed, Thornclaw. Maybe Lostface should have taken over instead. Maybe then your warriors would still be alive.” (okay, the disrespect is a "good" level, but would Onestar know she was Lostface once?) He shoved Thornstar aside as he hopped onto the ground, motioning for his Clan to leave.
Crowfeather caught Leafpool staring at him, looking terrified. He tried to flash her a gaze that would let her know everything would be fine for her; no WindClan cat would ever hurt her. Not a medicine cat with unborn kits still inside of her—though, he reminded himself, no cat knew she carried the kits. She did look quite heavy compared to her Clanmates, but she was supposed to be healthier; she knew how to take care of herself and avoid illness.
“Well done, Crowfeather,” murmured Onestar. “I saw that back there. You’ll be a WindClan cat yet.” The leader stepped up his pace until he reached the front of the battle party. Crowfeather watched him, wondering how much more he would have to do for this cat.
Staying low in the brittle, cold grass, Crowfeather tasted the air. His wounds still stung from the last battle, but Onestar was determined enough to try again. “ThunderClan suffered more damage than we did,” he had said. “Hollow victories invite further attempts.”
Crowfeather had been close to killing Squirrelflight. She was the reason Leafpool had returned to the Clans; without her, maybe the two of them could run away. Start a new Clan with our kits.
Crowfeather had been so desperate for his Clanmates’ trust that he had taken another mate. A she-cat who wanted kits badly enough that she believed him from the start. A clingy, demanding cat he could never love. If Leafpool and I could just get away, I would never have to deal with Nightcloud or her squealing kits again…
And, of course, if all else failed, at least WindClan would have enough territory to live comfortably. Ashfoot had suggested traveling to the land farther from the lake, but Onestar had shot this down. He was still angry about ShadowClan and RiverClan’s assumption early in his reign that he would be soft on Firestar’s cats; apparently he wanted to erase ThunderClan from the lake entirely.
“But with more territory, we will have more room to train kits. Try to capture any kits you can,” he had ordered. Mousepebble had chased after a pale cat who had fled with her kits, but the brown warrior had been decisively defeated; the cats had been apprentices, and even the terrified queen could fight; although Mousepebble would have defeated any one alone, Crowfeather recalled the tale of how even the gargantuan Bone had been taken down by a swarm of apprentices.
ThunderClan had now posted a guard, it seemed. Brook Where Small Fish Swim, a tabby from the mountains, sat watch at the main entrance to camp. As the grass snapped beneath the WindClan cats’ paws, her ears flicked. Her gray eyes darted instantly to the front of the patrol cresting the hill, most of whom were obscured by the dense undergrowth of ThunderClan’s forests or still behind the tall rise of the earth.
“Attack!” Brook howled, leaping to her paws. She had been a prey-hunter, not a cave-guard, in the Tribe; her blows did not have much force behind them, though she was as skilled as any cat, since prey was harder to come by and to catch when every pawstep had the potential to send one falling into the abyss.
All stealth abandoned, Onestar bounded into the ThunderClan camp. Warriors had emerged from their den, ready to fight, but even in the few heartbeats Crowfeather had before he was upon them he noticed the hunger in their eyes and the wounds crossing their pelts.
Remembering the force with which Leafpool’s mother had yanked him away before, Crowfeather avoided her, instead aiming for Stormfur, hoping to take the broad-shouldered warrior off guard.
Crowfeather knew he was depleting Leafpool’s resources and giving her more work to do, but maybe if he talked to her later that would only encourage her to leave all this behind.
Stormfur had grown up a RiverClan cat and lived as a cave-guard in the Tribe of Rushing Water; he was a bulky, if starving, tom whose attacks were ferocious but predictable. Crowfeather easily dodged Stormfur’s first few strikes, nipping under the larger tom’s forelegs at the softer skin beneath.
A wide, heavy paw caught his spine; Crowfeather shrieked as Stormfur tore at one of the wounds Sandstorm had given him. Stormfur pulled him closer, crushing him.
But Stormfur didn’t know about one of the strategies that had given WindClan another paw over ThunderClan before. Crowfeather himself had had the idea, in fact. The WindClan warriors had rubbed dock leaves over their fur. The leaves had no medicinal use, so Barkface did not mind using them on cats’ pelts. Crowfeather had recalled using the slippery leaves to free Squirrelflight from a fence before. Apparently Weaselfur and Streamstripe had been saved largely by his plan in the last battle.
Crowfeather pulled himself out of Stormfur’s grasp, clutching the huge tom’s shoulders. Stormfur rolled over to smash him the way badgers often did, but the WindClan cat was faster, and had expected something like this. Springing aside, he was ready to pounce on Stormfur’s now exposed belly.
A powerful hind paw knocked Crowfeather’s muzzle away and made his teeth ache. Crowfeather hissed; Stormfur looked anguished as he snarled, “Did Feathertail’s sacrifice mean nothing?”
This made Crowfeather freeze. “Feathertail meant everything to me,” he hissed. “You think you understand—but you don’t know me at all.” He slammed his head into Stormfur’s jaw; it didn’t seem to do much actual damage, but it did startle Stormfur, who repeatedly shook his head to the side, retreating a few pawsteps.
Crowfeather sprang again, wrapping his paws around Stormfur and biting at his flank. The gray tom’s fur was thick and coarse, but Crowfeather’s teeth were sharp as gorse thorns. He heard his opponent let out a gasp of pain.
Stormfur rolled again, but Crowfeather tucked in his head and rolled with him; the Tribe cat’s weight was painful but bearable. “You’ll join Feathertail soon enough,” threatened Crowfeather, stretching his neck to reach Stormfur’s belly. He didn’t plan to kill his old traveling partner, but if worst came to worst, this would be the surest way to show Onestar how true he was to his Clan.
Stormfur swatted Crowfeather down. “I can’t believe StarClan wanted you. Of all of WindClan—” He broke off. “No, I can’t believe StarClan wanted any of WindClan.”
Some of WindClan, of course, had been uncomfortable with the plan to destroy ThunderClan. Particularly the older warriors, who apparently recalled the same thing being done to WindClan in the old forest by a ShadowClan leader. Crowfeather himself had not exactly been enthusiastic about ruining so many cats’ lives, but Onestar’s word was law.
Crowfeather felt someone grab his tail. “Let go!” he snarled, glancing over his shoulder to see a pale gray cat. Ferncloud, he thought Leafpool had called her. The dappled queen pulled his tail, tip held fast in her jaws.
Pain lanced from his tail tip through his spine. Reflexively he let go of Stormfur; still Ferncloud ground his tail in her teeth. Crowfeather grabbed her face in his right paw and her whiskers with his left, spine aching from the effort. Finally she freed his tail; the tip still throbbed.
Ferncloud hadn’t battled for a long time. Even if he hadn’t known from Leafpool that the gray queen now cared for kits instead of patrolling, Crowfeather could have told she had little experience. She had clearly fought in the last WindClan invasion, but one battle hadn’t done much to hone her dampened skills. Her strikes were clumsy from disuse.
Again, Crowfeather had no intent of killing his enemy, but he realized how difficult that would be while fighting like a true warrior. Maybe this cat would have to die.
Onestar yowled triumphantly from somewhere else in the clearing. “Surrender, or I’ll do it!” Crowfeather and Ferncloud both turned to look, pain shooting once more through his tail. Onestar had Thornstar pinned on the path to the Highledge. The ThunderClan leader’s head stuck out over the edge; his neck was pressed onto the rock, and Onestar could probably finish him off without even using his teeth.
Thornstar looked defiant and tried to rasp a rallying cry, but Brightheart bounded forward. “Don’t kill him!” she growled.
Onestar bared his teeth. “Surrender.”
Brightheart stood below the two leaders, lashing her tail. A black ThunderClan warrior said something; he spoke too quietly for Crowfeather to pick out the words, but his voice held a disparaging tone.
Onestar’s amber gaze glittered like the moon. His pelt was stained red. “Look around you,” he said coldly. “Look at your cats. This is what you’ve done, Thornclaw.” Onestar flicked his tail toward a body on the ground. “This is your fault.”
Thornstar grunted something, but his mouth could barely open. He was running out of breath.
Onestar surveyed the ThunderClan cats. “If you give up half of the territory between your camp and our border, I will end this battle now.”
Thornstar tried to shake his head, but Brightheart bowed hers. “We must.”
Onestar looked amused. “I’m impressed, Thornclaw. Maybe Lostface should have taken over instead. Maybe then your warriors would still be alive.” (okay, the disrespect is a "good" level, but would Onestar know she was Lostface once?) He shoved Thornstar aside as he hopped onto the ground, motioning for his Clan to leave.
Crowfeather caught Leafpool staring at him, looking terrified. He tried to flash her a gaze that would let her know everything would be fine for her; no WindClan cat would ever hurt her. Not a medicine cat with unborn kits still inside of her—though, he reminded himself, no cat knew she carried the kits. She did look quite heavy compared to her Clanmates, but she was supposed to be healthier; she knew how to take care of herself and avoid illness.
“Well done, Crowfeather,” murmured Onestar. “I saw that back there. You’ll be a WindClan cat yet.” The leader stepped up his pace until he reached the front of the battle party. Crowfeather watched him, wondering how much more he would have to do for this cat.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
Leafpool pressed the poultice of roots against Squirrelflight’s scratches. “You’ll be okay,” her sister assured her. “These aren’t deep.”
Squirrelflight nodded. “It was Weaselfur again. I think he’s out to get me.”
Leafpool sighed. “At least it wasn’t Tornear or Ashfoot.”
“That’s true.” Squirrelflight wished she could just sit down and talk to her sister about everything that was going on, but Leafpool needed to move on to the next cat; Dustpelt had received some serious flank wounds and reopened a gash on the side of his neck.
At least Dustpelt had fared better than Brackenfur or Rainwhisker. Rainwhisker’s body had been nearly unrecognizable under his own blood, and Squirrelflight had seen the slippery pale gray tabby deliver Brackenfur the killing blow.
Thornstar had appointed Sandstorm his deputy immediately after the battle; he had also told Brightheart that in the future she should place the Clan above his life, to which she had said that losing their leader in addition to their deputy once again would only have ruined them further. “WindClan would only have taken what they wanted anyway.” (quit with the recaps, past me; show it or don't)
Onestar’s blatant disrespect for Thornstar had shown as well. Spiderleg had clearly noticed this, sniping to himself about the ThunderClan leader’s ineffectiveness. “Can’t even control his own sister.”
Thornstar tried to stop Leafpool from using her herbs on him, but she insisted that he needed to heal as much as any cat. He gave in, but afterward he called Squirrelflight and Spiderleg, neither of whom had suffered serious wounds, to hunt with him.
“Don’t strain yourselves,” Leafpool ordered him, deadly serious. “I don’t want any of you risking infection. Or bleeding out. Do you hear me?” Thornstar agreed, but Squirrelflight thought she detected exasperation in his tone.
The grass had been trampled enough that it barely even crunched now. Broken blades littered the ground; the bushes’ icy leaves rattled ominously in the wind. The sun burned brightly in the sky, glittering on the frozen ground where it now filtered down easily through the bare trees above, but the chill breeze countered its warmth.
This is no weather for kits, she thought grimly. Hopefully her Clan would be understanding. And hopefully someone could provide milk. Did Leafpool really have to time things so badly? She was a medicine cat; she should have realized the kits would come during leafbare, and the mountains would be no more pleasant than the forest.
A tiny rustling alerted Squirrelflight to nearby prey. It was an easy catch, but it was only a small vole. Disappointed, she scraped earth over it and sniffed at the ground, hoping it had family nearby, but the ground smelled mostly of frost.
Squirrelflight managed to track down a drowsy squirrel, but by the time she had found it the sun was at its highest point, and WindClan scent was everywhere. Hurrying back to what was still ThunderClan’s land she picked up the vole and padded back to camp with her catch.
WindClan would not be satisfied with this. Any leader willing to publicly announce that he would kill another cat for no reason would not stop at a quarter of the territory he could gain.
Thornstar apparently knew this too; of course, as leader, it was his job to do everything in his power to protect his Clan. Later that day he called a Clan meeting.
“We may have lost this morning,” he croaked, “but we are still together. We mourn our departed Clanmates, but the rest of us are still a Clan. We will not give up our roots.”
Spiderleg chuckled drily but said nothing.
“I know that WindClan will not be finished with today’s victory. They will be back. But we will be ready once more. We’ve beaten them before; we can do it again. StarClan will not let them get away with this.”
“They already have,” muttered Dustpelt, blood still seeping from beneath the poultice on his neck.
Thornstar’s gaze was imploring. “In the meantime…there is unused land farther from the lake.”
“Or there was until we started using it,” Spiderleg complained. “The only good thing we’ve done is take one of Onestar’s lives. He may be Onestar, but he’s not Onelife. That’s you.”
Thornstar bristled; Squirrelflight had seen him flare his nose just like this when he had been frustrated at her during her apprentice days. He kept his temper under control, as he had then, as he meowed, “We will kill only when necessary.”
“It was necessary today,” said Spiderleg, rising to his paws. “If anyone had killed Onestar, we would have won again.”
“We will use the territory away from the lake more,” Thornstar growled, raising his voice to drown out Spiderleg’s complaints. “We have been sending some patrols there, but maybe the solution is to move in that direction. Squirrelflight did our Clan a great service falling into this hole, but maybe it was not meant to be forever.”
