Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Graystripe says we can stay in ThunderClan if we want to.”

Stormpaw looks at his sister, but she isn’t looking at him. Her blue eyes are focused on something far away that only she can see. 

“Do you want to stay?”

“Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

For a moment Featherpaw doesn’t say anything. Then, “Not without you or Mistyfoot.”

“You think Mistyfoot would stay in ThunderClan?”

Featherpaw shrugs. “Why not. It’s her mother’s Clan after all, and I’m sure Firestar wouldn’t turn her away.”

No, Firestar was a good and fair leader who would never turn away a cat in need. He would never align himself with a tyrant, would never order his deputy to murder two innocent apprentices--

“Okay, maybe Mistyfoot would return to RiverClan, but if I stayed behind in ThunderClan, would you stay behind with me?”

Featherpaw is looking at him now, begging him for an answer. Stormpaw wishes he had one to give to her.

“Let me think about it, okay? Ask me after the Battle.”

--

It shouldn’t be that difficult of a question. 

Their blood is just as much ThunderClan as it is RiverClan, and Firestar is good and fair leader, and their father is alive here, and Stormpaw does not look at their warriors and hear the sounds of their jeering as they’re dragged out of an old foxhole by their scruffs, thrown down at the paws of Tigerstar, shaking in terror but unable to run--

But Stonefur died to save two RiverClan apprentices. Stonefur died believing that Stormpaw would become an honorable RiverClan warrior just like his mother’s kin.

It’s a sacrifice that Stormpaw doesn’t know if he can bring himself to waste. 

--

The Battle with BloodClan is won, but Stormpaw isn’t done fighting yet.

“If I stayed behind in ThunderClan, would you stay behind with me?”

Featherpaw’s eyes are as blue as the sky before a thunderstorm and just as fierce. Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the battle still humming in her blood, or maybe she really could start over in ThunderClan; make a new home for herself, put an end to her nightmares, grow closer to Graystripe and eventually start her own family…

Stormpaw knows that she wants him to say yes.

“You know, Mistyfoot has already said that she’s going back to RiverClan--”

“I’m not talking about Mistyfoot right now.”

“Featherpaw, we’re the only kin she’s got now--”

“Our father is here--”

“Stonefur is there--”

“Stonefur is dead. ”

Stormpaw stiffens. Featherpaw softens.

“I miss him too,” she whispers, her voice raw with grief. “That’s why I don’t want to go back. Leopardstar sealed his fate when she gave him that order, and I’ll never forgive her for that. I can’t call her my leader. I can’t look at our Clanmates and forgive them for what did to us, said to us. I can’t-- I don’t think I’ll ever stop hating them.”

Stormpaw stares at his sister, at a loss for words because he knows exactly what she means. He struggles with it too. But Stonefur died to save two RiverClan apprentices, to protect Mistyfoot, and of all the things that Stormpaw can do, he can’t let that sacrifice be for nothing.

Still, he doesn’t look Featherpaw in the eye as he prepares himself to say, “You know, we don’t have to stay together. Bramblepaw didn’t follow Tawnypaw to ShadowClan, and we would still see each other on patrols, at Gatherings--”

“Stormpaw, are you going back to RiverClan or not?”

It doesn’t matter that he won’t look her in the eye, that same fierceness is in her voice now, too. Stormpaw just nods.

Featherpaw is quiet for a long moment. Then she says, “Okay. Let’s go say goodbye to everyone, then.”

--

The four of them stand in front of the river together. There is silence except for the rushing water, the same divine water that flows through every RiverClan cat’s blood; even Stormpaw’s blood, dirty as it is. What an offense; what a waste of divinity, he heard cats lament as he was shoved into an old foxhole. 

Stormpaw closes his eyes and tries to block out the memory as Graystripe says, “I’m going to miss you three.”

Featherpaw is leaning against his legs like she used to do when she was a kitten and he was a warrior of RiverClan. “We’ll miss you too.”

“You know you’ll always have friends in ThunderClan, right?”

“Of course we know.” Mistyfoot licked his shoulder, a sign of friendship. “ThunderClan saved our lives. We’ll forever be grateful.”

“I talked to Firestar about it; if you return and RiverClan doesn’t feel like home anymore, you’ll always have a place in ThunderClan.”

Stormpaw watches Featherpaw relax a little bit at that, and his chest aches. Is she really better off in ThunderClan? Am I doing the wrong thing by not staying behind for her?

“Tell Firestar that we appreciate the offer, Graystripe. But now that I’m deputy, things are going to be very different. RiverClan is going to be our home no matter who doesn’t like it.” The conviction in Mistyfoot’s voice despite all they’ve gone through in the last moon fills Stormpaw with hope. She’d lost more than him or Featherpaw, and she was still standing tall.

“I would hate to be on the end of your wrath, deputy,” Graystripe purrs. He looks down at his kits. “I suppose I’ve held you up long enough. I wouldn’t want to upset Leopardstar.”

“Leopardstar can go suck snails,” Featherpaw grumbles. Mistyfoot pretends to not hear her but Graystripe’s whiskers twitch. He nuzzles the top of her head affectionately, rests his muzzle there for a moment, simply breathing in her scent. 

Pulling away from her pains Graystripe, Stormpaw can tell. Then those amber eyes are turned on him, and Stormpaw can see his own pain reflected there. Graystripe nuzzles the top of his head and murmurs, “Go forward slowly, Stormpaw; you’re going to be a great warrior. I know you’ll make us all proud.”

I’m sorry, Stormpaw wants to cry, but instead he bunts his head against Graystripe’s and prays his father understands. He’s made the decision to return to RiverClan but that doesn’t mean it isn’t eating him alive.

Graystripe pulls away and looks between his kits. “Take care of each other,” he says in his newfound deputy voice. “And take care of Mistyfoot, too. She’s not getting any younger.”

Mistyfoot snorts. “Never lose your sense of humor, Graystripe, and… may StarClan light your path.”

Then she turns around and steps into the river; it welcomes her like an old friend. She kicks off the shore and starts swimming toward home. Stormpaw could stand on ThunderClan ground all day saying goodbye and procrastinating, but it wouldn’t change his decision. He resolves to step into the river and follow Mistyfoot; the river is cold and it soaks him to the bone, but he forces himself to not look back as he swims after Mistyfoot.

“I’m sorry,” he can’t help but overhear Featherpaw whisper, and Stormpaw ignores the burning heat behind his eyes.

--

Stormpaw and Featherpaw stand shoulder-to-shoulder. If either of them feels the other trembling, they keep it to themself.

It’s just a den, Stormpaw thinks. A den that they were pulled out of suddenly one morning by Blackfoot and Jaggedtooth of ShadowClan, except now they called themselves TigerClan. If he tries he can still remember the fear scent that filled the den, thick enough to choke on.

“Where’s Dawnpaw’s nest?” Featherpaw finally asks, snapping Stormpaw from his thoughts.

“I heard somebody call her Dawnflower as we were walking into camp. I guess she got her warrior name after the Battle.”

Featherpaw’s ears fall flat against her head. “I was hoping we hadn’t missed her Ceremony…”

“At least now we don’t have to listen to her snoring,” Stormpaw offers, in an attempt at humor. Featherpaw hums in sad agreement but it’s the most he gets out of her. 

Sighing, he says, “C’mon, let’s start weaving our nests.”

--

Nest, it turns out.

Stormpaw jerks violently from a nightmare with a scream lodged in his throat. He checks on Featherpaw to make sure he didn’t wake her up, only to find that she’s still wide awake.

“Can’t sleep,” she mumbles, despite sounding exhausted.

Stormpaw’s heart beats painfully against his ribcage. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to fall asleep again tonight, either. “Maybe it would help if you were closer to me,” he suggests, speaking over the sound of his heartbeat. “You can share my nest tonight if you want.”

A little while later, they begin weaving their two nests together.

--

Mistyfoot lets them rest for a couple of days, and although he understands why, Stormpaw wishes she wouldn’t have. He spends the days avoiding his Clanmates’s stares and pretending to not overhear their whispers; the nights are long and dark and he stays alert for as long as possible, prepared to protect Featherpaw if another TigerClan warrior should burst suddenly into their den.

Training would be a welcomed distraction. But then again, it’s difficult for an apprentice to train when their mentor is dead.

When Mistyfoot approaches him with Shadepelt following slowly behind, he doesn’t know how to feel.

“Who better to resume your training than Stonefur’s first apprentice?” Mistyfoot asks with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Shadepelt takes a step toward him, uncertain but open; friendly. “I know I’ll never replace Stonefur, but I would never want to. I just want to help you become the warrior that he always knew you could become.”

Stormpaw softens. He leans forward and they touch their noses together. “Let’s make him proud,” he whispers.

--

That night, Stormpaw sleeps soundly until Featherpaw wakes up from another nightmare. He spends the rest of the night rasping his tongue across her shoulders, lulling her back to sleep.

--

They knew it couldn’t be avoided forever. Still, neither of them are emotionally prepared for Leopardstar’s first observation.

“We’ll start with hunting.” It’s the first thing she’s said to them since their return. “Catch whatever you can, as long as it’s bigger than a minnow.”

Stormpaw settles into position on the riverbank while Featherpaw heads further downstream. His gaze skims the surface of the water searching for a fish, but he can’t set his nerves aside. He can feel Leopardstar’s gaze pierce the back of his head like claws. He wishes he would have gone downstream with Featherpaw.

He hears rustling from behind and catches Shadepelt’s scent; he closes his eyes and focuses on recalling Stonefur’s voice the first time he explained how to catch a fish. Then he opens his eyes again and turns his attention back to the river.

Finally he strikes into the depths and hooks a trout. He kills it with a heavy paw and a quick nip and a feeling of pride rushes through him.

“Good catch,” Leopardstar says. She turns to Mistyfoot and asks, “Where’s your apprentice?”