A cat or two twitched their ears in laughter at his mention of Squirrelflight; she was a bit embarrassed, but it had been entirely her fault that she had fallen in, and it had been a great camp.
“Maybe Daisy had the right idea,” Sorreltail whimpered guiltily. She had always been a brave cat, but Squirrelflight supposed it was one thing to fight to the death oneself and quite another to allow one’s children to do the same. She would be horrified, she thought, if WindClan killed Leafpool; she couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to lose a kit.
Thornstar still looked nervous on the Highledge. “For now, we will stay. But…StarClan may not provide for us right now.” He looked expectantly at Leafpool. She didn’t meet his gaze.
Leafpool pressed the poultice of roots against Squirrelflight’s scratches. “You’ll be okay,” her sister assured her. “These aren’t deep.”
Squirrelflight nodded. “It was Weaselfur again. I think he’s out to get me.”
Leafpool sighed. “At least it wasn’t Tornear or Ashfoot.”
“That’s true.” Squirrelflight wished she could just sit down and talk to her sister about everything that was going on, but Leafpool needed to move on to the next cat; Dustpelt had received some serious flank wounds and reopened a gash on the side of his neck.
At least Dustpelt had fared better than Brackenfur or Rainwhisker. Rainwhisker’s body had been nearly unrecognizable under his own blood, and Squirrelflight had seen the slippery pale gray tabby deliver Brackenfur the killing blow.
Thornstar had appointed Sandstorm his deputy immediately after the battle; he had also told Brightheart that in the future she should place the Clan above his life, to which she had said that losing their leader in addition to their deputy once again would only have ruined them further. “WindClan would only have taken what they wanted anyway.” (quit with the recaps, past me; show it or don't)
Onestar’s blatant disrespect for Thornstar had shown as well. Spiderleg had clearly noticed this, sniping to himself about the ThunderClan leader’s ineffectiveness. “Can’t even control his own sister.”
Thornstar tried to stop Leafpool from using her herbs on him, but she insisted that he needed to heal as much as any cat. He gave in, but afterward he called Squirrelflight and Spiderleg, neither of whom had suffered serious wounds, to hunt with him.
“Don’t strain yourselves,” Leafpool ordered him, deadly serious. “I don’t want any of you risking infection. Or bleeding out. Do you hear me?” Thornstar agreed, but Squirrelflight thought she detected exasperation in his tone.
The grass had been trampled enough that it barely even crunched now. Broken blades littered the ground; the bushes’ icy leaves rattled ominously in the wind. The sun burned brightly in the sky, glittering on the frozen ground where it now filtered down easily through the bare trees above, but the chill breeze countered its warmth.
This is no weather for kits, she thought grimly. Hopefully her Clan would be understanding. And hopefully someone could provide milk. Did Leafpool really have to time things so badly? She was a medicine cat; she should have realized the kits would come during leafbare, and the mountains would be no more pleasant than the forest.
A tiny rustling alerted Squirrelflight to nearby prey. It was an easy catch, but it was only a small vole. Disappointed, she scraped earth over it and sniffed at the ground, hoping it had family nearby, but the ground smelled mostly of frost.
Squirrelflight managed to track down a drowsy squirrel, but by the time she had found it the sun was at its highest point, and WindClan scent was everywhere. Hurrying back to what was still ThunderClan’s land she picked up the vole and padded back to camp with her catch.
WindClan would not be satisfied with this. Any leader willing to publicly announce that he would kill another cat for no reason would not stop at a quarter of the territory he could gain.
Thornstar apparently knew this too; of course, as leader, it was his job to do everything in his power to protect his Clan. Later that day he called a Clan meeting.
“We may have lost this morning,” he croaked, “but we are still together. We mourn our departed Clanmates, but the rest of us are still a Clan. We will not give up our roots.”
Spiderleg chuckled drily but said nothing.
“I know that WindClan will not be finished with today’s victory. They will be back. But we will be ready once more. We’ve beaten them before; we can do it again. StarClan will not let them get away with this.”
“They already have,” muttered Dustpelt, blood still seeping from beneath the poultice on his neck.
Thornstar’s gaze was imploring. “In the meantime…there is unused land farther from the lake.”
“Or there was until we started using it,” Spiderleg complained. “The only good thing we’ve done is take one of Onestar’s lives. He may be Onestar, but he’s not Onelife. That’s you.”
Thornstar bristled; Squirrelflight had seen him flare his nose just like this when he had been frustrated at her during her apprentice days. He kept his temper under control, as he had then, as he meowed, “We will kill only when necessary.”
“It was necessary today,” said Spiderleg, rising to his paws. “If anyone had killed Onestar, we would have won again.”
“We will use the territory away from the lake more,” Thornstar growled, raising his voice to drown out Spiderleg’s complaints. “We have been sending some patrols there, but maybe the solution is to move in that direction. Squirrelflight did our Clan a great service falling into this hole, but maybe it was not meant to be forever.”
A cat or two twitched their ears in laughter at his mention of Squirrelflight; she was a bit embarrassed, but it had been entirely her fault that she had fallen in, and it had been a great camp.
“Maybe Daisy had the right idea,” Sorreltail whimpered guiltily. She had always been a brave cat, but Squirrelflight supposed it was one thing to fight to the death oneself and quite another to allow one’s children to do the same. She would be horrified, she thought, if WindClan killed Leafpool; she couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to lose a kit.
Thornstar still looked nervous on the Highledge. “For now, we will stay. But…StarClan may not provide for us right now.” He looked expectantly at Leafpool. She didn’t meet his gaze.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
Leafpool was unapproachably worried. She had been on edge since the badger attack; Squirrelflight understood why, of course, but Leafpool had only gotten jumpier over time.
Squirrelflight was not comforted by Leafpool’s fears now. Usually it was at least a sign of what was wrong, but now that was obvious. With leafbare this harsh and WindClan invading, ThunderClan could not afford to lose their medicine cat or to exhaust their herb supply, but it appeared both these things would soon happen.
Squirrelflight tried to keep herself busy enough to avoid her worries, but this did not seem possible. Lack of sleep made her reflexes slow and her senses dull; hunger made her hear mice that weren’t there and envy her Clanmates, whose gnawing stomachs Squirrelflight could not feel, though she knew that was ridiculous.
Sandstorm had set to work organizing the Clan so that someone was always hunting, but some fierce warriors were prepared to guard the camp at all times. Squirrelflight was proud of her mother for her new authority, but she also worried that Sandstorm would be a bigger target for Onestar’s warriors.
Much of ThunderClan was alarmed at how thoroughly the WindClan cats relied on Onestar’s orders. Even cats like Ashfoot and Tornear, who clearly disagreed with their leader, had fought viciously in ThunderClan’s camp.
Defeat did not bode well for ThunderClan at all. There was nowhere else in the territory that could be used as a camp. If WindClan attacked again they could be forced out entirely. Squirrelflight had heard a rumor moons ago from Longtail and Mousefur that Tigerstar had been a punishment for ShadowClan allowing Brokenstar to drive off WindClan, so maybe StarClan would punish WindClan for repeating his evils, but Goldenflower had angrily dismissed it, saying that other cats had called Brokenstar a punishment as well and that not every bad thing that happened was a result of StarClan’s wrath.
Squirrelflight could vouch for this. Maybe she had been a mouse-brain at times, but she had done nothing to deserve betrayal by both Bramblestar and Ashfur, and neither had Firestar or anyone else in the Clan.
Of course, Leafpool had admitted that she had been seeing three sharp stars blazing brighter than the rest ever since her excursion with Crowfeather; maybe her kits were StarClan’s way of warning the medicine cat that her transgressions against the code would catch up to her. Hopefully the same would happen to Onestar; Whitetail was expecting, or so Squirrelflight had heard.
Once again Squirrelflight turned up only a small amount of prey. Pouncing made her dizzy, and she padded back to camp with her ears ringing. Sorreltail guiltily ate a bit more than other cats; her kits were looking hungry and sick, Molekit especially.
Leafpool’s amber gaze was dark as she stared unblinkingly from the medicine den. Squirrelflight could feel the pain in her sister’s belly; Leafpool’s head was spinning, too. StarClan, let these kits grow up healthy. I can’t do this alone.
Squirrelflight woke a few mornings later to Leafpool prodding her side. Her sister said nothing, but the urgency in her eyes was clear.
The two cats crossed the clearing and left through the main entrance. Stormfur dipped his head, murmuring a greeting; Squirrelflight told him they were going to search for herbs in territory beyond even where they had previously been hunting.
WindClan had been pushing closer and closer to ThunderClan’s camp. Leafpool had been frantically uprooting all of the comfrey plants in ThunderClan territory, but the plants were dying faster than she could find them.
“They still have Brightheart,” Leafpool reminded her, apparently reading her mind. “She’s as good as I ever was.”
Squirrelflight nodded, hoping Leafpool couldn’t tell she was thinking Brightheart might die in battle. The brown tabby said no more, but Squirrelflight was sure she was thinking nothing good.
“Sorreltail is healthier than most cats right now,” offered Squirrelflight, “and she’s the one who’s going to be giving them milk.” Squirrelflight herself had been trying to keep her weight up, while Leafpool had been eating as little as she could manage, but Sorreltail had also needed extra food to feed her kits.
The two cats’ plan was to be gone for nearly a quarter of a moon. When they returned they would tell ThunderClan that Squirrelflight’s kits had come earlier than expected, and they had been forced to take shelter far from camp.
Leafpool crept along slowly. She was trying to hurry up, but the weight of the kits inside of her hindered her considerably.
The two queens traveled to the edge of ThunderClan’s territory before Leafpool finally stopped.
“We have to keep going,” Squirrelflight whispered. “We can’t get caught.”
But Leafpool’s eyes were shut. “I can’t, Squirrelflight, it hurts.”
“Oh.” Squirrelflight shivered. “Well, we need to hide, at least.”
Leafpool shuddered; Squirrelflight couldn’t fully block out the pain radiating from her sister’s body. “I know.” Squirrelflight helped her sister crawl into the bushes several tail-lengths away. Border patrols had all but stopped on the WindClan side of ThunderClan’s territory; they would be safe enough for the day.
Hopefully all would turn out okay.
Leafpool was unapproachably worried. She had been on edge since the badger attack; Squirrelflight understood why, of course, but Leafpool had only gotten jumpier over time.
Squirrelflight was not comforted by Leafpool’s fears now. Usually it was at least a sign of what was wrong, but now that was obvious. With leafbare this harsh and WindClan invading, ThunderClan could not afford to lose their medicine cat or to exhaust their herb supply, but it appeared both these things would soon happen.
Squirrelflight tried to keep herself busy enough to avoid her worries, but this did not seem possible. Lack of sleep made her reflexes slow and her senses dull; hunger made her hear mice that weren’t there and envy her Clanmates, whose gnawing stomachs Squirrelflight could not feel, though she knew that was ridiculous.
Sandstorm had set to work organizing the Clan so that someone was always hunting, but some fierce warriors were prepared to guard the camp at all times. Squirrelflight was proud of her mother for her new authority, but she also worried that Sandstorm would be a bigger target for Onestar’s warriors.
Much of ThunderClan was alarmed at how thoroughly the WindClan cats relied on Onestar’s orders. Even cats like Ashfoot and Tornear, who clearly disagreed with their leader, had fought viciously in ThunderClan’s camp.
Defeat did not bode well for ThunderClan at all. There was nowhere else in the territory that could be used as a camp. If WindClan attacked again they could be forced out entirely. Squirrelflight had heard a rumor moons ago from Longtail and Mousefur that Tigerstar had been a punishment for ShadowClan allowing Brokenstar to drive off WindClan, so maybe StarClan would punish WindClan for repeating his evils, but Goldenflower had angrily dismissed it, saying that other cats had called Brokenstar a punishment as well and that not every bad thing that happened was a result of StarClan’s wrath.
Squirrelflight could vouch for this. Maybe she had been a mouse-brain at times, but she had done nothing to deserve betrayal by both Bramblestar and Ashfur, and neither had Firestar or anyone else in the Clan.
Of course, Leafpool had admitted that she had been seeing three sharp stars blazing brighter than the rest ever since her excursion with Crowfeather; maybe her kits were StarClan’s way of warning the medicine cat that her transgressions against the code would catch up to her. Hopefully the same would happen to Onestar; Whitetail was expecting, or so Squirrelflight had heard.
Once again Squirrelflight turned up only a small amount of prey. Pouncing made her dizzy, and she padded back to camp with her ears ringing. Sorreltail guiltily ate a bit more than other cats; her kits were looking hungry and sick, Molekit especially.
Leafpool’s amber gaze was dark as she stared unblinkingly from the medicine den. Squirrelflight could feel the pain in her sister’s belly; Leafpool’s head was spinning, too. StarClan, let these kits grow up healthy. I can’t do this alone.
Squirrelflight woke a few mornings later to Leafpool prodding her side. Her sister said nothing, but the urgency in her eyes was clear.
The two cats crossed the clearing and left through the main entrance. Stormfur dipped his head, murmuring a greeting; Squirrelflight told him they were going to search for herbs in territory beyond even where they had previously been hunting.