Before Mistyfoot can answer, there’s more rustling in the reeds and a voice calls out, “I’m here!” And then Featherpaw emerges with a squirrel in her jaws and an absolutely defiant look in her eyes.

She sets the squirrel down in front of Leopardstar’s paws and doesn’t flinch away from her leader’s piercing gaze. “It’s a little bigger than a minnow, don’t you think?” Featherpaw says, and there’s absolute defiance in her voice, too. 

Featherpaw remains unflinching, but Stormpaw is holding his breath. Mistyfoot and Shadepelt look like they’re doing the same.

Finally Leopardstar says in a cool voice, “We’ll end here today, and resume with the battle training portion tomorrow.”

--

“You shouldn’t go out of your way to antagonize her.”

Featherpaw snorts, and even under the cloak of night he can see the scowl on her face. “You sound like Mistyfoot.”

“I’m serious, Featherpaw. She’s our leader whether we like her or not.”

“I did exactly what she told us to; I caught something larger than a minnow. Larger than your trout too, as a matter of fact. It’ll feed all of the elders.”

The elders don’t even like squirrel. Nobody here does. “That’s not the point, Featherpaw,” Stormpaw says, growing frustrated. “We chose RiverClan, remember?”

“You chose,” Featherpaw retorts, and Stormpaw’s frustration spikes.

“I didn’t force you to come with me,” he snaps. “I said you could live in ThunderClan without me--”

“I can’t live anywhere without you!” Featherpaw nearly shouts. “I can’t-- I don’t know how to live without you!”

Stormpaw doesn’t understand, but when he tries to rasp his tongue across Featherpaw’s shoulders, she stands abruptly and darts out of the den. Stormpaw watches as she’s devoured by the night and resists the urge to chase her.

She needs space, he thinks, even as paranoia creeps in. She’s upset, and if I catch her and say the wrong thing, I’ll only make it worse.

He lays awake all night long waiting for her to come back, unable to fall asleep without her warmth pressed against him.

--

Shadepelt leans down to his level and mutters, “Are you alright? You don’t look like you slept a wink last night.”

Stormpaw merely grunts in response. He watches Leopardstar pace the beech copse, her irritation growing clearer and clearer. Finally she looks at Stormpaw and asks, “You said she never came back last night?”

He nods.

Leopardstar is easy to read, or else she doesn’t care to mask her emotions. He can practically see her thoughts written across her face; She’s run back to ThunderClan.

Stormpaw wants to speak up and put that thought to rest, but he can’t. He’s worried about the exact same thing. And the idea of Featherpaw leaving in the middle of the night to join their father’s Clan because Stormpaw pushed her too far makes him nauseous. 

Finally Mistyfoot shows up, sans Featherpaw. Before anyone can ask a question, she raises her tail for silence. “I found her, but I think we should postpone this observation until tomorrow.”

“Why?” Leopardstar challenges. “Where was she?”

Mistyfoot hesitates, then answers, “Asleep by the ThunderClan border.”

In an instant, Leopardstar turns furious. “Mistyfoot, I warned you about her--”

“She’s young, Leopardstar, and she’s having a difficult time readjusting--”

“That’s no excuse--”

“She is Silverstream’s daughter--”

“No, she is Graystripe’s daughter,” Leopardstar snarls, and suddenly Stormpaw can’t breathe. “Silverstream was not a traitor to RiverClan--”

“Neither is Featherpaw!”

“Mark my words, she will be one just like her father.”

Shadepelt noses Stormpaw and asks, “Stormpaw, are you alright? You’re shaking.”

Mistyfoot and Leopardstar’s gazes turn towards him but Stormpaw can only see Leopardstar, can only see fury in her amber eyes, amber eyes like Tigerstar, amber eyes that showed no mercy as they said, “Do as you’re ordered, Stonefur.”

Stonefur, Stormpaw thinks, and then his world goes dark.

--

He jerks awake violently and cries, “Don’t exile her!”

Mudfur recoils, caught off guard. “Don’t exile who?” he asks. Behind him, Mistyfoot and Shadepelt watch with concern.

“Featherpaw,” Stormpaw blurts out. “She’s not a traitor, she’s just angry and confused and she misses Graystripe, but, but if Leopardstar exiles Featherpaw, then she’s going to have to exile me too! I won’t stay here without her!”

“Stormpaw, slow down,” Mistyfoot says, as he pants for breath. “Leopardstar isn’t exiling anybody today, least of all Featherpaw. You’re overreacting.”

“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting, Mistyfoot!” Stormpaw snaps. “You heard what she said; Featherpaw is going to be a traitor just like her father!”  

“Leopardstar said that?” Mudfur asked in disbelief, and Stormpaw’s frustration reaches a point.

“How could you possibly sound surprised by that?! She’s the same leader who ordered Stonefur to kill us!”

Somehow the entire world falls silent. Stormpaw realizes that his voice must have carried outside the den and into camp; he can’t bring himself to care. 

Mistyfoot looks stricken, and Shadepelt looks helpless. As much as he doesn’t want to, he can’t help but care about that.

He shoves his way out of the den and streaks out of camp.

--

For now, Sunningrocks belongs to ThunderClan.

Privately, Stormpaw hopes they’re allowed to keep it forever. He crouches down underneath a bed of cattails and watches as ThunderClan warriors sun themselves on the rocks, sharing tongues and prey, and the breeze carries their laughter all the way back to him.

Stormpaw realizes that he hasn’t laughed since they left ThunderClan. Not for the first time, he wonders if he made the wrong decision. 

This is why nobody trusts half-Clan cats, he tells himself, bitter. It’s different for Mistyfoot and Stonefur, who didn’t find out about their real mother until after they were respected warriors; it’s different for Stormpaw and Featherpaw, who have always known the truth, has always known that there are two different kinds of blood in their veins.

Since he was a kit, he has been told that the river is special; the river is divine. And all RiverClan cats carry strands of the river in their blood, making their very blood divine. That is why Crookedstar waged war against ThunderClan when Stormkit and Featherkit were born; they carry the divine with them.

But while they were fugitives in ThunderClan, Stormpaw heard another story; that ThunderClan’s blood hums with power. There is something in ThunderClan’s blood that gives them the courage of lions, the might of storms, the ability to overcome whatever comes against them.

Stormpaw is trying to be a good, respectable RiverClan cat. He’s trying to make Stonefur proud. 

But sometimes his blood is calm and still like the river; other times it hums like thunder on the horizon. In those times, Stormpaw doesn’t truly know where he belongs; if he belongs anywhere for that matter.

So he makes a choice. He chooses Mistyfoot, Stonefur, RiverClan, again and again, every day. 

He watches the ThunderClan warriors on Sunningrocks and wonders if anyone can simply choose where they belong.

--

When he returns to camp he expects all eyes to turn to him. 

Nobody even glances his way. They’re watching two kits tumble over each other in the sand, as a tawny-colored queen watches on. Leopardstar sits close beside her, murmuring.

Stormpaw is at a loss. RiverClan’s Nursery is empty.

“RiverClan’s newest members, I think,” Featherpaw explains, sliding up beside him. “Mosspelt and Emberdawn found them by the bridge. The queen asked to be brought to Leopardstar.”

“By name?” Stormpaw asks, surprised. 

“Apparently so.”

How would a loner know Leopardstar by name? Well, regardless, he’s thankful that his outburst won’t be the juiciest piece of gossip around camp tonight. 

As if she can read his mind (and sometimes Stormpaw thinks she can), Featherpaw clears her throat and says, “I heard about what happened earlier, in the medicine den. Thank you for sticking up for me.”

“Duh. I’ll always stick up for you, fish-brain.”

Featherpaw snorts. Then she adds, quieter, “I’m sorry I didn’t come back to the den last night. If I would have, it would have saved you and Mistyfoot some trouble. I didn’t mean to fall asleep by the border.”

Stormpaw hasn’t decided if he’s angry with his sister for that, yet. He thinks he ought to be, but then he remembers watching the ThunderClan warriors on Sunningrocks and longing to join them. 

Finally he says, “Just don’t do it again.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Promise?”

Featherpaw watches the two kits wrestling in the sand along with everyone else, but Stormpaw doesn’t think she’s really paying attention to them.

“Sure, Stormpaw. I promise.”

--

Leopardstar has to assess their battle skills eventually. The beech copse is abuzz with nervous energy. On one side, Featherpaw is crouched in position but her entire body is rigid. On the other side, Stormpaw is already fighting his own battle. It’s difficult to breathe again.

“Begin,” Leopardstar commands. 

Nobody moves. 

Storrmpaw is frozen in place. Featherpaw has a haunted look on her face. If Stormpaw raises his gaze a hair then he’ll meet Mistyfoot’s eye, and it’s not hard to imagine Stonefur in her place. They’re nearly identical after all.

“I said, begin,” Leopardstar repeats herself, and Leopardstar hates repeating herself, and Stormpaw can hear the impatience in her voice. If he glances at her then he can probably see it written all over her face.

Featherpaw takes a step toward him, about to burst into tears.

“No,” Stormpaw manages to growl. He stands up. “I’m not fighting her.”

Shadepelt brushes against his side. “Stormpaw, it’s just practice.”

“I don’t care! We’re not going to fight each other, we’re never going to fight each other!”

“Then how do you expect to improve your skill?” Leopardstar demands. “This is the exact same training that every RiverClan apprentice has undergone.”

“I’ll spar with somebody else,” Stormpaw argues. “Anybody else. But I won’t touch Featherpaw.”

“You can’t make us,” Featherpaw adds, strongly.

Leopardstar looks at Mistyfoot, and he can tell that her patience is running thin. Stormpaw wonders what will happen when it finally snaps in half.

“Fine,” Leopardstar finally growls. “Mistyfoot, Shadepelt, I wish you the best of luck training these two. StarClan knows you’re going to need it.”