WindClan had been pushing closer and closer to ThunderClan’s camp. Leafpool had been frantically uprooting all of the comfrey plants in ThunderClan territory, but the plants were dying faster than she could find them.
“They still have Brightheart,” Leafpool reminded her, apparently reading her mind. “She’s as good as I ever was.”
Squirrelflight nodded, hoping Leafpool couldn’t tell she was thinking Brightheart might die in battle. The brown tabby said no more, but Squirrelflight was sure she was thinking nothing good.
“Sorreltail is healthier than most cats right now,” offered Squirrelflight, “and she’s the one who’s going to be giving them milk.” Squirrelflight herself had been trying to keep her weight up, while Leafpool had been eating as little as she could manage, but Sorreltail had also needed extra food to feed her kits.
The two cats’ plan was to be gone for nearly a quarter of a moon. When they returned they would tell ThunderClan that Squirrelflight’s kits had come earlier than expected, and they had been forced to take shelter far from camp.
Leafpool crept along slowly. She was trying to hurry up, but the weight of the kits inside of her hindered her considerably.
The two queens traveled to the edge of ThunderClan’s territory before Leafpool finally stopped.
“We have to keep going,” Squirrelflight whispered. “We can’t get caught.”
But Leafpool’s eyes were shut. “I can’t, Squirrelflight, it hurts.”
“Oh.” Squirrelflight shivered. “Well, we need to hide, at least.”
Leafpool shuddered; Squirrelflight couldn’t fully block out the pain radiating from her sister’s body. “I know.” Squirrelflight helped her sister crawl into the bushes several tail-lengths away. Border patrols had all but stopped on the WindClan side of ThunderClan’s territory; they would be safe enough for the day.
Hopefully all would turn out okay.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CROWFEATHER
Onestar’s voice rang through WindClan’s camp, stirring the still air, echoing in Crowfeather’s ears. “Today is the final battle. No more will WindClan submit to ThunderClan’s whims. We own their forest, and we will have it ours.” The finality of his words seemed to resonate with several of his cats. Even Crowfeather felt himself swelling with pride. Nightcloud’s green eyes were focused on him; he turned his head aside to watch Onestar as the tabby padded out of the camp, tail high in the air.
The WindClan cats bounded over the hills. Leopardstar had been getting frailer and frailer; she would not lead her Clan into battle now. No cat feared attack from RiverClan.
Crowfeather had known the way by heart ever since he had grabbed Leafpool—all the way back when she was an apprentice—and pulled her back from falling from the edge of the hollow. Now the rest of his Clan had found the best route too.
On guard today was the brown-and-black warrior Crowfeather had often heard ordering cats around at a Gathering. He managed to call out a warning, but the WindClan warriors swarmed the camp again.
Crowfeather made a beeline for the nursery. A tortoiseshell queen blocked his path, snarling. “Get away from my kits!” (see, Nightfall is fight scene after fight scene, and I never really improved because I was just churning them out)
Crowfeather halfheartedly swiped at the queen, waiting for an opportunity to run behind her. She was stronger than expected; time spent bearing Nightcloud’s company had led him to underestimate queens. (well that's rude, but I guess it is Crowfeather)
The tortoiseshell seemed to recognize him. Of course, I’m the traitor who ran off with her medicine cat. Energy surged to his paws. I’m not a traitor anymore! He tried to throw the queen to the ground; she staggered but remained standing. She struck back before she had even fully recovered—caught off guard, Crowfeather was slammed down. Her belly was thin from hunger, but her paws were as powerful as any ThunderClan warrior’s.
The queen was tearing at him now. She wasn’t even that large of a cat; he kicked her jaw and she hissed, flinching away. Back on his feet Crowfeather circled closer to the nursery.
The gray queen who had snapped his tail was no longer inside; he had seen her fending away Webfoot. The path was clear for entering. He scooped up a tortoiseshell kit and realized immediately why the other warriors had been having so much difficulty retrieving them; the kits were at least a couple of moons old and had become too heavy to run with.
The other three kits gave no real resistance; a brown one and a gray one tried to charge him, but they were weak. He spun and dashed out of the nursery as quickly as he could with the struggling, wailing, cumbersome kit in his jaws.
The queen had not left; she seemed hesitant to attack him with her own kit dangling from his mouth. “Don’t you dare,” she growled, fear in her amber eyes.
Crowfeather tried to weave past her again, but the kit was still trying to wrench itself free. The queen snarled—Crowfeather saw the movement begin out of the corner of his eye, but she had the upper paw. He bit down harder on the kit’s scruff as he tumbled to the ground, scrambling back to his paws as the kit screamed.
The queen was livid now. This time Crowfeather released the kit as a bloodied white paw caught his cheek. The queen lashed her tail in the direction of the den; her fur was bushed to twice her size, and she advanced with lips curled back.
Crowfeather braced himself. The queen lunged for his throat. He dodged, but she missed only narrowly. “Where is Leafpool?” she hissed furiously.
Taken aback, Crowfeather froze and asked, “Leafpool is missing?”
The tortoiseshell was still fully engaged in the battle. She swatted forcefully at Crowfeather’s shoulders and head; he hissed again in pain.
“You can’t do this,” she roared, clawing at his throat as he reared back to strike—he was out of range. Crowfeather dove at her shoulders. Take away one leg and she’ll go down. She grunted in surprise.
Stormfur grabbed Crowfeather and pushed him away. “Stay away!” he commanded, amber eyes blazing.
Not sure he could defeat Stormfur head-to-head, Crowfeather wriggled free and pelted into the fray. But Stormfur followed. Crowfeather was the faster cat by far, but in the midst of battle Stormfur had a presence he did not.
The thumping of Stormfur’s paws grew louder again. Crowfeather whirled, ducked, and pounced.
Stormfur’s momentum carried him forward onto Crowfeather, but the lean WindClan cat dug at his fur. Stormfur howled and pounded a paw on Crowfeather’s chest. Crowfeather sank his teeth again into Stormfur’s pelt.
This was going to be a battle to the death, Crowfeather was sure of it. He aimed his attacks at Stormfur’s weakest points, twisting away fervently to avoid being clawed into StarClan.
Tufts of gray fur littered the ground; he had no way of knowing which were his and which were Stormfur’s. He flayed at Stormfur’s flank, dodging the warrior’s enormous claws.
But it seemed this battle would be ended by the leaders yet again: a crunch distracted both toms. Onestar had pushed Thornstar from the Highledge.
“This is our land,” barked Onestar.
Thornstar was not dead; he stumbled to his paws. He looked broken. “StarClan will not allow it. This is ThunderClan’s home, and it will stay ours.”
Onestar bared his teeth triumphantly. “All of this and still you crawl at StarClan’s paws! Thornclaw, look around you. Were this not StarClan’s will it would not have yet occurred.”
Crowfeather’s heart pounded. Leafpool really isn’t here, is she? He imagined she would have rushed to Thornstar’s side to heal him. But it was Thornstar’s one-eyed sister who slunk to him with herbs.
Some ThunderClan cats had died. Spiderleg was one. Crowfeather spotted Streamstripe’s body among them; he would mourn her loss, but he would not miss her. She had been one of the last cats to consider forgiving him.
“It cannot be the will of StarClan to wipe us out,” wheezed Thornstar.
Stormfur swung at Crowfeather again, tossing him to the ground. He heard snarls erupt nearby and lifted his head; WindClan warriors had overwhelmed Stormfur and pinned him to the ground.
“I am not without mercy,” said Onestar. “That is the RiverClan cat from the mountains, isn’t it? ThunderClan may live—if you leave. You’ll know the way better than anyone, I expect.”
Stormfur broke from the WindClan cats’ grasp, but Crowfeather’s frantic digging had done its damage. The broad gray tom bled profusely; his legs were dark and matted, drying into clumps of reddish ooze. ThunderClan could not hope to defeat WindClan now.
Onestar padded luxuriously down the Highledge. “It’s your decision, Thornclaw. Live or die?”
Thornstar glanced darkly at his Clanmates. “I have a responsibility,” he finally said, “to keep them alive.” There was a tangible weight on his words. “You will pay dearly to StarClan for your crimes.”
Onestar chuckled. “You have until sundown to get out of here for good.”
Leaving his words to ripple through the hollow, Onestar beckoned for his Clan to return home.
Onestar’s voice rang through WindClan’s camp, stirring the still air, echoing in Crowfeather’s ears. “Today is the final battle. No more will WindClan submit to ThunderClan’s whims. We own their forest, and we will have it ours.” The finality of his words seemed to resonate with several of his cats. Even Crowfeather felt himself swelling with pride. Nightcloud’s green eyes were focused on him; he turned his head aside to watch Onestar as the tabby padded out of the camp, tail high in the air.
The WindClan cats bounded over the hills. Leopardstar had been getting frailer and frailer; she would not lead her Clan into battle now. No cat feared attack from RiverClan.
Crowfeather had known the way by heart ever since he had grabbed Leafpool—all the way back when she was an apprentice—and pulled her back from falling from the edge of the hollow. Now the rest of his Clan had found the best route too.
On guard today was the brown-and-black warrior Crowfeather had often heard ordering cats around at a Gathering. He managed to call out a warning, but the WindClan warriors swarmed the camp again.
Crowfeather made a beeline for the nursery. A tortoiseshell queen blocked his path, snarling. “Get away from my kits!” (see, Nightfall is fight scene after fight scene, and I never really improved because I was just churning them out)
Crowfeather halfheartedly swiped at the queen, waiting for an opportunity to run behind her. She was stronger than expected; time spent bearing Nightcloud’s company had led him to underestimate queens. (well that's rude, but I guess it is Crowfeather)
The tortoiseshell seemed to recognize him. Of course, I’m the traitor who ran off with her medicine cat. Energy surged to his paws. I’m not a traitor anymore! He tried to throw the queen to the ground; she staggered but remained standing. She struck back before she had even fully recovered—caught off guard, Crowfeather was slammed down. Her belly was thin from hunger, but her paws were as powerful as any ThunderClan warrior’s.
The queen was tearing at him now. She wasn’t even that large of a cat; he kicked her jaw and she hissed, flinching away. Back on his feet Crowfeather circled closer to the nursery.
The gray queen who had snapped his tail was no longer inside; he had seen her fending away Webfoot. The path was clear for entering. He scooped up a tortoiseshell kit and realized immediately why the other warriors had been having so much difficulty retrieving them; the kits were at least a couple of moons old and had become too heavy to run with.
The other three kits gave no real resistance; a brown one and a gray one tried to charge him, but they were weak. He spun and dashed out of the nursery as quickly as he could with the struggling, wailing, cumbersome kit in his jaws.
The queen had not left; she seemed hesitant to attack him with her own kit dangling from his mouth. “Don’t you dare,” she growled, fear in her amber eyes.
Crowfeather tried to weave past her again, but the kit was still trying to wrench itself free. The queen snarled—Crowfeather saw the movement begin out of the corner of his eye, but she had the upper paw. He bit down harder on the kit’s scruff as he tumbled to the ground, scrambling back to his paws as the kit screamed.
The queen was livid now. This time Crowfeather released the kit as a bloodied white paw caught his cheek. The queen lashed her tail in the direction of the den; her fur was bushed to twice her size, and she advanced with lips curled back.
Crowfeather braced himself. The queen lunged for his throat. He dodged, but she missed only narrowly. “Where is Leafpool?” she hissed furiously.
Taken aback, Crowfeather froze and asked, “Leafpool is missing?”
The tortoiseshell was still fully engaged in the battle. She swatted forcefully at Crowfeather’s shoulders and head; he hissed again in pain.
“You can’t do this,” she roared, clawing at his throat as he reared back to strike—he was out of range. Crowfeather dove at her shoulders. Take away one leg and she’ll go down. She grunted in surprise.
Stormfur grabbed Crowfeather and pushed him away. “Stay away!” he commanded, amber eyes blazing.
Not sure he could defeat Stormfur head-to-head, Crowfeather wriggled free and pelted into the fray. But Stormfur followed. Crowfeather was the faster cat by far, but in the midst of battle Stormfur had a presence he did not.
The thumping of Stormfur’s paws grew louder again. Crowfeather whirled, ducked, and pounced.
Stormfur’s momentum carried him forward onto Crowfeather, but the lean WindClan cat dug at his fur. Stormfur howled and pounded a paw on Crowfeather’s chest. Crowfeather sank his teeth again into Stormfur’s pelt.
This was going to be a battle to the death, Crowfeather was sure of it. He aimed his attacks at Stormfur’s weakest points, twisting away fervently to avoid being clawed into StarClan.
Tufts of gray fur littered the ground; he had no way of knowing which were his and which were Stormfur’s. He flayed at Stormfur’s flank, dodging the warrior’s enormous claws.
But it seemed this battle would be ended by the leaders yet again: a crunch distracted both toms. Onestar had pushed Thornstar from the Highledge.
“This is our land,” barked Onestar.
Thornstar was not dead; he stumbled to his paws. He looked broken. “StarClan will not allow it. This is ThunderClan’s home, and it will stay ours.”
Onestar bared his teeth triumphantly. “All of this and still you crawl at StarClan’s paws! Thornclaw, look around you. Were this not StarClan’s will it would not have yet occurred.”