--

Mistyfoot dismisses Shadepelt; says this is a matter of kin.

“You can’t keep doing this if you ever want to become warriors,” she starts in a firm voice. “You don’t realize how difficult you’re making things for yourselves.”

“Would you fight Stonefur after what happened at Bonehill?” Stormpaw challenges.

He regrets it. The pain that flashes in Mistyfoot’s eyes cuts like a claw. He lowers his gaze, ashamed.

“No,” she finally answers softly. “I wouldn’t. Which is why nobody is going to force you to do the same. But I need to ask you both a question, and I need you to answer honestly: do you want to be RiverClan warriors? Or do you want to join ThunderClan?”

Featherpaw immediately looks at him. Stormpaw knows that whatever answer he gives Mistyfoot, Featherpaw will echo it.

He thinks about watching ThunderClan warriors on Sunningstones. He thinks about Stonefur teaching him how to fish for the first time. He feels his blood begin to hum.

Choose, it sings.

--

“Do you hate me?” 

His chin is resting on her back. He feels her shift underneath him.

“Why would I hate you, Stormpaw?”

It’s sweet of her to play dumb. “Because I chose RiverClan, so you chose RiverClan.”

“I chose you,” Featherpaw says. She moves out from underneath him and her eyes glow in the moonlight. “Wherever you go, I’ll go. Wherever you stay, I’ll stay.”

“But you wish I would have chosen ThunderClan.”

Featherpaw looks away, which is all the answer he needs. “It doesn’t matter,” she deflects. “You had the courage to make the choice. That’s what’s important here.”

“If you decided to leave and join ThunderClan, I wouldn’t resent you for it.

“But would you follow me?”

Stormpaw looks away, which is all the answer she needs. 

“Then we’re both staying in RiverClan,” Featherpaw says, and it’s final. She licks the top of his head and adds, “Besides, Graystripe told me to take care of you.”

“Fish-brain, he told us to take care of each other.”

She shrugs, smirking. “Maybe, but I have a feeling I’m going to be the one saving your tail in the end.”

--

It’ll feel weird to have denmates again, thinks Stormpaw, watching as Leopardstar performs the first apprentice ceremony since his own. Ironic that it’s two kits without a drop of Clan blood.

--

Mothpaw, a dappled golden she-cat, is bright-eyed and curious. She’s apprenticed to Emberdawn.

Hawkpaw, a brown tabby tom with ice-blue eyes, stands tall and proud. He’s apprenticed to Leopardstar herself.

Stormpaw and Featherpaw exchange looks, and he sees his own unease reflected in her own eyes.

--

It’s only been a few days since their ceremony, but so far nothing has happened to justify their unease. Hawkpaw and Mothpaw are protective of each other, but Stormpaw has no stones to throw. They spend the days touring the territory with their mentors, the evenings with their mother, and the nights to themselves, only ever asking a question or two.

Then one night Stormpaw is prodded awake. He’s surprised to see Hawkpaw standing over him.

“Your sister is gone,” Hawkpaw hisses, and alarms go off inside Stormpaw’s head.

--

Hawkpaw wants to follow Stormpaw out of camp, but if he’s right about where Featherpaw has disappeared off to, then it’s important that he goes alone. He refuses to leave camp until he’s certain that he’s not being trailed and then he runs all the way to the ThunderClan border.

His assumption is almost correct; Featherpaw sits on one side of the river but he didn’t expect to find Graystripe on the other side of the river.

Stormpaw crouches beneath a reedbed and strains to hear what they’re saying:

“... two new apprentices. Their mother is a loner.”

“Ironic for Leopardstar to take in loners, much less mentor one herself.”

“That’s what Stormpaw said.”

“How is he adjusting to being back in RiverClan?”

“Better than me, at least. I think it’s easier for him to forget about the things they said to us, the things they did to us. It’s easier for him to forgive them.”

Stormpaw recoils. He crawls out from underneath the reedbed entirely. She’s fine, he thinks to himself but his head feels cloudy. He heads quietly back to camp.

--

“Did you find her?”

Stormpaw barely glances at Hawkpaw as he settles back into his nest; his nest that feels too big without Featherpaw to share it with.

“Yeah. She’s fine.”

“Why didn’t you bring her back with you?”

“I said she’s fine,” Stormpaw repeats himself, and he doesn’t mean for there to be an edge in his voice, but oh well. Hawkpaw needs to learn to mind his own business. He only feels a little bit guilty when the younger cat doesn’t say anything else to him that night.

She’s wrong, Stormpaw thinks, head still cloudy. It’s not easy for me to forget and forgive, I just actually want to be happy in RiverClan, and she’s determined to be miserable. That’s not my fault. It’s not my fault she won’t just join ThunderClan even though it’s clearly what she wants. I’m doing this for Stonefur, and for Mistyfoot.

And then a little quieter, a little lonelier, he wonders, How long has she been meeting up with Graystripe?

--

At least she’s more careful about sneaking out now. As dawnlight trickles into their den and wakes him up, Featherpaw is curled against his side like she was there all night.

Stormpaw steps over her and slips out of the den to begin grooming his pelt. Most of the Clan is still asleep, but he can hear voices softly murmuring. Curious, he follows them and is surprised to find Leopardstar and Sasha sitting by the river behind the Nursery.

They’re less than a tail-length apart until Leopardstar brushes against Sasha’s side, and then they stay like that. Just murmuring to each other, just enjoying the peace that dawn brings. Sasha turns her face to bury it in Leopardstar’s fur.

Oh, Stormpaw thinks. Maybe this is why Leopardstar chose to mentor a loner’s kit.

Then, as if she can read his thoughts (and he’s pretty certain that she can at this point), Featherpaw whispers, “Do you suppose this is why she chose to mentor Hawkpaw?”

“It’s as good a guess as any. Speaking of Hawkpaw.” Stormpaw signals for her to follow him away from the couple. “He noticed you snuck out last night. What am I supposed to tell cats if they ask me where you are, Featherpaw? I can’t exactly tell them that you’re meeting with our ThunderClan father.”

Something flashes in Featherpaw’s eyes. “How did you--”

“I followed your scent, obviously. Do you know how weird it would have looked to Hawkpaw if I hadn’t of?”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I should have told you. Next time just tell them that I’ve gone to the dirtplace or something.”

“Next time?” Stormpaw doesn’t bother trying to hide his frustration.

“Yes, next time.” Featherpaw meets his gaze evenly. “I’m not going to stop meeting with him. It’s only going to be every claw-moon, and it- it makes everything a little bit easier for me. A little bit happier.” She looks away, now. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Yes I would. I miss him too, and sometimes I wish we had stayed behind in ThunderClan, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at Leopardstar or our Clanmates the same way ever again, but I have to try, at least. Stonefur would want me to try.

Stonefur is dead and Stormpaw is exhausted.

“Whatever you say, Featherpaw. Just try not to get caught again.”

--

He’s squaring off against Shadepelt when Leopardstar enters with beech copse with Hawkpaw in tow. Stormpaw gets out of position and eyes the pair.

“Leopardstar,” Shadepelt greets, sounding happier to see her leader than Stormpaw could ever imagine feeling. “What brings you by? Did you and Hawkpaw want to work on battle training?”

“Something like that,” Leopardstar agrees. “Hawkpaw wanted to watch a session.”

The young apprentice nods silently, but he’s practically quivering with energy. Stormpaw’s whiskers twitch, amused. I guess even nonClan-bornes look forward to fighting.

“Ah, I see. Well then you better put on a good show, Stormpaw.” Shadepelt flicks him with her tail before slipping back into an offensive stance; he falls back into a defensive one.

He strikes first. Shadepelt blocks his first few strikes easily enough but Stormpaw keeps coming, keeps darting around her and landing blows where he can. He’s not particularly graceful but he’s powerful and he doesn’t quit. Eventually he lands a heavy strike to Shadepelt’s side and unsteadies her; she raises her tail to end the match.

“That last one was really strong,” she praises him. “You’re really coming along well, Stormpaw.”

“He still fights like a ThunderClan warrior.”

Stormpaw had forgotten that Leopardstar was even there. He turns to face her, frowning. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You waste precious energy. You fight as long and as hard as you can until you manage a lucky blow, and that might work for those brutes across the river, but that’s not how we fight.”

“This is the style that best suits him, Leopardstar,” Shadepelt cuts in.

“I’m built like my brutish father, in case you’ve forgotten,” Stormpaw adds bitterly. 

Leopardstar narrows her eyes. “That’s not an excuse,” she says. “Hawkpaw has no Clan blood and he’s picked up on our style easily enough. It’s not difficult to do if you really try.”

The comparison draws a smirk from Hawkpaw; he meets Stormpaw’s eye. Stormpaw bites back a growl. “Yeah right. He’s not even been training for a moon.”

“You wanna bet?” Hawkpaw finally says, and there’s no mistaking the challenge in his voice. 

“Calm down, you two,” Shadepelt starts, but Leopardstar raises her tail for silence.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Shadepelt, why don’t you and Stormpaw take a seat and watch.”

It’s not a question. Shadepelt doesn’t look thrilled that her training session is being interrupted but she’s not bold enough to argue with Leopardstar. She catches Stormpaw’s eye and gestures for him to follow her to the edge of the clearing.

Leopardstar and Hawkpaw slip into the same positions that Shadepelt and Stormpaw had been in. Leopardstar waits for Hawkpaw to strike, and as soon as he moves, Stormpaw understands exactly what they’re talking about.

Hawkpaw flows like the river; quick, fluid, dangerous. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he moves, the way he lands his strikes. Stormpaw can’t take his eyes off the other apprentice even as anger builds in his chest.

He’s not as advanced as Stormpaw yet, but he’s catching up quickly. Leopardstar remarks as much after she ends their match, and she shoots Stormpaw a meaningful look.