Crowfeather’s heart pounded. Leafpool really isn’t here, is she? He imagined she would have rushed to Thornstar’s side to heal him. But it was Thornstar’s one-eyed sister who slunk to him with herbs.
Some ThunderClan cats had died. Spiderleg was one. Crowfeather spotted Streamstripe’s body among them; he would mourn her loss, but he would not miss her. She had been one of the last cats to consider forgiving him.
“It cannot be the will of StarClan to wipe us out,” wheezed Thornstar.
Stormfur swung at Crowfeather again, tossing him to the ground. He heard snarls erupt nearby and lifted his head; WindClan warriors had overwhelmed Stormfur and pinned him to the ground.
“I am not without mercy,” said Onestar. “That is the RiverClan cat from the mountains, isn’t it? ThunderClan may live—if you leave. You’ll know the way better than anyone, I expect.”
Stormfur broke from the WindClan cats’ grasp, but Crowfeather’s frantic digging had done its damage. The broad gray tom bled profusely; his legs were dark and matted, drying into clumps of reddish ooze. ThunderClan could not hope to defeat WindClan now.
Onestar padded luxuriously down the Highledge. “It’s your decision, Thornclaw. Live or die?”
Thornstar glanced darkly at his Clanmates. “I have a responsibility,” he finally said, “to keep them alive.” There was a tangible weight on his words. “You will pay dearly to StarClan for your crimes.”
Onestar chuckled. “You have until sundown to get out of here for good.”
Leaving his words to ripple through the hollow, Onestar beckoned for his Clan to return home.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CROWFEATHER
About halfway between what had once been the border and WindClan’s camp, Onestar raised his tail high and halted, facing his cats.
“Ashfoot, Tornear, Crowfeather, Weaselfur, Gorsetail. Come with me. Webfoot, take the rest of our cats home.”
The light brown tabby veered back toward ThunderClan territory—No, not ThunderClan territory anymore. Our territory, Crowfeather had to remind himself—to the north.
“We’re just going to ensure they’re leaving,” Onestar panted, rounding a hill. “We won’t take them on—but they won’t attack us. Not in this condition.”
Ashfoot looked troubled. Crowfeather had rarely seen his mother so upset; he knew she had been trying to sway Onestar from his warpath for some time, but never had she held such a dark look in her blue eyes.
Crowfeather was exhausted. The battle had been a difficult one, and his paws had been worn down by the day’s travels. But here was his chance to prove to Onestar that he was worthy of WindClan. No cat could deny his faith now.
There were no stepping-stones at this point in the stream. Gorsetail seemed ready to travel toward the lake to find the stones, but Onestar stopped him, saying they had no time for that. Part of Crowfeather was glad to cut down a bit on the walking, but with nightfall had come the harshly whistling wind, and the water chilled his claws and froze on his fur.
Shivering now as the group pushed their way through dying bracken and spindly bare bushes, Crowfeather kept his mouth open to taste the air. ThunderClan scent had been greatly diminished since the battles had begun, but moons of warriors patrolling the forest had left their mark.
Gradually all Clan scent started to dwindle. Crowfeather was certain they were farther from the lake than the Moonpool was; the night bit at his ears and nose, and the moon, swelled almost to half its greatest size, was high in the sky.
Weaselfur, who had taken the lead presumably to show off how great of a tracker he was, stopped short. “Fresh scent.”
Onestar joined him, sniffing at the ground. “Not fresh enough.”
Weaselfur looked angry, but he flicked his ears and his expression returned to simply intent. (intent? I think this was a typo of "intense") “What do you mean, not fresh enough? It sounds—uh, smells—like it got here today.”
Onestar shook his head. “The scent is today’s, but it’s fading fast, and it’s only one trail, with no blood to be found. This is not the cats we are after.”
“We can investigate once we know what the rest of ThunderClan is doing,” suggested Crowfeather. “They could have sent someone into our territory. It’s pretty close to the border.” He had a sneaking suspicion who this mysterious wanderer was.
To Crowfeather’s relief they actually caught sight of the ThunderClan cats leaving fairly soon. Farther north the forest thinned, and the WindClan patrol peered from the brush at the ragged, pathetic, broken Clan trudging away over the sharp grass.
“I think I found the trail Weaselfur found,” Gorsetail announced on the way home. Crowfeather felt his heartbeat speed up and hoped his Clanmates wouldn’t notice.
“Are we in a condition to deal with it right now?” sighed Ashfoot. “All of us are exhausted, and we have more territory than ever to take care of.”
“As if ShadowClan will know the difference,” Onestar scoffed. “ThunderClan has been dying off for moons now. It was only time.”
It sounded to Crowfeather as if his leader was having second thoughts. Too late now, he thought grimly. He put his nose to the ground and—
Wrong! Alarm shot through him, making his tail tip ache, but only for a moment. But it’s close. This was Squirrelflight’s scent; it was too harsh, not sweet enough, to be Leafpool’s. Of course, her sweetness was probably the herbs—but that didn’t bother Crowfeather.
He longed for his nest now, but he reminded himself that this would be worth it. He had to push himself to stay walking, to keep going without bounding ahead of his Clanmates. Leafpool would join him, and maybe the two of them would be able to set off on their own again now that her Clan had abandoned her.
Only Gorsetail had energy now; he was a very young warrior and bursting with enthusiasm for everything his Clan would have him do. Crowfeather yawned and allowed the rough-pelted cat to pass him, blinking at the brightness of his white fur.
Squirrelflight’s scent led the patrol across a short plain and into a copse of trees. Steeling himself against the cold, Crowfeather followed Gorsetail into the grove. The ThunderClan scent trails were more numerous here; some were a few days old.
It wasn’t long before the WindClan warriors found Squirrelflight’s den. She was asleep, a pathetic dark ginger crescent of fur next to her tabby-and-white sister. (wow, I needed to edit this! Leafpool isn't supposed to be here)
Then he snarled, “Get out of here!”
The ThunderClan queen whirled with a start, shock flashing in her eyes. Squirrelflight leapt shakily to her paws; she looked as if she could collapse at any moment.
Squirrelflight growled, pulling back her lips; her legs wobbled. She had not been sleeping even as much as her Clanmates.
Onestar shoved his face into Squirrelflight’s, hissing, “Run off to the mountains with your Clan now, or I will kill you.”
Squirrelflight shrank back, looking bewildered. “My Clan—”
Onestar swatted her heavily across the ears, then clawed at her shoulder, shoving her down. “We outnumber you six to one. Get out.”
Weaselfur snapped at Squirrelflight’s hind paws; she jerked them away, but it was a hopeless battle from the start. The two WindClan cats tore at her until she needed all four paws just to stand up.
“Leafpool is dead,” Crowfeather growled. “Your Clan is in the mountains, and you should be too.” (originally I planned to have the patrol kill Squirrelflight; I somewhat regret having them let her go, but I would also then take Ashfoot and Tornear off of the patrol)
The hatred in her green eyes burned with a ferocity that almost scared Crowfeather; during a better season for the ThunderClan cat he would have expected her to kill him, but he felt safe enough against this starving scrap.
Onestar lashed at Squirrelflight again, and she turned to flee, howling curses as she stumbled through the forest.
After a pause Crowfeather put his nose to the ground and followed the familiar scent of his mate. The other cats followed; from the tread of their paws he thought they must know who else was here. They quickly reached a small clearing—a tabby-and-white cat was asleep here, pressed under the branches of a holly bush.
Onestar tensed as he spotted Leafpool, shooting Crowfeather a look that said very plainly that he was not to blow it now.
Onestar meowed, “What are you doing leading us to that?” He flicked his tail at Leafpool, who had rolled to her paws and now bared her teeth in a frightened snarl.
“Crowfeather,” she whimpered.
He shook his head uneasily, knowing better than to show any sign of weakness with Onestar so close. “I say we kill her,” suggested Weaselfur, glancing at Crowfeather.
Crowfeather knew it was a test, but he stepped forward anyway, pulse beating in his throat. “No,” he meowed.
Onestar gave him a drily appraising look. “Are you planning to join her in the mountains, then?”
Crowfeather shook his head. “She—we can’t kill her. She has…kits.” My kits, he wanted to add proudly. But that would be crossing yet another line.
Onestar stared at Crowfeather as if he had sprouted a second pair of ears. “You’re telling me she has kits inside of her.”
Crowfeather nodded. “I have no love now for a cat as weak as her,” he lied, hoping she would forgive him. “But these kits are half WindClan, too, and they will know the feel of wind in their fur. We can raise them WindClan.”
Onestar stared for several more heartbeats; Crowfeather averted his gaze, staring at his leader’s paws. His fur had dried into little red points. So did mine, he thought.
But after the agonizing wait, Onestar meowed, “How lucky for you.” When Crowfeather raised his head, Onestar added, “You’ve brought us more kits than any other cat in this war.”
Leafpool hissed; she had backed up several paces, but in her weakened state and with kits in her belly she had not turned and run.
“Let’s go. Bring the medicine cat,” he ordered his deputy. Ashfoot nodded, looking a bit relieved.
Crowfeather walked beside Leafpool the whole way back to camp, but she had not forgiven him. She would not look at him. She would not speak.
But Onestar was proud, and that was all that mattered for now.
About halfway between what had once been the border and WindClan’s camp, Onestar raised his tail high and halted, facing his cats.
“Ashfoot, Tornear, Crowfeather, Weaselfur, Gorsetail. Come with me. Webfoot, take the rest of our cats home.”
The light brown tabby veered back toward ThunderClan territory—No, not ThunderClan territory anymore. Our territory, Crowfeather had to remind himself—to the north.
“We’re just going to ensure they’re leaving,” Onestar panted, rounding a hill. “We won’t take them on—but they won’t attack us. Not in this condition.”
Ashfoot looked troubled. Crowfeather had rarely seen his mother so upset; he knew she had been trying to sway Onestar from his warpath for some time, but never had she held such a dark look in her blue eyes.
Crowfeather was exhausted. The battle had been a difficult one, and his paws had been worn down by the day’s travels. But here was his chance to prove to Onestar that he was worthy of WindClan. No cat could deny his faith now.
There were no stepping-stones at this point in the stream. Gorsetail seemed ready to travel toward the lake to find the stones, but Onestar stopped him, saying they had no time for that. Part of Crowfeather was glad to cut down a bit on the walking, but with nightfall had come the harshly whistling wind, and the water chilled his claws and froze on his fur.
Shivering now as the group pushed their way through dying bracken and spindly bare bushes, Crowfeather kept his mouth open to taste the air. ThunderClan scent had been greatly diminished since the battles had begun, but moons of warriors patrolling the forest had left their mark.
Gradually all Clan scent started to dwindle. Crowfeather was certain they were farther from the lake than the Moonpool was; the night bit at his ears and nose, and the moon, swelled almost to half its greatest size, was high in the sky.
Weaselfur, who had taken the lead presumably to show off how great of a tracker he was, stopped short. “Fresh scent.”
Onestar joined him, sniffing at the ground. “Not fresh enough.”
Weaselfur looked angry, but he flicked his ears and his expression returned to simply intent. (intent? I think this was a typo of "intense") “What do you mean, not fresh enough? It sounds—uh, smells—like it got here today.”
Onestar shook his head. “The scent is today’s, but it’s fading fast, and it’s only one trail, with no blood to be found. This is not the cats we are after.”
“We can investigate once we know what the rest of ThunderClan is doing,” suggested Crowfeather. “They could have sent someone into our territory. It’s pretty close to the border.” He had a sneaking suspicion who this mysterious wanderer was.
To Crowfeather’s relief they actually caught sight of the ThunderClan cats leaving fairly soon. Farther north the forest thinned, and the WindClan patrol peered from the brush at the ragged, pathetic, broken Clan trudging away over the sharp grass.
“I think I found the trail Weaselfur found,” Gorsetail announced on the way home. Crowfeather felt his heartbeat speed up and hoped his Clanmates wouldn’t notice.
“Are we in a condition to deal with it right now?” sighed Ashfoot. “All of us are exhausted, and we have more territory than ever to take care of.”
“As if ShadowClan will know the difference,” Onestar scoffed. “ThunderClan has been dying off for moons now. It was only time.”
It sounded to Crowfeather as if his leader was having second thoughts. Too late now, he thought grimly. He put his nose to the ground and—
Wrong! Alarm shot through him, making his tail tip ache, but only for a moment. But it’s close. This was Squirrelflight’s scent; it was too harsh, not sweet enough, to be Leafpool’s. Of course, her sweetness was probably the herbs—but that didn’t bother Crowfeather.
He longed for his nest now, but he reminded himself that this would be worth it. He had to push himself to stay walking, to keep going without bounding ahead of his Clanmates. Leafpool would join him, and maybe the two of them would be able to set off on their own again now that her Clan had abandoned her.
Only Gorsetail had energy now; he was a very young warrior and bursting with enthusiasm for everything his Clan would have him do. Crowfeather yawned and allowed the rough-pelted cat to pass him, blinking at the brightness of his white fur.
Squirrelflight’s scent led the patrol across a short plain and into a copse of trees. Steeling himself against the cold, Crowfeather followed Gorsetail into the grove. The ThunderClan scent trails were more numerous here; some were a few days old.
It wasn’t long before the WindClan warriors found Squirrelflight’s den. She was asleep, a pathetic dark ginger crescent of fur next to her tabby-and-white sister. (wow, I needed to edit this! Leafpool isn't supposed to be here)
Then he snarled, “Get out of here!”
The ThunderClan queen whirled with a start, shock flashing in her eyes. Squirrelflight leapt shakily to her paws; she looked as if she could collapse at any moment.
Squirrelflight growled, pulling back her lips; her legs wobbled. She had not been sleeping even as much as her Clanmates.
Onestar shoved his face into Squirrelflight’s, hissing, “Run off to the mountains with your Clan now, or I will kill you.”
Squirrelflight shrank back, looking bewildered. “My Clan—”
Onestar swatted her heavily across the ears, then clawed at her shoulder, shoving her down. “We outnumber you six to one. Get out.”
Weaselfur snapped at Squirrelflight’s hind paws; she jerked them away, but it was a hopeless battle from the start. The two WindClan cats tore at her until she needed all four paws just to stand up.
“Leafpool is dead,” Crowfeather growled. “Your Clan is in the mountains, and you should be too.” (originally I planned to have the patrol kill Squirrelflight; I somewhat regret having them let her go, but I would also then take Ashfoot and Tornear off of the patrol)
The hatred in her green eyes burned with a ferocity that almost scared Crowfeather; during a better season for the ThunderClan cat he would have expected her to kill him, but he felt safe enough against this starving scrap.
Onestar lashed at Squirrelflight again, and she turned to flee, howling curses as she stumbled through the forest.
After a pause Crowfeather put his nose to the ground and followed the familiar scent of his mate. The other cats followed; from the tread of their paws he thought they must know who else was here. They quickly reached a small clearing—a tabby-and-white cat was asleep here, pressed under the branches of a holly bush.
Onestar tensed as he spotted Leafpool, shooting Crowfeather a look that said very plainly that he was not to blow it now.
Onestar meowed, “What are you doing leading us to that?” He flicked his tail at Leafpool, who had rolled to her paws and now bared her teeth in a frightened snarl.
“Crowfeather,” she whimpered.
He shook his head uneasily, knowing better than to show any sign of weakness with Onestar so close. “I say we kill her,” suggested Weaselfur, glancing at Crowfeather.
Crowfeather knew it was a test, but he stepped forward anyway, pulse beating in his throat. “No,” he meowed.
Onestar gave him a drily appraising look. “Are you planning to join her in the mountains, then?”
Crowfeather shook his head. “She—we can’t kill her. She has…kits.” My kits, he wanted to add proudly. But that would be crossing yet another line.
Onestar stared at Crowfeather as if he had sprouted a second pair of ears. “You’re telling me she has kits inside of her.”
Crowfeather nodded. “I have no love now for a cat as weak as her,” he lied, hoping she would forgive him. “But these kits are half WindClan, too, and they will know the feel of wind in their fur. We can raise them WindClan.”
Onestar stared for several more heartbeats; Crowfeather averted his gaze, staring at his leader’s paws. His fur had dried into little red points. So did mine, he thought.
But after the agonizing wait, Onestar meowed, “How lucky for you.” When Crowfeather raised his head, Onestar added, “You’ve brought us more kits than any other cat in this war.”
Leafpool hissed; she had backed up several paces, but in her weakened state and with kits in her belly she had not turned and run.
“Let’s go. Bring the medicine cat,” he ordered his deputy. Ashfoot nodded, looking a bit relieved.
Crowfeather walked beside Leafpool the whole way back to camp, but she had not forgiven him. She would not look at him. She would not speak.
But Onestar was proud, and that was all that mattered for now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
Squirrelflight could not run; her ankles ached where Weaselfur had bitten them, and her belly still gnawed with hunger. Leafpool, no! was the only coherent thought she could form. She tried to reach to her sister’s mind, but she felt only the same fear and despair.
We’ve always been there for each other, even when I was gone. She could barely walk; how was she running? Pain coursed through her. This was not going to work—she was going to pass out—
Tumbling to the ground, Squirrelflight let out a scream of anguish. Her entire body hurt, she needed food, Leafpool was dead, and her Clan could be anywhere. If we hadn’t left, none of this would have happened. She needed to face up to her responsibilities. If Leafpool had taught her anything it was that carrying through was the most important thing a cat could do.
The WindClan cats had told her ThunderClan was on their way to the mountains. Stormfur is probably alive, then, or maybe it’s Brook.
She pulled herself back to her paws, panting from the effort, and dragged herself a few more paces before collapsing again. This would not do. (I think at this point I had still not quite decided whether Squirrelflight should ever make it to her Clan or not? I would say no now)
With great difficulty Squirrelflight managed to make it to a cluster of bushes. Their dry, brittle, leafless twigs poked at her freely bleeding wounds. She felt like her blood must be fire on their bark.
Her sleep was dreamless, restless. She woke up still tired, longing for her nest back in the sheltered ThunderClan camp.
Fortunately Squirrelflight remembered enough from her trip through the mountains to find the Tribe’s territory, even if she couldn’t reach their camp. She would meet her Clan there. If they ever make it, that is. Her wounds still stung, and her ears rang.
Her travel toward Twolegplace was as uneventful as the first time. Only before I walked with my Clanmates and my friends, and now I’m alone.
She pressed on, stopping to hunt a few times along the way. Twolegplace appeared on the horizon—for a Twolegplace it was quite small, and the nests were mostly lower to the ground.
And she smelled cats.
Heart pounding, Squirrelflight bent to sniff at the scent trail she had found. Scent trails. Her Clanmates’ scents, so familiar and yet somehow painfully nostalgic after only a few days away, flooded her nostrils. There were scents missing, but she didn’t want to dwell on that now. This many cats in Twolegplace couldn’t be difficult to hunt down.
Actually following the smells in Twolegplace was easier said than done. She would have to wait for nightfall to truly track them; for now she would have to make do with hurriedly checking the ground for vague scents.
Squirrelflight leapt onto a fence, remembering ruefully the time she had been caught under one. She had been on a journey with five other cats. Feathertail was dead, Stormfur beaten, Crowfeather her enemy, and Bramblestar an outright traitor. Tawnypelt is the last one of us left, she realized.
A gust of wind nearly knocked her off the fence; she hopped down and found herself staring almost face-to-face with a plump, silver-muzzled tabby. His brown fur was tangled and matted.
His blurry, pale amber eyes narrowed as he stared at Squirrelflight, confused. “I thought you’d gone,” rasped Purdy. “Didn’ you and your other cats go…” He trailed off and blinked again. “What’re you doin’ back here?”
“There’s been trouble in ThunderClan,” Squirrelflight answered, grateful to have found a friendly face, though she remembered how irritating his chatter had gotten before. He meant well, though, and she supposed she had probably been too harsh.
“I heard some cats go by this mornin’. Were they your cats?”
“Yes, my Clan came through here just today. I need to find them.”
Purdy yawned and got to his paws. “You’re not lookin’ too good. If you’d want, I could take you to the Upwalkers. They’ve got this special Upwalker, see, and when you go to ’em you’ll get yourself fixed up right.”
“No, thank you,” said Squirrelflight, pelt pricking a bit. “I’m actually in a hurry. We can talk, but I need to find my Clan.”
“You came to the right cat,” Purdy boasted. Squirrelflight rolled her eyes.
He kept up a conversation as they traveled; she silently thanked StarClan for the distraction, relieved not to have to think much about Leafpool, though she could have used a few breaks from his voice. He didn’t have much license to get her lost this time; she shepherded him along the scent trails as he assured her of his great adventures. “Of course, those were all back in the old days,” he mused wistfully. “Can’t go killin’ foxes with these old bones anymore.”
It seemed ThunderClan had not made good time since entering Twolegplace. Purdy’s stiff joints and Squirrelflight’s own battered body hampered their progress, but the scent trails became stronger and fresher as they crept along.
Squirrelflight and Purdy stopped to rest as the sky darkened. They reached the rest of ThunderClan the next morning just after dawn.
Purdy said farewell and watched them leave. Squirrelflight dipped her head, knowing this would probably be the last time she ever saw the old cat. At least I have my Clan, she thought. Even if Leafpool is gone.
Squirrelflight could not run; her ankles ached where Weaselfur had bitten them, and her belly still gnawed with hunger. Leafpool, no! was the only coherent thought she could form. She tried to reach to her sister’s mind, but she felt only the same fear and despair.
We’ve always been there for each other, even when I was gone. She could barely walk; how was she running? Pain coursed through her. This was not going to work—she was going to pass out—
Tumbling to the ground, Squirrelflight let out a scream of anguish. Her entire body hurt, she needed food, Leafpool was dead, and her Clan could be anywhere. If we hadn’t left, none of this would have happened. She needed to face up to her responsibilities. If Leafpool had taught her anything it was that carrying through was the most important thing a cat could do.
The WindClan cats had told her ThunderClan was on their way to the mountains. Stormfur is probably alive, then, or maybe it’s Brook.
She pulled herself back to her paws, panting from the effort, and dragged herself a few more paces before collapsing again. This would not do. (I think at this point I had still not quite decided whether Squirrelflight should ever make it to her Clan or not? I would say no now)
With great difficulty Squirrelflight managed to make it to a cluster of bushes. Their dry, brittle, leafless twigs poked at her freely bleeding wounds. She felt like her blood must be fire on their bark.
Her sleep was dreamless, restless. She woke up still tired, longing for her nest back in the sheltered ThunderClan camp.
Fortunately Squirrelflight remembered enough from her trip through the mountains to find the Tribe’s territory, even if she couldn’t reach their camp. She would meet her Clan there. If they ever make it, that is. Her wounds still stung, and her ears rang.
Her travel toward Twolegplace was as uneventful as the first time. Only before I walked with my Clanmates and my friends, and now I’m alone.
She pressed on, stopping to hunt a few times along the way. Twolegplace appeared on the horizon—for a Twolegplace it was quite small, and the nests were mostly lower to the ground.
And she smelled cats.
Heart pounding, Squirrelflight bent to sniff at the scent trail she had found. Scent trails. Her Clanmates’ scents, so familiar and yet somehow painfully nostalgic after only a few days away, flooded her nostrils. There were scents missing, but she didn’t want to dwell on that now. This many cats in Twolegplace couldn’t be difficult to hunt down.
Actually following the smells in Twolegplace was easier said than done. She would have to wait for nightfall to truly track them; for now she would have to make do with hurriedly checking the ground for vague scents.
Squirrelflight leapt onto a fence, remembering ruefully the time she had been caught under one. She had been on a journey with five other cats. Feathertail was dead, Stormfur beaten, Crowfeather her enemy, and Bramblestar an outright traitor. Tawnypelt is the last one of us left, she realized.
A gust of wind nearly knocked her off the fence; she hopped down and found herself staring almost face-to-face with a plump, silver-muzzled tabby. His brown fur was tangled and matted.
His blurry, pale amber eyes narrowed as he stared at Squirrelflight, confused. “I thought you’d gone,” rasped Purdy. “Didn’ you and your other cats go…” He trailed off and blinked again. “What’re you doin’ back here?”
“There’s been trouble in ThunderClan,” Squirrelflight answered, grateful to have found a friendly face, though she remembered how irritating his chatter had gotten before. He meant well, though, and she supposed she had probably been too harsh.
“I heard some cats go by this mornin’. Were they your cats?”
“Yes, my Clan came through here just today. I need to find them.”
Purdy yawned and got to his paws. “You’re not lookin’ too good. If you’d want, I could take you to the Upwalkers. They’ve got this special Upwalker, see, and when you go to ’em you’ll get yourself fixed up right.”
“No, thank you,” said Squirrelflight, pelt pricking a bit. “I’m actually in a hurry. We can talk, but I need to find my Clan.”
“You came to the right cat,” Purdy boasted. Squirrelflight rolled her eyes.
He kept up a conversation as they traveled; she silently thanked StarClan for the distraction, relieved not to have to think much about Leafpool, though she could have used a few breaks from his voice. He didn’t have much license to get her lost this time; she shepherded him along the scent trails as he assured her of his great adventures. “Of course, those were all back in the old days,” he mused wistfully. “Can’t go killin’ foxes with these old bones anymore.”
It seemed ThunderClan had not made good time since entering Twolegplace. Purdy’s stiff joints and Squirrelflight’s own battered body hampered their progress, but the scent trails became stronger and fresher as they crept along.
Squirrelflight and Purdy stopped to rest as the sky darkened. They reached the rest of ThunderClan the next morning just after dawn.
Purdy said farewell and watched them leave. Squirrelflight dipped her head, knowing this would probably be the last time she ever saw the old cat. At least I have my Clan, she thought. Even if Leafpool is gone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
STORMFUR
A brisk breeze snapped past Stormfur’s ears; his extremities stung with cold. But Stormfur was better adjusted to the temperature than most of the other ThunderClan warriors. He had thick RiverClan fur and had lived in the mountains for moons.
Certainly he fared better than Thornstar. The brown tabby tom had not been in any state to travel when they had first set out, much less after days of walking across the barren, empty hills toward the mountains. Prey had become scarcer and scarcer; had they been in the Tribe’s territory already Brook could have sniffed out the best places to hunt, but here she was as out of her element as the rest of them.
Stormfur’s shoulders were stiff against the blustering wind; he walked between Thornstar and the rising sun. He wished it felt as warm as it looked; it burned with a fire brighter than any other Stormfur could imagine, but its rays did little to thaw his prickling pelt.