Stormpaw is rigid. He can hear his blood hum in his ears, like the moment before a storm breaks. He doesn’t hold back as he says, “It’s easy when one style is all you know, but I spent a moon training with a ThunderClan mentor after Stonefur was killed, remember?”

Beside him, Shadepelt gasps. Hawkpaw’s eyes widen, both shocked and confused; so Leopardstar hasn’t told him about the shadow that will follow her all the way to her grave.

Leopardstar narrows her eyes and says with deathly calm, “How could I forget?”

--

Shadepelt doesn’t know how to scold him. She can’t let him get away with disrespecting Leopardstar, but she’ll never tell him to sit there and take Leopardstar’s jabs; at least she acknowledges that Leopardstar seems to go out of her way to antagonize him. 

She’s talking to Mistyfoot about it now. Stormpaw watches them from across camp; Mistyfoot keeps shooting him withered glances. She probably doesn’t know how to punish him either, judging by the way that Featherpaw still gets away with her attitude toward their leader.

He’s tired of waiting around. He ducks behind the Nursery to sip from the stream; he stops when he spots Leopardstar and Sasha again. This time, though, they’re locked in a heated exchange.

Stormpaw can’t overhear what they’re arguing about, but Leopardstar’s fur bristles along her spine; Sasha’s eyes, ice-blue like her son’s, are imploring. Stormpaw knows he should give them their privacy but it’s like the moment before disaster strikes and he can’t look away.

He catches Hawkpaw and Mothpaw’s names. He strains to hear what they’re saying.

“Eavesdropping now, are you?”

He spins around and comes face to face with an unimpressed Mistyfoot. He ducks his head. “I wanted a drink,” he mumbles.

“Mhm. Come with me.”

He follows her, guilty, but he doesn’t miss the curiosity in her eyes when she looks back over her shoulder at the arguing couple.

--

“I understand why you and Featherpaw struggle with Leopardstar. I struggle with her too, more than either of you will ever know. But listen to me, Stormpaw: my brother is not a wound that you can reopen whenever you want to hurt her, or me, or anybody else. Whatever your disagreements are about, keep Stonefur out of them. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Mistyfoot.”

--

How? Stormpaw wonders, staring up at the ceiling of their den, Featherpaw buried deep into his side. How do I keep Stonefur out of it when everything always comes back to him?

--

The next morning, nobody knows where Sasha is. 

Leopardstar’s jaw is tense and her eyes are dark, but when Mistyfoot tries to send out search patrols for her that night, Leopardstar says to not waste their time. Sasha isn’t coming back.

--

Leopardstar orders Mistyfoot to quit assigning Hawkpaw and Mothpaw to patrol the ThunderClan and WindClan borders.

--

The apprentice den has been quiet for days. Then, out of the blue, Mothpaw asks, “What does it mean to be half-Clan?”

Stormpaw looks up from grooming his paws; Featherpaw turns to face Mothpaw, confused. “What?”

“I overheard Blackclaw earlier. He said that Hawkpaw and I should get along well with you both, since none of us have pure blood. But he called you two half-Clan, and I’ve never heard that before.”

There’s a pit in Stormpaw’s stomach. “Ignore anything Blackclaw says. He’s a bully.”

“So you’re not half-Clan?”

“No, we are,” Featherpaw explains, choosing her words carefully. “Our mother was a RiverClan warrior, but our father is a ThunderClan warrior. He’s the deputy now, actually.”

“Who’s your mother? I don’t think I’ve met her yet.”

“She’s dead,” Stormpaw says, blunt. “Her name was Silverstream.”

Mothpaw’s eyes widen slightly. “How did she die?”

“She lost too much blood when she was kitting,” Featherpaw says, quietly. “Leopardstar’s mother died the same way.” Stormpaw looks at his sister, then; I didn’t know that.

“I’m sorry,” Mothpaw says, and she sounds genuine. “At least we were lucky to have Sasha for so long…” she trails off and the atmosphere in the den becomes tense; Hawkpaw glares stubbornly outside the den. “But we’ve never met our father, so we have that in common. And, hey, it’s neat that yours is a deputy. What’s he like?”

“Graystripe is great. He’s brave and funny, and compassionate.” She glances at Stormpaw and adds, “He’s a lot like Stormpaw, actually.” When cats compare him to his father it’s not usually a compliment, but coming from Featherpaw it’s high praise. It draws a smile from him.

He looks at Mothpaw and asks, “Did Sasha ever tell you anything about your father?”

“No.” It’s Hawkpaw who answers, still glaring outside of the den, and now the atmosphere inside the den is ice cold. “She never talked about him.” His voice is hard and warns don’t ask again. 

Mothpaw looks like she’s biting her tongue.

Stormpaw and Featherpaw exchange glances, and he can read her mind: they’re lying.

--

Time is a trick. It feels like the Battle with BloodClan was only a few days ago, but now RiverClan crowds around the rockpile as they wait for Leopardstar to announce who will be attending that night’s Gathering; the first since Scourge was defeated and TigerClan was dismantled.

“The cats attending tonight’s Gathering are Mudfur, Mistyfoot, Skyheart, Heavystep, Dawnflower, Shadepelt, Stormpaw, and Featherpaw.”

Stormpaw and Featherpaw immediately exchange delighted glances. He doesn’t even have to try to read her mind, he knows they’re both thinking it.

Graystripe.

--

They’re whispering excitedly to each other at the back of the patrol when Mistyfoot drops back and murmurs, “We need to talk before we reach Fourtrees. I had to convince Leopardstar to bring you both tonight.”

“Thank you!” Featherpaw chips, brushing her head against Mistyfoot’s shoulder.

“Don’t thank me yet. Listen. You both understand how important it is to be loyal.” Slowly, Stormpaw’s smile fades. He knows exactly where this is going. “You’re more than welcome to socialize with ThunderClan tonight, but don’t… don’t overdo it. Don’t make any scenes. Don’t give anyone a reason to doubt where either of your loyalties lies.”

“We chose RiverClan, didn’t we?” Stormpaw asks, defensive.

“Yes, you did, but there are still cats who don’t quite trust you yet; stars, there are still cats who don’t trust me anymore, even though we grew up believing my blood was pure.” She’s looking ahead as she talks to them, waiting for Leopardstar’s signal to storm Fourtrees, but there’s no disguising the edge in her voice. “Just be mindful tonight, is all I’m saying.”

--

They stand off to the side, awkwardly watching as Graystripe and Sandstorm socialize with the other Clans. Stormpaw doesn’t know how to act now; how is he supposed to greet his father, the new ThunderClan deputy, in a way that doesn’t provoke his own Clanmates? And what if- what if Graystripe is worried about the same thing and he decides to ignore them? What if--

Graystripe’s gaze lands on them and his eyes light up. “Stormpaw, Featherpaw! I was hoping you would both be here tonight!”

He shoves off some very important cats from WindClan and ShadowClan and heads straight for them, and Stormpaw has to swallow the emotion that clogs his throat. “Hi, dad.”

Without thinking, they both brush against their father, purring loud enough that every cat standing in Fourtrees can hear them. Stormpaw doesn’t care. Let them question his loyalty; he’s made his choice. Now he’s going to enjoy being reunited with his father.

“You’ve both gotten so big! And, Featherpaw, you look so much like your mother.”

“If Featherpaw looks like her mother, then Stormpaw looks like his father,” Sandstorm says, coming to join them. She touches her nose to Featherpaw’s, her former apprentice. “How is life in RiverClan?”

They talk for a little while until Sandstorm offers to introduce them to ThunderClan’s newest apprentices, Sorrelpaw, Rainpaw and Sootpaw, and then the trio of littermates asks if Stormpaw and Featherpaw will sit with them as the leaders give their reports.

Stormpaw knows that they should politely decline and opt to sit with their own Clanmates; it would be a great demonstration of loyalty.

But pureblood cats are allowed to sit with whomever they like. They don’t have to worry about their loyalty being called into question over a few friendly conversations.

And that’s what he’ll tell Mistyfoot later that night when she shakes her head at them both; he’ll say it to Leopardstar’s face too, defiant as ever. 

But he won’t add, Besides, it was nice to play pretend.

--

Stormpaw does his best to pay attention to the leader’s reports, but he keeps getting distracted by Featherpaw and Sorrelpaw’s whispering; every time he goes to scold Featherpaw, though, he’s struck by how happy she looks. He hasn’t seen her this happy since, since…

Since they lived in ThunderClan.

He reminds himself that Featherpaw has made it clear that she is never going to join ThunderClan without him. So long as Stormpaw is loyal to RiverClan, then so is she.

He lets her be happy until Sootpaw finally snaps at them both for giggling.

--

The reports end and cats are saying goodbye to each other. Stormpaw and Featherpaw stand by and wait to say goodbye to Graystripe, when suddenly--

“Um, hi. Long time no see.”

Stormpaw is staring into a familiar pair of amber eyes and he forgets how to breathe. Fear grips him, icy and cold, and he can hear Tigerstar’s voice in his ear: Kill them, Stonefur.

“I meant to say hello earlier but you guys have been pretty popular all night. How is everything in RiverClan?”

“Oh, hi, Bramblepaw!” Featherpaw nudges Stormpaw, breaking him from his stupor. “RiverClan is alright. How do you like your new denmates?”

Bramblepaw seems to sense Stormpaw’s unease; he has to force himself to look back at Featherpaw. “They’re not bad. Sorrelpaw would talk all night long if we let her, but it’s nice to have the company. I’ve been the only apprentice ever since Ferncloud and Ashfur got their warrior names.”

“I know, that’s so exciting! I didn’t get to talk to them tonight, but tell them I said congratulations!” 

“Sure, I’ll tell them.”

“Thanks. Say, I haven’t seen Tawnypaw tonight. Is she here?”

A shadow passes across Bramblepaw’s face. “No, she’s not. I guess she hasn’t proved her loyalty to ShadowClan yet.”

Stormpaw looks up, where the four are murmuring goodbyes to each other; Blackstar sits tall and proud and smug like he’s always belonged there. Like he hasn’t sat at the base of the rock for moons as he’s served two of the cruelest leaders the forest has ever seen.

Like he isn’t a murderer.

If Stormpaw stares at Blackstar much longer then he’s going to start seeing red. And if he stands here and makes small talk with Tigerstar’s son much longer then he’s not going to be able to hide his discomfort anymore.

“Leopardstar is calling us back,” Stormpaw says, even though she’s clearly not. “We’ve got to go.”

Bramblepaw isn’t stupid. He casts his gaze to the side, something akin to ashamed, and mutters, “Yeah, I should be getting back to ThunderClan, too. Um, it was nice seeing you two again.”

“You, too,” Stormpaw replies, impassive.

--

They follow the patrol back to camp silently, until Stormpaw finally whispers, “They have the exact same eyes.”

“Yeah,” Featherpaw replies in a small voice. “I know.”

--

Back in RiverClan, Hawkpaw has been a ball of piss.

“I don’t understand why we weren’t chosen to attend the Gathering,” he complains. “Leopardstar says that I’m the most talented apprentice in the Clan, so I should have been allowed to go!”

Stormpaw resists the urge to smother Hawkpaw. “You’re right, that is odd. It’s almost like she’s just telling you what you want to hear.”

Hawkpaw glares at him. “You want to go right now? I’ll show you just how good I am.”

“Can you both be quiet?” Mothpaw pleads. “I have to be on a dawn patrol tomorrow morning!”

“Hunting or border?” Featherpaw asks, defeated like she’s accepted the fact that Hawkpaw isn’t going to be quiet anytime soon.

“Hunting.”

“That’s another thing!” Hawkpaw cries. “How long has it been since Mothpaw or I were sent to patrol a Clan border? Is Leopardstar trying to keep us a secret or something? Why would she want to keep us secret?”

Feeling petty, Stormpaw mutters, “Maybe it’s because you're ugly.”

Hawkpaw launches himself across the den with a screech and lands squarely on top of Stormpaw. Mothpaw tries to intervene but Featherpaw stops her with a sigh and says, “Don’t. Maybe they’ll wear each other out.”

--

Shadepelt eyes the new scratch on Stormpaw’s muzzle. “Where did you get that?”

“He called Hawkpaw ugly,” Featherpaw laughs before Stormpaw can think of a clever lie.

Shadepelt purrs and shakes her head before leaving to join Dawnflower at the head of the patrol.

--

Maybe it’s because Hawkpaw won’t stop bragging about how he’s going to get his warrior name before Stormpaw, or maybe it’s because the scratch on his muzzle still stings, but Stormpaw really, really wants to put Hawkpaw in his place.

When he says as much to Hawkpaw, the other tom looks up at him, confused; Stormpaw notices a scratch on his shoulder. “You’re challenging me?” he repeats. “You’re older than me, fish-brain!”

“Sounds like you’re scared I’ll give you another one of those,” Stormpaw says, nodding to the scratch on his shoulder.

Hawkpaw hardens. “Leopardstar won’t go for it.”

“Why? Because then you’ll realize that you’re not the most talented apprentice in the Clan and she has been lying to you?”

There it is; fire sparks in Hawkpaw’s eyes. 

“When and where?” he demands.

--

Stormpaw ropes Featherpaw into serving as a referee, to make sure that Hawkpaw doesn’t cheat. Featherpaw ropes Mothpaw into coming along so that they can laugh at their brothers together. Stormpaw gives them strict instructions to not interfere with the match.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” Featherpaw says, as they sneak out of camp. Hawkpaw and Mothpaw are a few lengths ahead of them. 

“I’m sick of listening to Hawkpaw run his mouth.”

“Cut him some slack,” Featherpaw replies, lowering her voice. “You know he’s just acting out because Sasha left.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine how it feels to not have a mother.”

Featherpaw shoulders him. “You know what I mean. Just don’t go too hard on him, that’s all. We both know you’re going to win anyway.”

--

A little while later Stormpaw is on his back looking up at Hawkpaw, and he has no idea how he got there. 

“Uh,” Featherpaw says, equally as confused. “Hawkpaw wins.”

--

“He cheated,” Stormpaw hisses. 

“Stormpaw, I swear I was watching the entire time: he didn’t.”

“Ready to admit that I’m better than you?” Hawkpaw asks, smug.

Stormpaw grits his teeth and says, “You just got lucky. I’ll show you this time.”

--

Stormpaw wins the second match.

Hawkpaw wins the third match.

Stormpaw wins the fourth match, but arguably because he’s got more endurance. Hawkpaw’s legs are shaking and it’s easy to pin him.

“Again,” Hawkpaw demands. “Just you wait til I get my paws on you--”

“Big talk from someone who’s still on his back,” Stormpaw retorts.

“I think that’s enough,” Mothpaw speaks up. “If you two go on for much longer then you’re going to pass out.”

“We have to go one more round,” Stormpaw protests. “We’ve both won two, so this didn’t prove anything!”

Featherpaw retorts, “It proves you’re evenly matched. I’m with Mothpaw.”

Stormpaw and Hawkpaw glare at each other from across the copse, and he swears that electricity crackles between them, urging them on. 

Featherpaw brushes up against him and says, “Don’t forget that Mistyfoot wanted to share tongues with us this evening. She’ll be waiting for us soon.”

Finally, Stormpaw tears his gaze from Hawkpaw’s. He can think straight again. “Fine. We’ll settle this another time.”

“Mouse-heart,” Hawkpaw spits, and Featherpaw practically drags Stormpaw back to camp while Mothpaw sits on her own brother.

--

A rivalry is born.

Who can catch the biggest fish? Who can stand in the deepest part of the river? Who can leap the highest? Who can stay awake the longest? 

At one point Mothpaw jokes that they should see who can stay quiet the longest, and Stormpaw goes an entire days without speaking; he wins that one because Hawkpaw can only go so long without bragging about something.

Leopardstar and Shadepelt can only watch their apprentices, utterly confused.

Chapter Text

His lungs are beginning to burn but Hawkpaw hasn't given in yet, so neither will Stormpaw. He sits on the sandy floor, holding his breath, watching Hawkpaw and waiting. Hawkpaw watches him right back, determined.

A shadow falls over the water's surface and when Stormpaw tilts his head back, he recognizes the blurry shape of a cat. Then her distinct pelt comes into focus. 

I'd rather sit at the bottom of the river, Stormpaw thinks dryly. Hawkpaw, however, breaks. He pushes off the sandy floor and swims up to meet his mentor. The only reason Stormpaw follows him is because his lungs feel ready to explode and anyway,

With the first breath of air Stormpaw takes, he says, "I win."

"It doesn't count," Hawkpaw coughs. "We were interrupted."

"What, exactly, did I interrupt?" Leopardstar asks, truly confused.

"Contest," Hawkpaw awsners, as Stormpaw pulls himself onto solid ground. "Who can hold their breath longer."

Leopardstar frowns. "Why did you have to be underwater for that?"

"Because Hawkpaw cheats," Stormpaw awsners this time. "He would just breathe through his nose if we were on land."

"I cheat?" Hawkpaw demands. "You're just a sore loser!"

"Sweet StarClan," Leopardstar mutters. "It's like I've gone back in time with Mistyfoot and Stonefur."

No matter how many moons pass, Stormpaw will always bristle at Stonefur's name on Leopardstar's tongue. "Did you need us for something?" He asks, unable to keep the bite out of his voice.

"Only Hawkpaw," Leopardstar says, not sparing Stormpaw a glance. "Mothpaw is already in camp preparing. I'm taking you both to the Moonstone with me tonight."

--

Mudfur sets the necessary journeying herbs in front of Hawkpaw and Mothpaw. Sadistically, Stormpaw can't wait for Hawkpaw to taste the bitter herbs. (He won't get any satisfaction from Mothpaw's disgust, but she's guilty by association.)

Hawkpaw pokes one of the herbs and says, "I don't get what the big deal is. You said it's just a rock, isn't it?"

"It's a special rock," Featherpaw explains. "Leaders and medicine cats visit it when they need to share dreams with StarClan, and it's where the leaders go to receive their nine lives."

"StarClan," Mothpaw repeats. "The dead cats?"

"Ancestors," Stormpaw corrects. It feels wrong to refer to Stonefur and Crookedstar and Graypool and Oakheart as "the dead cats".

The littermates eye the herbs, weary. "So why are Hawkpaw and I going with Leopardstar?" Mothpaw asks. "Why do we need to share dreams with StarClan?"

"I mean, you don't. But it's like a rite of passage. All cats get to go at some point, but you're supposed to do it before you receive your warrior name."

They still look unsure. Stormpaw suddenly wonders if there's something they're not saying, or asking. He says, "Seriously, you don't have to worry. Leopardstar took Featherpaw and me pretty soon after we were made apprentices and nothing really happened. We touched our noses to the moonstone and dreamed until Leopardstar woke us up."

Hawkpaw and Mothpaw exchange looks, still uncertain. Stormpaw adds, "Unless you're scared. I'm sure Leopardstar will be okay with postponing your warrior ceremonies until you're brave enough to--"

Predictable, Stormpaw thinks, smug, as Hawkpaw swallows the herbs in one breath.

"Blach!" Hawkpaw spits, nose wrinkling. "Those were disgusting! Why did I have to eat those?"

Stormpaw shrugs by way of answer, not bothering to mask his amusement.

--

Leopardstar departs at sun-high, but it'll be after moon-high when she returns. Hawkpaw and Mothpaw follow behind her, and Stormpaw can tell that they're still nervous by the way their tails flick and they whisper to each other.