Sorreltail’s kits were struggling to survive. So far none had been lost, but their smaller, thinner bodies and softer paws felt the cold worse than the warriors. Sorreltail and some of the stronger warriors, including Stormfur himself, took turns carrying the kits; right now he was free, instead doing his best to shelter Thornstar from the wind as Brightheart did the same for Squirrelflight.
Tasting the air was useless now; every time Stormfur opened his jaws the wind rushed in, bitter on his lips, bringing the scent of approaching snow.
Mousefur had been lost in battle, and WindClan had made several runs for the kits. Stormfur himself had nearly killed Crowfeather. That traitor.
Stormfur would have given a paw to be able to speak the way he had on his first travel into the mountains. Before his sister’s death, the traveling cats had grown closer to one another. Even insufferable Crowpaw had mellowed after spending time with Feathertail. It had seemed so strange at first for Stormfur to be traveling with cats from other Clans, but before too long they had seemed his friends.
But the ThunderClan cats were ragged and exhausted, and after being driven from their camp, no cat had any small talk to make. There would be no idle conversation now.
The ground became rougher as the cats neared the mountains. They would reach them today; once in the mountains there would be no stopping.
By sunhigh Stormfur and Brook had led the Clan cats up the first peak. Stormfur had taken charge of Poppykit; he could feel the scab on the nape of her neck Crowfeather had left in battle. She weighed him down painfully, but at least he had an excuse not to talk.
Stormfur expected to come across a familiar pathway any time now. He had lived in the mountains for moons, hunted alongside the Tribe cats as if he had been born among them—but the scent of cats met his nostrils before he recognized his surroundings. (fun fact: Stormfur was initially supposed to get way more POVs than he ended up getting)
Brook’s gray eyes shimmered now with renewed hope. She could say nothing around the shivering brown kit she carried, but Stormfur saw in her face that she knew these scents. He tried to smile but was worried that he could not pick out any individual cats. This is my home, isn’t it?
The smell of sharp, cold water reached his nose, and he caught a faint roar. Clambering onto a higher ledge, Stormfur finally recognized where he was.
“Welcome to the Tribe of Rushing Water,” he croaked, voice cracking.
Slowly, laboriously, he helped the weary warriors limp the last few taillengths until they were in full view of the waterfall before the Tribe’s cave. He could taste the temperature of the cascading water; it should have been ice, but perhaps moving that quickly it had no time to freeze.
Stormfur and Brook went ahead; Brook set Molekit down at the empty-jawed Sorreltail’s paws.
Talon of Swooping Eagle and Night of No Stars sat before the entrance. As Stormfur and Brook approached, Night rolled onto her paws with the beginnings of a snarl on her lips, but she watched warily and flicked an ear.
“We cannot live in the forest,” Stormfur rasped. “ThunderClan has been chased from its home, and Brook and I belong here anyway. We have come to ask for your shelter; this leafbare promises to be harsh.”
Night and Talon shared an uneasy look. Eventually Night turned back to Stormfur and spoke. “Stoneteller might not be thrilled, but he would not turn away cats in need. We will help you.”
The kits, particularly Poppykit, mewled as the warriors dragged them into the cave, squirming as frigid water splashed their pelts. Molekit hardly responded; Sorreltail seemed alarmed by this, but Stormfur had no experience with kits.
Brook had implied that in the Tribe, raising kits was just about every cat’s business. Certainly they seemed willing enough to help; Sorreltail kept close to her kits, but three Tribe cats joined her in nosing the kits’ fur the wrong way and trying to rub them warm.
“You’re back,” Stoneteller said by way of greeting.
Stormfur dipped his head, feeling out of place as he remembered cats did not do that here. “Yes. We need shelter.”
“The Tribe of Endless Hunting warned me there might be visitors.” Stoneteller’s amber eyes glinted strangely. “They spoke of storms. And here you are.”
Stormfur’s pelt ruffled, but he wasn’t sure what to say. All he could think of was to deny any harmful intentions, but that might only make him sound guilty.
But Stoneteller closed his eyes and nodded, rocking his shoulders forward. “Sometimes it seems the storm will never end, doesn’t it? The Tribe of Endless Hunting—well, stay as long as you need. A tree may shed a few leaves, but it will always be a tree. Always tall, always strong.” He had stopped nodding before he had finished his first sentence, but the old tabby tom now simply held stone-still, eyes closed, leaning into the air. Stormfur waited, but Stoneteller said no more, and eventually Stormfur walked away, leaving Stoneteller sitting alone, unmoving, unreadable. (well we've already started with all the Tribe leaders being creepy I guess)
A brisk breeze snapped past Stormfur’s ears; his extremities stung with cold. But Stormfur was better adjusted to the temperature than most of the other ThunderClan warriors. He had thick RiverClan fur and had lived in the mountains for moons.
Certainly he fared better than Thornstar. The brown tabby tom had not been in any state to travel when they had first set out, much less after days of walking across the barren, empty hills toward the mountains. Prey had become scarcer and scarcer; had they been in the Tribe’s territory already Brook could have sniffed out the best places to hunt, but here she was as out of her element as the rest of them.
Stormfur’s shoulders were stiff against the blustering wind; he walked between Thornstar and the rising sun. He wished it felt as warm as it looked; it burned with a fire brighter than any other Stormfur could imagine, but its rays did little to thaw his prickling pelt.
Sorreltail’s kits were struggling to survive. So far none had been lost, but their smaller, thinner bodies and softer paws felt the cold worse than the warriors. Sorreltail and some of the stronger warriors, including Stormfur himself, took turns carrying the kits; right now he was free, instead doing his best to shelter Thornstar from the wind as Brightheart did the same for Squirrelflight.
Tasting the air was useless now; every time Stormfur opened his jaws the wind rushed in, bitter on his lips, bringing the scent of approaching snow.
Mousefur had been lost in battle, and WindClan had made several runs for the kits. Stormfur himself had nearly killed Crowfeather. That traitor.
Stormfur would have given a paw to be able to speak the way he had on his first travel into the mountains. Before his sister’s death, the traveling cats had grown closer to one another. Even insufferable Crowpaw had mellowed after spending time with Feathertail. It had seemed so strange at first for Stormfur to be traveling with cats from other Clans, but before too long they had seemed his friends.
But the ThunderClan cats were ragged and exhausted, and after being driven from their camp, no cat had any small talk to make. There would be no idle conversation now.
The ground became rougher as the cats neared the mountains. They would reach them today; once in the mountains there would be no stopping.
By sunhigh Stormfur and Brook had led the Clan cats up the first peak. Stormfur had taken charge of Poppykit; he could feel the scab on the nape of her neck Crowfeather had left in battle. She weighed him down painfully, but at least he had an excuse not to talk.
Stormfur expected to come across a familiar pathway any time now. He had lived in the mountains for moons, hunted alongside the Tribe cats as if he had been born among them—but the scent of cats met his nostrils before he recognized his surroundings. (fun fact: Stormfur was initially supposed to get way more POVs than he ended up getting)
Brook’s gray eyes shimmered now with renewed hope. She could say nothing around the shivering brown kit she carried, but Stormfur saw in her face that she knew these scents. He tried to smile but was worried that he could not pick out any individual cats. This is my home, isn’t it?
The smell of sharp, cold water reached his nose, and he caught a faint roar. Clambering onto a higher ledge, Stormfur finally recognized where he was.
“Welcome to the Tribe of Rushing Water,” he croaked, voice cracking.
Slowly, laboriously, he helped the weary warriors limp the last few taillengths until they were in full view of the waterfall before the Tribe’s cave. He could taste the temperature of the cascading water; it should have been ice, but perhaps moving that quickly it had no time to freeze.
Stormfur and Brook went ahead; Brook set Molekit down at the empty-jawed Sorreltail’s paws.
Talon of Swooping Eagle and Night of No Stars sat before the entrance. As Stormfur and Brook approached, Night rolled onto her paws with the beginnings of a snarl on her lips, but she watched warily and flicked an ear.
“We cannot live in the forest,” Stormfur rasped. “ThunderClan has been chased from its home, and Brook and I belong here anyway. We have come to ask for your shelter; this leafbare promises to be harsh.”
Night and Talon shared an uneasy look. Eventually Night turned back to Stormfur and spoke. “Stoneteller might not be thrilled, but he would not turn away cats in need. We will help you.”
The kits, particularly Poppykit, mewled as the warriors dragged them into the cave, squirming as frigid water splashed their pelts. Molekit hardly responded; Sorreltail seemed alarmed by this, but Stormfur had no experience with kits.
Brook had implied that in the Tribe, raising kits was just about every cat’s business. Certainly they seemed willing enough to help; Sorreltail kept close to her kits, but three Tribe cats joined her in nosing the kits’ fur the wrong way and trying to rub them warm.
“You’re back,” Stoneteller said by way of greeting.
Stormfur dipped his head, feeling out of place as he remembered cats did not do that here. “Yes. We need shelter.”
“The Tribe of Endless Hunting warned me there might be visitors.” Stoneteller’s amber eyes glinted strangely. “They spoke of storms. And here you are.”
Stormfur’s pelt ruffled, but he wasn’t sure what to say. All he could think of was to deny any harmful intentions, but that might only make him sound guilty.
But Stoneteller closed his eyes and nodded, rocking his shoulders forward. “Sometimes it seems the storm will never end, doesn’t it? The Tribe of Endless Hunting—well, stay as long as you need. A tree may shed a few leaves, but it will always be a tree. Always tall, always strong.” He had stopped nodding before he had finished his first sentence, but the old tabby tom now simply held stone-still, eyes closed, leaning into the air. Stormfur waited, but Stoneteller said no more, and eventually Stormfur walked away, leaving Stoneteller sitting alone, unmoving, unreadable. (well we've already started with all the Tribe leaders being creepy I guess)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LEAFPOOL
Crowfeather had been here when Leafpool had fallen asleep.
It had been yet another restless night. She had tried to reach out to Squirrelflight, but she wasn’t sure whether she had been successful. Mostly she had seen mountains and felt the cool, heavy stone beneath her pawpads. Hopefully that meant Squirrelflight was safe somewhere in their jagged peaks, but she didn’t trust herself not to muddle her own thoughts with Crowfeather.
The black queen Nightcloud had not been happy at Leafpool’s arrival. Many WindClan cats had snickered amongst themselves, but Nightcloud, peering from the nursery, had given her a look that clearly stated she would love nothing more than to drown Leafpool, claws at her throat, choking her in the icy waters of the lake.
Leafpool slept in the elders’ den. Crowfeather and Barkface had insisted on allowing her a more insulated den than the gorse bush Onestar had first drily suggested. She was glad Nightcloud had not been around to hear that conversation, though Barkface and a few warriors had done more to convince Onestar by reminding him of the potential for new blood in the Clan than Crowfeather had with his whining.
He seemed, however, to be desperately trying to fit Leafpool into his life again. At night he had been waiting for darkness and then joining her, whispering about how they could leave again, and that the two of them had never fit in since returning anyway.
He had not apologized.
Tonight was the night of the half moon. Leafpool sighed and rose to her paws; walking had become more and more difficult as her kits had grown in her belly. She was definitely having more than one. Crowfeather had suggested naming them after WindClan’s territory. “Heatherkit. Hillkit. Cloudkit. Skykit. Breezekit.” She wasn’t so sure she liked those names.
He had hurriedly shot down “Firekit” and “Squirrelkit,” saying, “The only thing those names will get you is a claw to the ears. Trust me, you’re much safer sticking to our names.”
Weaselfur was at her side the moment she left the den. The white-pawed warrior had latched on tightly to Onestar’s rule and seemed to be doing all he could to make his leader happy, including hovering around Leafpool like a light-starved moth. She could feel his breath; it rippled her fur and made her uncomfortable about his proximity, though at least it warmed her pelt a bit.
Barkface also looked at her from across the clearing, but she had known him for a long time; he had seemed worried about Onestar’s battle plans since the tabby tom had been appointed on Tallstar’s deathbed. His watchful green gaze was more reassuring than frightening—he would be one of her staunchest defenders here.
Trying to block out the sound of Weaselfur’s shivering and the brush of his whiskers against her spine, Leafpool crossed to Onestar’s den, a small hollow crack in a boulder. The leader was curled in a mossy nest, tail over his nose.
Weaselfur shook his head sarcastically as Leafpool began to speak. “Hello, Onestar,” she mewed, voice flat and resigned.
His amber eyes snapped open, sparking with anger for a heartbeat; he lifted his head, lips pulled just far enough that the tips of his long canine teeth protruded. “Yes, ThunderClan?”
Stung, Leafpool jerked back her head. The words on her tongue slipped away, and she searched for what she had been planning to say. “Moonpool,” she managed. “I—tonight there’s the moon. A half moon. I’m still a medicine cat, so—”
“No.” Onestar tucked his muzzle back under his tail; he looked warm. The boulder still whistled with wind slashing in through its entrance, but he didn’t seem to have kicked his moss about during the night; he had had plenty of time to heat up.
Leafpool swallowed, took another pace forward, and tried again. “Onestar, I am still the medicine cat of ThunderClan. I need to speak to Star—”
“Do it on your own time.” This time Onestar yawned and rested his chin on top of his tail.
“Tonight is my own time.” Her forelegs tingled; she recognized this feeling from long ago—this was why she had been so sure to follow authority. She was going to be sick—
“Not the Moonpool,” Onestar grunted, not raising his head. “StarClan. If they want to talk to you, they will.”
“But why can’t I just go tonight?” she pleaded, feeling her throat stiffen.
“You’re a smart cat. Figure it out.” Pelt disheveled from sleep, Onestar promptly stood and whisked past her; he failed to disguise his shivers in the wind.
Weaselfur still breathing down her neck, Leafpool kept her head low and slunk toward Barkface’s den. His green eyes were knowing as she approached.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured somberly. “Onestar’s word is law here.”
Weaselfur let out more air through his nose now; not sure if she cared what emotion he was feeling, Leafpool edged away. He groaned and moved closer to her again.
Barkface stared at the younger cat. “You should probably be out on patrol,” he said, turning and padding into his den. Leafpool followed; Weaselfur tried to enter, too, but Barkface looked him straight in the eye and growled, “Go hunting now. The prisoner will not escape under my watch.”
When Weaselfur had gone, Barkface sat down. His muzzle was flecked with gray, and his entire body looked tired. “I’m sorry I have not had the time to properly apologize.”
Leafpool averted her gaze.
“I should have done more to stop him,” Barkface admitted. “Onestar believed this was the only natural step to take as leader. Many of us are not happy with his actions, but I confess freely that I did not do enough.”
“Then help me,” Leafpool begged. “I want to go to the Moonpool, and then I want to join my Clan.”
Barkface’s eyes clouded. “I cannot.”
Leafpool bristled. “Are you on my side or not?”
“I cannot betray my leader,” he growled warningly. “I deeply regret my Clan’s actions, but they are still my Clan, first and foremost. I cannot ignore his word; it would be as grave a sin as those he has committed.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, nose burning. “Helping a cat is not the same as killing off an entire Clan.”
“Nonetheless, I cannot.” He looked sorrowful. “Leafpool…I will talk to StarClan about you. But to help you escape now would be to turn my back on everything we as warriors stand for. You must know this. And to travel even to the Moonpool in your condition would be far too great a danger for me to allow it anyway,” he added.
Barkface did not try to make any idle conversation; he trudged mournfully past her, leaning in the wind, and as the kits moved in her belly, she realized that she truly had no hope left.
Crowfeather had been here when Leafpool had fallen asleep.
It had been yet another restless night. She had tried to reach out to Squirrelflight, but she wasn’t sure whether she had been successful. Mostly she had seen mountains and felt the cool, heavy stone beneath her pawpads. Hopefully that meant Squirrelflight was safe somewhere in their jagged peaks, but she didn’t trust herself not to muddle her own thoughts with Crowfeather.
The black queen Nightcloud had not been happy at Leafpool’s arrival. Many WindClan cats had snickered amongst themselves, but Nightcloud, peering from the nursery, had given her a look that clearly stated she would love nothing more than to drown Leafpool, claws at her throat, choking her in the icy waters of the lake.
Leafpool slept in the elders’ den. Crowfeather and Barkface had insisted on allowing her a more insulated den than the gorse bush Onestar had first drily suggested. She was glad Nightcloud had not been around to hear that conversation, though Barkface and a few warriors had done more to convince Onestar by reminding him of the potential for new blood in the Clan than Crowfeather had with his whining.
He seemed, however, to be desperately trying to fit Leafpool into his life again. At night he had been waiting for darkness and then joining her, whispering about how they could leave again, and that the two of them had never fit in since returning anyway.
He had not apologized.
Tonight was the night of the half moon. Leafpool sighed and rose to her paws; walking had become more and more difficult as her kits had grown in her belly. She was definitely having more than one. Crowfeather had suggested naming them after WindClan’s territory. “Heatherkit. Hillkit. Cloudkit. Skykit. Breezekit.” She wasn’t so sure she liked those names.
He had hurriedly shot down “Firekit” and “Squirrelkit,” saying, “The only thing those names will get you is a claw to the ears. Trust me, you’re much safer sticking to our names.”
Weaselfur was at her side the moment she left the den. The white-pawed warrior had latched on tightly to Onestar’s rule and seemed to be doing all he could to make his leader happy, including hovering around Leafpool like a light-starved moth. She could feel his breath; it rippled her fur and made her uncomfortable about his proximity, though at least it warmed her pelt a bit.
Barkface also looked at her from across the clearing, but she had known him for a long time; he had seemed worried about Onestar’s battle plans since the tabby tom had been appointed on Tallstar’s deathbed. His watchful green gaze was more reassuring than frightening—he would be one of her staunchest defenders here.
Trying to block out the sound of Weaselfur’s shivering and the brush of his whiskers against her spine, Leafpool crossed to Onestar’s den, a small hollow crack in a boulder. The leader was curled in a mossy nest, tail over his nose.
Weaselfur shook his head sarcastically as Leafpool began to speak. “Hello, Onestar,” she mewed, voice flat and resigned.
His amber eyes snapped open, sparking with anger for a heartbeat; he lifted his head, lips pulled just far enough that the tips of his long canine teeth protruded. “Yes, ThunderClan?”
Stung, Leafpool jerked back her head. The words on her tongue slipped away, and she searched for what she had been planning to say. “Moonpool,” she managed. “I—tonight there’s the moon. A half moon. I’m still a medicine cat, so—”
“No.” Onestar tucked his muzzle back under his tail; he looked warm. The boulder still whistled with wind slashing in through its entrance, but he didn’t seem to have kicked his moss about during the night; he had had plenty of time to heat up.
Leafpool swallowed, took another pace forward, and tried again. “Onestar, I am still the medicine cat of ThunderClan. I need to speak to Star—”
“Do it on your own time.” This time Onestar yawned and rested his chin on top of his tail.
“Tonight is my own time.” Her forelegs tingled; she recognized this feeling from long ago—this was why she had been so sure to follow authority. She was going to be sick—
“Not the Moonpool,” Onestar grunted, not raising his head. “StarClan. If they want to talk to you, they will.”
“But why can’t I just go tonight?” she pleaded, feeling her throat stiffen.
“You’re a smart cat. Figure it out.” Pelt disheveled from sleep, Onestar promptly stood and whisked past her; he failed to disguise his shivers in the wind.
Weaselfur still breathing down her neck, Leafpool kept her head low and slunk toward Barkface’s den. His green eyes were knowing as she approached.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured somberly. “Onestar’s word is law here.”
Weaselfur let out more air through his nose now; not sure if she cared what emotion he was feeling, Leafpool edged away. He groaned and moved closer to her again.
Barkface stared at the younger cat. “You should probably be out on patrol,” he said, turning and padding into his den. Leafpool followed; Weaselfur tried to enter, too, but Barkface looked him straight in the eye and growled, “Go hunting now. The prisoner will not escape under my watch.”
When Weaselfur had gone, Barkface sat down. His muzzle was flecked with gray, and his entire body looked tired. “I’m sorry I have not had the time to properly apologize.”
Leafpool averted her gaze.
“I should have done more to stop him,” Barkface admitted. “Onestar believed this was the only natural step to take as leader. Many of us are not happy with his actions, but I confess freely that I did not do enough.”
“Then help me,” Leafpool begged. “I want to go to the Moonpool, and then I want to join my Clan.”
Barkface’s eyes clouded. “I cannot.”
Leafpool bristled. “Are you on my side or not?”
“I cannot betray my leader,” he growled warningly. “I deeply regret my Clan’s actions, but they are still my Clan, first and foremost. I cannot ignore his word; it would be as grave a sin as those he has committed.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, nose burning. “Helping a cat is not the same as killing off an entire Clan.”
“Nonetheless, I cannot.” He looked sorrowful. “Leafpool…I will talk to StarClan about you. But to help you escape now would be to turn my back on everything we as warriors stand for. You must know this. And to travel even to the Moonpool in your condition would be far too great a danger for me to allow it anyway,” he added.
Barkface did not try to make any idle conversation; he trudged mournfully past her, leaning in the wind, and as the kits moved in her belly, she realized that she truly had no hope left.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SQUIRRELFLIGHT
The moon was a semicircle tonight. Squirrelflight stared bleakly up at it. The waterfall obscuring the cave’s entrance spattered her flank with water, but the air was still.
“Warmer night,” Night offered. Her pitch-black fur was streaked with mud; apparently during leafbare the Tribe cats were slightly less meticulous in washing off in the falls. Squirrelflight had chosen to blame her hunting inefficiency on her ginger pelt, though she knew part of it was that she was unaccustomed to the mountains.
(I didn't mean for SquirrelxNight to have so much subtext, but it just kind of…happened? I guess I like it but it wasn't intentional; I realized it partway through this scene, and this was written in earlyish November 2015, back when only straight cats were allowed on the forums)
Tall, dark clouds blurred out many of the stars. “Tonight, my sister would have gone to talk to StarClan,” Squirrelflight whispered. “I think she’s alive. She’d have visited me if she weren’t.”
Night looked curious. “This might be insensitive, but…how do you know that? Do your—StarClan—visit all of your warriors?”
“They can. Leafpool would.” Squirrelflight shivered as a slight breeze swirled past. “Mostly they only talk to medicine cats and leaders, but they talked to—well, to—to Tawnypelt.” With Bramblestar a traitor, Crowfeather a killer, and Feathertail long dead, none of them were fit to mention now.
Night stretched her neck, curving her head to the side. “I hope your sister is okay wherever she is. Possibly she is lost in Twoleg space.”
“Twolegplace,” Squirrelflight corrected her automatically, then remembered that Night of No Stars had probably never seen anything made by Twolegs in her life. “I mean, yeah, she might be.” The scent of heather had been plaguing her for days. “There’s a cat who lives there named Purdy who will help her if she is.” No need to mention Purdy’s inefficiency.
Night’s green eyes still glimmered in the hazy moonlight. Squirrelflight thought she looked like she had something to say, but the black she-cat closed her jaws tightly against the air.
After a minute or two had passed, Squirrelflight broke the silence again; “Looks like storms are gathering.”
Night nodded. “The high clouds are collecting,” she agreed. “But it is safe inside our cave. Warmer than your trees.” There was a hint of playfulness to her tone, and Squirrelflight was reminded painfully of her first journey. Night had been on the run from the Tribe, desperate to be allowed back, and had helped take Stormfur prisoner. But the gray warrior had spoken well (highly! highly) of her during his time in ThunderClan.
“It must be very unsettling to be forced from your forest,” Night murmured. “I cannot imagine what it would be like to be driven from this mountain. It has been my home since I was born. And you—you fought for your home. I have not done even that.”
Squirrelflight wanted to tell Night that it was okay, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie. “We’ll survive.”
“Yes. We are honored to be your caretakers. But I must warn you that leafbare is no easy time for us, either.”
Somewhere in the distance lightning flickered. Squirrelflight flinched in surprise. “I know. I was here in leafbare once before.”
Night looked slightly abashed. “I remember that,” she said quietly. “But that—it was no greenleaf, don’t get me wrong, but it was a warmer leafbare than most. This season does not bode pleasant hunting.”
“We’ve fought through terrible leafbares before,” Squirrelflight insisted, failing to speak with conviction. “ThunderClan is strong.”
“You are very strong,” she agreed.
Squirrelflight shivered again; the mountain air chilled her scars. The two cats lapsed into silence again.
Soon they spotted a returning hunting patrol. Crag, Jag, Brightheart, and Brook each brought a load of freshkill to the pile they had been gathering in the cave. Apparently extra freshkill was usually not caught; the Tribe fed itself for the day, and that was it. But with so many mouths and the beginning of leafbare it was becoming more important to ensure an oversupply.
Brightheart and Squirrelflight dipped their heads to each other; Night watched, vaguely amused, and ducked experimentally, looking quite awkward.
“Good catch,” Squirrelflight offered.
“Thank you,” Brook mewed over her shoulder. The other cats acknowledged her with flicks of their ears and tails. Sorreltail nudged two mice toward her kits; Poppykit ate eagerly, but the others had to be coaxed. Squirrelflight wondered if Leafpool’s kits had been born—She is alive, she thought stubbornly. She must be.
Night yawned loudly. “I think it might be time to sleep,” she mumbled, stretching and padding away. Squirrelflight followed guiltily, glancing at the cave’s entrance. Crag twitched his whiskers at her and went to take her place at the mouth.
Squirrelflight found herself in a dazzling forest. The trees were bare, but the floor was carpeted with soft, shimmering leaves, jade green and comforting on her paws over the crumbly, pebbly, starry ground.
Before her was Leafpool. Squirrelflight shouted in alarm. “No! You can’t be dead!”
Her sister’s amber eyes were round as moons. “I’m not dead,” she whispered. “Squirrelflight. Are you safe?”
“We made it to the mountains, Leafpool! Where are you?”
“WindClan,” her sister muttered. “But—you made it.”
“They told me you were dead.” Squirrelflight rubbed her head against her sister’s cheek. “But everything will be okay. Once we can travel, we’ll come get you.”
Leafpool hesitated. “Is it safe?”
“It will be,” Squirrelflight promised. “Maybe not now, but one day. I will not abandon you, Leafpool. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Leafpool’s eyes swam with stars. “Don’t worry about me. They aren’t going to harm me. I’ll be safe.”