They'll be fine, thinks Stormpaw. Everybody visits the Moonstone.

If he's worried about StarClan rejecting anyone, it's certainly not the two loner-borne apprentices.

As if she can read his thoughts, Featherpaw murmurs, "This is the first time Leopardstar has visited the moonstone since..."

"Yeah, I know."

"I overheard Mudfur talking to her about it a while back. He wanted her to go right after the battle with BloodClan."

Stormpaw flicks an ear. He's not surprised. "I wonder what they'll say to her."

"Nothing, hopefully," Featherpaw mutters, bitterly.

Quietly, Stormpaw hopes that StarClan does agree to speak to Leopardstar, and then he hopes that Stonefur gets all the justice that he deserves.

--

They return to camp after Stormpaw and Featherpaw have fallen asleep. The next morning, Featherpaw asks how their visit went.

"Fine," Mothpaw says. There's a blank expression on her face that Stormpaw chalks up to the late night. He turns to Hawkpaw and waits for his response.

Hawkpaw is staring outside of the den, wearing a similar expression but not quite. Stormpaw narrows his eyes, studying.

Mothpaw nudges Hawkpaw out of his daze and he says, "Fine." He clears his throat and says again, "It was fine. Boring, actually."

Stormpaw exchanges a curious look with Featherpaw, but it's rude to press about a cat's visit to the Moonstone. Featherpaw shrugs and they continue to groom their pelts for the day.

--

Eventually Featherpaw steals her brother for a fishing trip; just the two of them.

The river is calm and the sunshine is warm on his back, and Stormpaw realizes that it’s been a long time since he just enjoyed a quiet morning with Featherpaw. He brushes his pelt against hers in a sort of apology as they settle down on the shorebank, and Featherpaw bumps her shoulder against his in return. He can read her mind: Don’t worry about it.

After so many days of pushing himself to his limits, testing his abilities against Hawkpaw’s, the serenity surrounding the two of them lulls Stormpaw. He doesn’t want to fish; doesn’t want to do much of anything except enjoy the peace and the company. So he lays on the riverbank and watches Featherpaw.

She’s a very skilled fisher. Part of it is because she is undeniably half RiverClan, and the other part is because--

“I used to practice striking the water ten times, ten times a day, whenever I would get frustrated with our battle training,” she explains, after she expertly hooks a trout in a move so swift that Stormpaw blinked and missed it.

“What’s the most you’ve ever caught on one trip?” Stormpaw asks, awed.

Featherpaw scrunches her nose, thoughtful. “Four, maybe?”

“You should try and beat that today!”

Her whiskers twitch in amusement. “Must everything be a competition to you these days?”

“It’s not like that. I just want to see the look on Leopardstar’s face when you return to camp with more fish than an entire hunting patrol.”

Featherpaw might not care for competition, but she will always have time to ruffle Leopardstar’s fur. She falls back into her crouch with a determined look in her eyes.

--

It’s not often that Stormpaw looks at his sister and is reminded of RiverClan; he’s always thought that she’s done that intentionally, always done her best to channel ThunderClan. But now, as he watches her reach her paw into the divine and pull life out of it again and again, without failure, his heart aches.

She is RiverClan, undeniably. There’s nothing that she can do to change that. 

He wishes the fact were easier for her to accept. Featherpaw could fit right into the Clan if she weren’t so hellbent on reminding everyone of her other half.

Maybe someday.

--

It’s nearing dusk as Featherpaw trots into camp with her head held high and two carp in her jaws; Stormpaw carries her trout and two other catches. He can feel their Clanmates eyes on them as they deposit the fish onto the fresh-kill pile, and Stormpaw swells with pride for his sister.

“Looks like you two have brought back a feast!” Mistyfoot exclaims as she approaches them with Leopardstar in tow. 

“I didn’t catch any of this,” Stormpaw says, nodding at Featherpaw. “She did it all by herself.” 

There’s no denying the impressive feat, and Leopardstar doesn’t even try to. Her expression soft and her gaze unusually warm, she says, “Well done, Silverstream. The Clan will eat very well tonight.”

Mistyfoot and Stormpaw turn to Leopardstar in the same instant. “Who?” Stormpaw asks, even though he knows the name, but there’s a familiarity in Leopardstar’s voice that he’s never heard before.

Leopardstar frowns, the look gone from her face. “What?”

“You called her Silverstream,” Mistyfoot says in a voice that trembles, but from sadness or from anger, Stormpaw can’t tell. Her carefully contorted expression gives nothing away.

Leopardstar’s eyes widen. “Did I? I meant-- Featherpaw, obviously. You just--” Leopardstar stares at Featherpaw like she’s staring at a ghost. “You look so much like her.”

“Well, she is Silverstream’s daughter,” Mistyfoot points out, and-- Anger. It’s anger.

Leopardstar looks like a warrior who faces a losing battle. She looks like a leader with no power. She looks like the same cat who sat beside Tigerstar and watched on as he ordered her deputy to kill two innocent apprentices.

She is that same cat, and suddenly Stormpaw is angry too.

Coward that she is, Leopardstar abruptly spins around and disappears into her den. Angry as she is, Mistyfoot follows her. Stormpaw wants to do the same thing but when he turns to gather Featherpaw, he freezes.

Featherpaw doesn’t look angry. She looks wounded.

And wounded as she is, she runs out of camp.

--

Stormpaw doesn’t expect Featherpaw to return to camp that night. He tells Hawkpaw and Mothpaw that she’s holed up in the medicine den with a bellyache.

He tells Mistyfoot the truth, that Featherpaw is probably going to fall asleep by the ThunderClan border, and then he asks her how she confronted Leopardstar in her own den.

“You don’t need to worry about what I said to Leopardstar,” Mistyfoot dismisses. “It’s between us.”

Stormpaw sours, but he knows Mistyfoot’s tone well enough to not press. He does ask, “Were Leopardstar and my mother friends before she died?”

Mistyfoot’s gaze is somewhere very far away; maybe where Featherpaw is wallowing by the border, or maybe where Silverstream died giving birth to two half-Clan kits. Finally she answers, “Yes, they were friends.”

“Was Leopardstar as close to her as you and Stonefur were?”

“It’s not really comparable. Silverstream was our kin.”

“But sometimes friends are closer than kin.”

“True,” Mistyfoot admits, and Stormpaw thinks that there’s something she’s trying not to say. “But still, it was different. They were friends, but Leopardstar always… admired your mother. She thought Silverstream was wonderful. When she found out about her relationship with Graystripe it cut her deeply.”

Mistyfoot is studying him, seemingly willing him to understand some sort of hidden meaning behind her explanation. Then it clicks. 

“Oh.”

“I don’t know if this puts any of Leopardstar’s behavior into perspective for you now, but--”

“Yeah, it does. Is that why she hates us?”

Mistyfoot closes her eyes. “Leopardstar does not hate either of you.”

“It looks like it from where I’ve been standing,” Stormpaw says, bitter. “On opposite sides of Bonehill.”

“Stormpaw,” Mistyfoot snaps, and he flinches. She breathes in a deep breath, then opens her eyes to study him again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. I just-- I’m tired. I’ve just finished arguing with Leopardstar for the tenth time today it feels like, and I don’t want to argue with you, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Stormpaw mutters, and he brushes his head against her chin. “I don’t want to argue with you either.”

She noses the top of his head. “Back to Leopardstar, I know you and Featherpaw have a complicated relationship with her. Honestly, I don’t expect either of you to ever fully forgive her. She was my friend for a long time, which is why I’m trying to forgive her, but believe me, it isn’t easy. Especially whenever she mentions Stonefur and Silverstream.”

He’s still tucked underneath her chin so he can’t see her expression, but he can hear it in her voice; anger has finally given way to sadness. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quietly, and this time he’s not quite sure why he’s apologizing; only that a lot of cats owe Mistyfoot a lot of apologies that she’s probably never going to receive.

“It’s not your fault, Stormpaw,” Mistyfoot murmurs, and Stormpaw leans heavily against her. He has more questions clouding his head but he pushes them aside for the night. It’s time to let Mistyfoot rest.

--

How long was Leopardstar in love with my mother?

Did my mother ever feel the same way toward her?

Do I remind Leopardstar of Silverstream too, or do I remind her of Graystripe?

Do I remind anyone of Stonefur? Of Crookedstar, of Oakheart, of Shellheart?

How long has Graystripe been meeting Featherpaw by the border? Why hasn’t she ever invited me to come with her?

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to quit thinking of new questions, but it’s impossible to think about anything else when Featherpaw still isn’t back. His nest is too big for one cat, it’s made for two.

For one brief, horrifying moment Stormpaw considers asking Hawkpaw to share his nest until Featherpaw comes back. He immediately blames the thought on his exhaustion, and then he stares at the reed-woven ceiling and refuses to think up another question. 

--

Later that night, Featherpaw returns. She always does.

--

She becomes quieter. She laughs less. 

She starts staring at her reflection; not just a passing glance but with studious eyes, as if she’s taking in every detail of her own face.

Then one morning, on a hunting patrol, Mistyfoot scolds her for simply looking at her reflection in the river when she should be focused on fishing.

“Don’t be too hard on her, Mistyfoot,” Shadepelt says with a purr. “Have you forgotten who her mother is?”

“Stars, the amount of times I heard Reedtail threaten to shred Silverstream’s ears if she didn’t stop looking at her reflection,” Mosspelt adds, shaking her head. “He said that Silverstream was the vainest ‘paw he’d ever mentored.”

Their reminiscing manages to pull a smile from Mistyfoot. “I remember that, too. Reedtail used to send her back to camp over it.”

It’s not often that cats speak about his mother with open fondness, and even less around Stormpaw. It’s like they try to forget that Crookedstar’s perfect daughter wasn’t so perfect after all, and he serves as a constant reminder of that.