She licked her sister’s shoulder, worried that the dream could end at any moment. They hunted together in StarClan. Squirrelflight could taste the prey in her jaws, plump and delicious.
The three stars in the sky shone for her now, and both cats woke sure that one day, Leafpool’s wish would come true, and things would be set right. (ugh @ me)
The moon was a semicircle tonight. Squirrelflight stared bleakly up at it. The waterfall obscuring the cave’s entrance spattered her flank with water, but the air was still.
“Warmer night,” Night offered. Her pitch-black fur was streaked with mud; apparently during leafbare the Tribe cats were slightly less meticulous in washing off in the falls. Squirrelflight had chosen to blame her hunting inefficiency on her ginger pelt, though she knew part of it was that she was unaccustomed to the mountains.
(I didn't mean for SquirrelxNight to have so much subtext, but it just kind of…happened? I guess I like it but it wasn't intentional; I realized it partway through this scene, and this was written in earlyish November 2015, back when only straight cats were allowed on the forums)
Tall, dark clouds blurred out many of the stars. “Tonight, my sister would have gone to talk to StarClan,” Squirrelflight whispered. “I think she’s alive. She’d have visited me if she weren’t.”
Night looked curious. “This might be insensitive, but…how do you know that? Do your—StarClan—visit all of your warriors?”
“They can. Leafpool would.” Squirrelflight shivered as a slight breeze swirled past. “Mostly they only talk to medicine cats and leaders, but they talked to—well, to—to Tawnypelt.” With Bramblestar a traitor, Crowfeather a killer, and Feathertail long dead, none of them were fit to mention now.
Night stretched her neck, curving her head to the side. “I hope your sister is okay wherever she is. Possibly she is lost in Twoleg space.”
“Twolegplace,” Squirrelflight corrected her automatically, then remembered that Night of No Stars had probably never seen anything made by Twolegs in her life. “I mean, yeah, she might be.” The scent of heather had been plaguing her for days. “There’s a cat who lives there named Purdy who will help her if she is.” No need to mention Purdy’s inefficiency.
Night’s green eyes still glimmered in the hazy moonlight. Squirrelflight thought she looked like she had something to say, but the black she-cat closed her jaws tightly against the air.
After a minute or two had passed, Squirrelflight broke the silence again; “Looks like storms are gathering.”
Night nodded. “The high clouds are collecting,” she agreed. “But it is safe inside our cave. Warmer than your trees.” There was a hint of playfulness to her tone, and Squirrelflight was reminded painfully of her first journey. Night had been on the run from the Tribe, desperate to be allowed back, and had helped take Stormfur prisoner. But the gray warrior had spoken well (highly! highly) of her during his time in ThunderClan.
“It must be very unsettling to be forced from your forest,” Night murmured. “I cannot imagine what it would be like to be driven from this mountain. It has been my home since I was born. And you—you fought for your home. I have not done even that.”
Squirrelflight wanted to tell Night that it was okay, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie. “We’ll survive.”
“Yes. We are honored to be your caretakers. But I must warn you that leafbare is no easy time for us, either.”
Somewhere in the distance lightning flickered. Squirrelflight flinched in surprise. “I know. I was here in leafbare once before.”
Night looked slightly abashed. “I remember that,” she said quietly. “But that—it was no greenleaf, don’t get me wrong, but it was a warmer leafbare than most. This season does not bode pleasant hunting.”
“We’ve fought through terrible leafbares before,” Squirrelflight insisted, failing to speak with conviction. “ThunderClan is strong.”
“You are very strong,” she agreed.
Squirrelflight shivered again; the mountain air chilled her scars. The two cats lapsed into silence again.
Soon they spotted a returning hunting patrol. Crag, Jag, Brightheart, and Brook each brought a load of freshkill to the pile they had been gathering in the cave. Apparently extra freshkill was usually not caught; the Tribe fed itself for the day, and that was it. But with so many mouths and the beginning of leafbare it was becoming more important to ensure an oversupply.
Brightheart and Squirrelflight dipped their heads to each other; Night watched, vaguely amused, and ducked experimentally, looking quite awkward.
“Good catch,” Squirrelflight offered.
“Thank you,” Brook mewed over her shoulder. The other cats acknowledged her with flicks of their ears and tails. Sorreltail nudged two mice toward her kits; Poppykit ate eagerly, but the others had to be coaxed. Squirrelflight wondered if Leafpool’s kits had been born—She is alive, she thought stubbornly. She must be.
Night yawned loudly. “I think it might be time to sleep,” she mumbled, stretching and padding away. Squirrelflight followed guiltily, glancing at the cave’s entrance. Crag twitched his whiskers at her and went to take her place at the mouth.
Squirrelflight found herself in a dazzling forest. The trees were bare, but the floor was carpeted with soft, shimmering leaves, jade green and comforting on her paws over the crumbly, pebbly, starry ground.
Before her was Leafpool. Squirrelflight shouted in alarm. “No! You can’t be dead!”
Her sister’s amber eyes were round as moons. “I’m not dead,” she whispered. “Squirrelflight. Are you safe?”
“We made it to the mountains, Leafpool! Where are you?”
“WindClan,” her sister muttered. “But—you made it.”
“They told me you were dead.” Squirrelflight rubbed her head against her sister’s cheek. “But everything will be okay. Once we can travel, we’ll come get you.”
Leafpool hesitated. “Is it safe?”
“It will be,” Squirrelflight promised. “Maybe not now, but one day. I will not abandon you, Leafpool. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Leafpool’s eyes swam with stars. “Don’t worry about me. They aren’t going to harm me. I’ll be safe.”
She licked her sister’s shoulder, worried that the dream could end at any moment. They hunted together in StarClan. Squirrelflight could taste the prey in her jaws, plump and delicious.
The three stars in the sky shone for her now, and both cats woke sure that one day, Leafpool’s wish would come true, and things would be set right. (ugh @ me)
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LEAFPOOL
“That’s all of them,” Barkface murmured. Leafpool breathed a sigh of relief, allowing the now-broken stick to fall from her jaws. Panting, she craned her neck to look at the three kits.
Barkface sniffed the kits; Leafpool could smell fear-scent. “What’s wrong with my kits?” she asked, horrified. “What happened?” Still-births had happened before; was one of her new kits dead?
“Nothing,” he grunted, sounding insincere. Leafpool pushed herself onto her forepaws and scrabbled to face her kits.
A black kit and a small gray kit lay on the moss, breathing and making soft noises, but the golden kit beside them was still and silent. Barkface began licking the kit, rough tongue moving it back and forth. Leafpool nosed her kit; Barkface recoiled as she shoved her face in front of his.
After a few more terrifying heartbeats of licking, Leafpool felt the little kit’s body heave. It shouted much louder than she had anticipated, squealing to announce that it had not died. Barkface nodded evenly, narrowing his eyes at the gray warrior.
Leafpool felt a pang of disappointment as she realized none of her kits were ginger. Guess there go my names. She curled her tail around them; they tried to wriggle underneath.
Crowfeather’s blue eyes shone with a fierce pride, but all of his body language suggested he was uncomfortable. “So we can name them Skykit and Sunkit,” he meowed. “And Breezekit for the black one.”
Leafpool shook her head. “Lionkit. Didn’t you hear him roar?” (get it he's just like his previous incarnation)
Crowfeather stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “Very well.”
“And Jaykit—he looks like you,” she mewed. At the start of her sentence she had spoken fondly, but by the end she thought her voice had become scared and empty. “And for the she-kit, do you remember where we used to meet?”
Crowfeather paused, then answered, “The holly bush.”
Leafpool nodded. “Hollykit. Ferncloud had a kit named Hollykit, too; I think it’s only fair that we honor her.” (I think the "her" is Ferncloud)
“Sure. Go with those.” Crowfeather still sounded a bit uncertain.
“You will live in the nursery now,” Barkface told her. “Onestar still will not let you patrol or hunt, but you will care for your kits.”
“I’ve been eating parsley,” Leafpool confessed.
“Has it not worn off?” the WindClan medicine cat asked incredulously. “You haven’t been taking it from my stores, so it should not be a problem.”
“Right.” Leafpool tried to lift herself to her feet, but she was still weak, and pain buzzed in her legs.
Crowfeather, who had not spoken for some time, opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something. But after a tense wait, he simply shut it again, turned, and walked stiffly from the den.
“StarClan…gave me a prophecy.” Barkface fixed Leafpool with his eyes. They were a deep emerald green, dark and shadowed.
“‘There will be three, kin to the cat with fire in his pelt, who hold the power of the stars in their paws,’” he recited. “‘All storms pass, and all nights end. Once the fire is extinguished, the forest will return. A tree may shed its leaves, but it is still a tree. The storm will return in its time, but for now all is calm.’” (can you tell I don't like prophecies)
Leafpool felt her fur begin to fluff. “Did—did any cat say anything more?”
Barkface thought for a moment. “No. StarClan rarely explains their prophecies. But I feel I know its meaning now.”
Leafpool looked back at her kits, tiny and helpless, shivering and squeezing under her tail. “Firestar’s grandkits.”
“These three kits hold power no cat before has ever dreamed of. ThunderClan will return, and for now, everything will turn out okay.”
Leafpool’s remaining strength seemed to leave her. “I miss my Clanmates.”
“As you should. But ThunderClan will be okay.”
Gazing at her kits, Leafpool saw an image of three shining stars, brighter, fiercer, stronger than any others in the sky, reflecting in their pelts.
You will carry on Firestar’s legacy. You will be the flame that saves us now. StarClan, give them hope.
“That’s all of them,” Barkface murmured. Leafpool breathed a sigh of relief, allowing the now-broken stick to fall from her jaws. Panting, she craned her neck to look at the three kits.
Barkface sniffed the kits; Leafpool could smell fear-scent. “What’s wrong with my kits?” she asked, horrified. “What happened?” Still-births had happened before; was one of her new kits dead?
“Nothing,” he grunted, sounding insincere. Leafpool pushed herself onto her forepaws and scrabbled to face her kits.
A black kit and a small gray kit lay on the moss, breathing and making soft noises, but the golden kit beside them was still and silent. Barkface began licking the kit, rough tongue moving it back and forth. Leafpool nosed her kit; Barkface recoiled as she shoved her face in front of his.
After a few more terrifying heartbeats of licking, Leafpool felt the little kit’s body heave. It shouted much louder than she had anticipated, squealing to announce that it had not died. Barkface nodded evenly, narrowing his eyes at the gray warrior.
Leafpool felt a pang of disappointment as she realized none of her kits were ginger. Guess there go my names. She curled her tail around them; they tried to wriggle underneath.
Crowfeather’s blue eyes shone with a fierce pride, but all of his body language suggested he was uncomfortable. “So we can name them Skykit and Sunkit,” he meowed. “And Breezekit for the black one.”
Leafpool shook her head. “Lionkit. Didn’t you hear him roar?” (get it he's just like his previous incarnation)
Crowfeather stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “Very well.”
“And Jaykit—he looks like you,” she mewed. At the start of her sentence she had spoken fondly, but by the end she thought her voice had become scared and empty. “And for the she-kit, do you remember where we used to meet?”
Crowfeather paused, then answered, “The holly bush.”
Leafpool nodded. “Hollykit. Ferncloud had a kit named Hollykit, too; I think it’s only fair that we honor her.” (I think the "her" is Ferncloud)
“Sure. Go with those.” Crowfeather still sounded a bit uncertain.
“You will live in the nursery now,” Barkface told her. “Onestar still will not let you patrol or hunt, but you will care for your kits.”
“I’ve been eating parsley,” Leafpool confessed.
“Has it not worn off?” the WindClan medicine cat asked incredulously. “You haven’t been taking it from my stores, so it should not be a problem.”
“Right.” Leafpool tried to lift herself to her feet, but she was still weak, and pain buzzed in her legs.
Crowfeather, who had not spoken for some time, opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something. But after a tense wait, he simply shut it again, turned, and walked stiffly from the den.
“StarClan…gave me a prophecy.” Barkface fixed Leafpool with his eyes. They were a deep emerald green, dark and shadowed.
“‘There will be three, kin to the cat with fire in his pelt, who hold the power of the stars in their paws,’” he recited. “‘All storms pass, and all nights end. Once the fire is extinguished, the forest will return. A tree may shed its leaves, but it is still a tree. The storm will return in its time, but for now all is calm.’” (can you tell I don't like prophecies)
Leafpool felt her fur begin to fluff. “Did—did any cat say anything more?”
Barkface thought for a moment. “No. StarClan rarely explains their prophecies. But I feel I know its meaning now.”
Leafpool looked back at her kits, tiny and helpless, shivering and squeezing under her tail. “Firestar’s grandkits.”
“These three kits hold power no cat before has ever dreamed of. ThunderClan will return, and for now, everything will turn out okay.”
Leafpool’s remaining strength seemed to leave her. “I miss my Clanmates.”
“As you should. But ThunderClan will be okay.”
Gazing at her kits, Leafpool saw an image of three shining stars, brighter, fiercer, stronger than any others in the sky, reflecting in their pelts.
You will carry on Firestar’s legacy. You will be the flame that saves us now. StarClan, give them hope.
I do too, if it's a topic I like. If it's school related then no way.