“You know,” Mosspelt begins, looking at Featherpaw again, smiling. “You really do look so much like Silverstream. Sometimes I look at you and I have to remind myself that I haven’t been sent back in time.”

Mosspelt was their foster mother. She loves them the same way she loves Dawnflower. She would never intentionally hurt them.

Still, Stormpaw knows how to read Featherpaw, and he knows that the pretty smile she gives Mosspelt is fake.

--

She quits studying her reflection. She starts going out of her way to avoid puddles, and she stares so deep into the river that she can’t possibly see her own face.

It doesn’t matter if Featherpaw thinks she looks like Silverstream or not; now that’s the only cat their Clanmates see when they look at her. Is it a coincidence that all of a sudden the same warriors who disliked her for her blood and her sulky attitude now have an encouraging word or a kind smile to offer her?

Is it a coincidence that nobody ever tells Stormpaw who he looks like, even though the answer stares them in the face with amber eyes and ThunderClan-broad shoulders?

One night Featherpaw quietly asks him, “Do you think it’s possible to hate a cat you’ve never met?”

Stormpaw gazes outside of their den at the star-scattered night sky and answers just as quietly, “Yeah, I do.”

--

Is it a coincidence that Featherpaw is the only apprentice chosen to attend the Gathering?

Featherpaw tenses when his name isn’t called and he thinks she’s going to refuse to go, so he quickly touches his nose to her ear and whispers, “Tell dad I said ‘hi’, okay?”

She meets his eye and relaxes. “Yeah, of course. I’ll tell everyone.” 

The patrol departs soon after. Quiet falls over the camp; cats are sharing tongues or finishing off their meals before they retire for the night. Only a few cats will choose to stay awake and wait for the Gathering patrol to return.

Stormpaw is one of those few. He goes in search of Hawkpaw for some lively competition to help him stay awake; it’s never very hard to find Hawkpaw, Stormpaw just has to follow the sound of boasting, or arguing, or venting. This time he follows the voice all the way behind the Nursery.

Mothpaw is there too. She’s sitting down beside the stream, her pelt fluffed in frustration. Hawkpaw paces in front of her, his tail lashing. “I can’t believe we weren’t chosen again! This is the third Gathering now!”

“I don’t know how much harder I  can train,” Mothpaw huffs. “If Leopardstar isn’t impressed with us now then she’s never going to be.”

“This has nothing to do with our training,” Hawkpaw hisses. “It’s all because of our father.”

Stormpaw stiffens. He presses closer to the ground, his ears perked forward.

“Lower your voice, Hawkpaw!”

“Why?” He challenges. “I’m so sick of Leopardstar treating us like we’re some sort of secret that she’s hiding. Who cares if Tigerstar is our father?! Why does it have to be a bad thing?”

“Hawkpaw!” Mothpaw hisses. “Don’t say his name!”

Too late, Stormpaw thinks, frozen in fear. Too late too late too late Tigerstar is their father, Tigerstar is their father, stars, Tigerstar still lives in RiverClan--

Stormpaw forces his breathing to remain even and not give his position away; he forces the coldest pair of amber eyes he’s ever gazed into out of his mind; he forces himself to not crumple in on himself in panic. Slowly, very slowly, he backs out of the reedbed that he had been hiding in. He holds his breath, scared that one wrong move will alert the littermates and suddenly Tigerstar will leap out from the stream and over their heads and land right on top of him--

He spins around and runs from behind the Nursery and straight out of camp, running nowhere in particular, just as far away from the littermates as possible.

--

Stormpaw sits in front of the river and prays that Graystripe had to stay behind for some reason, that he’ll feel compelled to visit the river, that he’ll tell Stormpaw that everything is alright, everything will be alright, he’ll come to save him from Tigerstar again if he ever needs to--

Stormpaw crumples in on himself and sobs, and if he hears Stonefur’s voice reassuring him then it’s just his own mind torturing him because Stonefur is dead.

--

Eventually he finds his way back to camp. He walks into the apprentice den, then freezes.

Mothpaw is grooming Hawkpaw’s shoulders, but she stops when she notices him. She offers him a weak smile and asks him a question that he doesn’t comprehend; all he can think is, Amber eyes. Same build.

Hawkpaw raises his head and frowns at Stormpaw; he says something, but Stormpaw doesn’t hear it. Same dark tabby pelt. Same fighting skill. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.

His heart is pumping blood to his ears and his blood is humming, like thunder on the horizon; a storm about to break.

A familiar scent wraps around him; a familiar pelt brushes against his own. “Storm, are you alright?” Featherpaw murmurs, and he nearly collapses into her.

“Yeah,” he finally gasps, like it’s the first time he’s been able to catch his breath that night. “I’m- I’m fine. How was the Gathering?”

Three pairs of eyes are staring at him like he’s lost his mind; he doesn’t care. He focuses on Featherpaw, refuses to look away from Featherpaw, refuses to see anyone other than Featherpaw.

She smiles at him and says, “Graystripe says ‘hi’, and he’s thinking about you.”

--

Stormpaw has never tried so hard to forget about a conversation before, but it’s impossible. Every time he looks at Hawkpaw or Mothpaw, he’s reminded of their father. He’s reminded of cowering behind Stonefur at the bottom of Bonehill.

Mothpaw accidentally stumbles into Mistyfoot on a dawn patrol, and before Stormpaw can stop himself he snarls, “Don’t touch her!”

The entire patrol halts. Mothpaw recoils like he’s struck her; Mistyfoot stares at him, bewildered.

Stormpaw swallows and just stands there, silent, until the patrol finally resumes. Mothpaw keeps her distance from Mistyfoot after that.

--

“No,” Stormpaw says strongly, stepping between them. “Use me for the demonstration.”

Hawkpaw scoffs. “What, you’re the only cat who’s allowed to do demonstrations?”

“Yes,” Stormpaw snaps, even though he knows he sounds ridiculous. Again, Mistyfoot stares at him utterly bewildered.

Finally she says, slowly, “Alright. Hawkpaw, go sit down by Featherpaw.”

Mouse-dung, Stormpaw thinks, trying to keep one eye focused on Mistyfoot as she explains the new move, and the other eye on Hawkpaw and the distance he puts between himself and Featherpaw and Shadepelt.

--

A few days later, Mistyfoot pulls Stormpaw and Featherpaw aside. “I didn’t want to tell either of you this until you were warriors, but it seems that Stormpaw has already figured it out.”

Featherpaw blinks, caught off guard. “What have you figured out, Stormpaw?”

They’re both looking at him now, and the words feel like sand in his mouth. Tigerstar is the father of Hawkpaw and Mothpaw. He didn’t want to tell Featherpaw the truth until she was in a better headspace, but he doesn’t have a choice now. He opens his mouth--

“I’m pregnant.”

Stormpaw and Featherpaw’s heads snap back to Mistyfoot. “You’re pregnant?” Featherpaw echoes, sounding elated. “Oh, Mistyfoot, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Mistyfoot purrs. “I haven’t told anyone except Mudfur, though, so if you could please keep this secret to yourself for a little while, I would appreciate it. And you.” She looks back at Stormpaw. “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to protect me from half the Clan.” There’s a teasing note in her voice.

“Ohh,” Featherpaw sings. “That’s why you’ve been so snappy when cats get too close to Mistyfoot! I thought you were just going crazy.”

I think I am, Stormpaw doesn’t say.

He just looks at Mistyfoot and forces a smile. “Sorry. I’ll do my best to back off.”

--

I won’t let anything happen to Mistyfoot or her kits, Stonefur, Stormpaw thinks that night. I promise.

--

Hawkpaw can sense that Stormpaw is ignoring him. Hawkpaw can’t stand to be ignored.

“Come on, Stormpaw, it’s been forever since we sparred!”

Stormpaw grooms his paws, feigning uninterest when in actuality he’s dying to dig his claws into the other tom. “Sorry. You’re just not a challenge for me anymore.”

“What? Stormpaw, I won our last session.”

“Nope, don’t remember that.”

Hawkpaw frowns. “What’s up with you lately? You’ve been acting weird.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hawkpaw narrows his eyes. “Fight me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

“None of your business.”

Hawkpaw leaves with a snarl. Stormpaw’s eyes follow him all the way out of camp.

--

Another day, Stormpaw is picking the elders’ ticks when Hawkpaw appears out of nowhere, his jaws laden with fish. He drops them in front of Stormpaw, panting, and says, “I caught four. I tied your record.”

Stormpaw focuses on a particular tick between Loudbelly’s shoulders. “Actually, I caught eight fish this morning. All trout.”

Hawkpaw stares at Stormpaw for a long moment, then explodes, “What kind of fish-brain do you think I am?!”

“The kind who can’t out-hunt me.”

“You’re lying!”

“Go find Heavystep and ask him for yourself. He saw Featherpaw and me carrying them into camp this morning.”

“They were probably all Featherpaw’s catches,” Hawkpaw fumes.

Actually they were Featherpaw and Stormpaw’s catches, thank you very much, although she did catch most of them. There’s no way he’s going to tell Hawkpaw that, though, so he only gives a silent shrug and then ignores every angry word that leaves Hawkpaw’s mouth.

Eventually Hawkpaw gives up and storms out of the den, his tail lashing wildly behind him. Reedtail lets out a low whistle once he’s gone. “Wow.”

Loudbelly rumbles in agreement as Stormpaw demands, “What?”

“Nothing,” Sedgecreek soothes him, but there’s humor in her voice. “You ‘paws are always so entertaining, is all.”

“Very entertaining,” Reedtail adds with a grin.

Stormpaw frowns, unconvinced, and resumes picking ticks in silence.

--

When Hawkpaw wakes him up in the middle of the night, Stormpaw decides to make good on his thoughts and suffocate the other tom. Then Hawkpaw hisses, “Featherpaw is gone!”

Stormpaw wants to groan. After moons of Featherpaw sneaking out to meet their father by the ThunderClan border every claw-moon, Stormpaw isn’t worried about her. She always comes back. She’s never been spotted before. Usually she manages to go undetected like a ShadowClan warrior, but of course Hawkpaw woke up to go make dirt, of course he noticed Featherpaw was missing--

“She probably has a bellyache and went to see Mudfur.”

“I already checked, she’s not in his den.”

“Then maybe she’s getting a drink from the stream--”

“I looked behind the Nursery too, I couldn’t even find her scent.”

Stormpaw groans. “Hawkpaw, it’s moon-high--”

“Do you seriously not care that Featherpaw is missing?” Hawkpaw asks, shocked. It’s going to turn into suspicion soon.

“I just think you’re overreacting,” Stormpaw says, caging a sigh as he stands up. “But since you’re so paranoid, I’ll go look for her.” It would be nice to talk to Graystripe, anyway.

“I’ll come with you,” Hawkpaw offers, already leaving the den. Stormpaw rushes to block his path and fixes Hawkpaw with a hard look.

“I don’t need your help.”

Hawkpaw’s eyes widen, then they narrow in frustration. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not safe for any cat to leave camp and wander around the territory at moon-high.”

“I said, I don’t need your help.”

“What is wrong with you lately?” Hawkpaw snaps, and Stormpaw shushes him as Mothpaw stirs in her sleep. “Why can’t I come along? Two cats searching for her is better than one!”

“Are you going to stand here and argue with me all night or are you going to let me leave and look for my sister?” Stormpaw demands, his tone as unforgiving as he can manage. Honestly, it’s not hard.

Hawkpaw studies him for a long, tense moment. Even in the dead of night, his eyes are as blue and bright as the ice that freezes the river in leaf-bare. They’re almost enough to freeze Stormpaw, too; he doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until Hawkpaw finally looks away, angry, and mumbles, “Fine. But don’t expect for me to cover your tails if you’re not back by dawn.”

That’s all he needs to hear. He spins around and jogs quickly out of camp, heading straight for the ThunderClan border.

--

There they are, Stormpaw thinks, as he approaches the river. Graystripe sits on one side, Featherpaw sits on the other, and they just talk. He wants to join them, but he doesn’t want to interrupt whatever they’re talking about. He settles down behind some tall grass a good distance from them and waits for an opportunity.

Then, behind him, somebody gasps. Stormpaw spins around and comes face to face with Hawkpaw.

“You followed me?!” Stormpaw hisses.

“Why are you just watching them?!” Hawkpaw demands, peering past Stormpaw. “Your sister is meeting up in the middle of the night with a ThunderClan warrior!”

“He’s not a ThunderClan warrior, he’s our father!”

“Oh, great, so it’s the ThunderClan deputy!” Hawkpaw glares at him. “How long has Featherpaw been meeting with him? How long have you known about it?””

“That’s none of your business!”

“If my Clanmates aren’t loyal to RiverClan then it is my business,” Hawkpaw retorts. “And it’s Leopardstar’s business, too. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t wake the entire camp up and tell them that you and Featherpaw are ThunderClan sympathizers.”

His heart is pumping blood to his ears and his blood is humming, like thunder on the horizon; a storm about to break. “You don’t want to do that,” he says, his voice low in a threat.

Hawkpaw steps to him so that they’re nearly nose-to-nose and he growls, “Why don’t I?”

“Because if you do that then I’ll tell the entire forest that Tigerstar is your father.”

The ice inside Hawkpaw’s eyes shatters. “How do you know about that?!” he hisses.

“Does it matter how I know about it, if I know I’m right?” Stormpaw challenges. “Go ahead and tell RiverClan what they already know, and I’ll tell them that you’re the offspring of the cat who tried to destroy the Clans.”

Hawkpaw looks uncertain now. “So what if Tigerstar is my father,” he asks. “He was one of the strongest warriors to ever live. That’s not a horrible legacy to live up to.”

Something inside Stormpaw snaps. “Let me show you exactly what kind of legacy you have to live up to, Hawkpaw.”

--

He practically drags Hawkpaw across the territory, away from Featherpaw and Graystripe, and he prays that they take their opportunities to return to camp unnoticed. He hopes they understand the length he’s going to protect them both; he’s not stepped a paw into this wretched, star-cursed place since Stonefur was murdered right in front of his eyes.

He throws Hawkpaw down at the bottom of the throne of bones. Only then can Stormpaw taste the scents that still haunt this place: fear, blood, death, the stench of rotting flesh and betrayal. The bones gleam like stripped branches in the moonlight, sun-bleached. His blood isn’t just humming in his ears anymore, it’s boiling.

Hawkpaw stares up at Bonehill with wide, horrified eyes. He’s heard the terrible stories of Tigerstar but he’s never been confronted with them before, they’ve always been stories, but now they’re real and it’s right in front of him.

Stormpaw is right in front of him, real, one of the only cats that Tigerstar tried and failed to kill. He can’t help but spit, “That's some legacy, isn't it.”

A storm breaks. Ice shatters.

Hawkpaw turns and throws himself at Stormpaw with a snarl, and they roll across the ground, a mess of limbs and claws and teeth. 

Stormpaw bites down on his shoulder so hard that he tastes blood on his tongue, and then he bites down harder. Hawkpaw hisses in pain and rakes his claw across Stormpaw’s ears; he can feel the instant that it slices clean through. His vision starts to blur, from anger or pain, who knows.

“You should be the one cat who understands me!” Hawkpaw hisses. “You should understand what it’s like to lose one parent, to have never met another, and still be judged for their sins!”

“We are nothing alike,” Stormpaw snarls. “I could never understand someone who sees Tigerstar as anything but a tyrant!”

“You’re just like the rest of them!” Hawkpaw shouts. He catches Stormpaw’s head with a well-timed strike and they stumble apart, panting.

“What?” Stormpaw growls, eyes narrowing.

“Have long-- have you known about my father?” Hawkpaw demands, even as he gasps for breath. “Is that why you’ve been ignoring me? You found out and suddenly I’m a different cat and we can’t spar or fish together or even talk? It’s not like I asked to be his son! It’s not my fault!”

His head is still pounding from that last strike so maybe he’s not hearing Hawkpaw clearly, but something about his tone, his stance; desperation. He’s desperate for Stormpaw to understand, maybe for anybody to understand.

He remembers being seven moons old and being shoved into an old foxhole that reeked of terror and hiding behind Stonefur and Mistyfoot, crying, “It’s not our fault! We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Hawkpaw sits at the bottom of Bonehill as blood drips into his eye and he spits, “You judged Mothpaw and I the same way that everyone has always judged you and Featherpaw. How does that make you any different than them?”

Stormpaw doesn’t have an answer to that.

“What is going on here?!” A voice roars, and dread fills Stormpaw’s belly. He turns around and cringes as Leopardstar descends the hill. “Why are you two here, here of all places?” She turns her glare to Stormpaw and he flinches.

“We-- we--” he stammers.

“You’re bleeding,” Leopardstar interrupts. She looks at Hawkpaw and nearly explodes. “You’re both bleeding! Have you been fighting?! What in StarClan’s name has possessed you to come here in the dead of night and spar?!”

Silence meets her demands. Stormpaw risks a glance at Hawkpaw, only to find that Hawkpaw is already looking at him. Waiting. Challenging.

He won’t tell the truth if I won’t, Stormpaw realizes. He looks back at Leopardstar, stubbornly silent.

Leopardstar’s head is going to pop off any moment now. “I cannot believe this,” she fumes. “I expect so much more from you two; Hawkpaw, my own apprentice, and you have been doing so well, now this?! Stormpaw, your warrior assessment is right around the corner, and you, you, of all cats, know the evil that haunts this place! Why would you come back here?”

He can hear it now in her voice, too: desperation. Only now does Stormpaw realize that Leopardstar is trembling. The fur along her spine is spiked. Her eyes are wide and pleading with him for an answer: Why would you bring us back to this place?

Guilt crawls all over Stormpaw’s body. He looks down at his paws and fights back a wave of nausea because she’s right, he has brought them back here. Dragged Hawkpaw here, forced Leopardstar to hunt them down, and sometimes-- when he’s bitter and angry and resentful, sometimes he still lives here in his mind. Sometimes he drags Mistyfoot and Featherpaw back with him.

I’m sorry, Stonefur, Stormpaw thinks, blinking back tears. I’ve tried being a good RiverClan cat, but I’m still stuck here, haunted.

A tail touches the top of his head. He looks up, into Leopardstar’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he croaks.

“Stormpaw,” she says, “let’s go home.”

Somehow, it sounds like both an apology and a promise.

Leopardstar waits for her apprentices to gather their strength, and then she leads the way home. Stormpaw follows close behind her, but when he looks back, Hawkpaw is dragging his paws. Their eyes meet and Stormpaw is just one compassionate decision away from slowing his pace and walking beside him.

Hawkpaw’s gaze hardens and he breaks their contact, refusing to look at him anymore. I guess I deserve that, Stormpaw thinks, tired. 

He doesn’t know what to do with Hawkpaw anymore; he was right when he compared Stormpaw to their Clanmates for judging him simply about who his parents are and what mistakes they made. The acknowledgment makes Stormpaw feel sick in his stomach. But how are they supposed to go back to sparing or fishing or competing after tonight?

--

When they arrive back at camp, the entire Clan is awake and seemingly waiting for their return. Suddenly, panicked, Stormpaw wonders, Is Leopardstar going to tell everyone that she found us fighting at Bonehill? How could they defend themselves against that? What would Mistyfoot and Featherpaw say?

Speaking of Mistyfoot, she shoves herself straight to the front of the crowd and looks Stormpaw in the eye as she snaps, “Stormpaw, you had me worried sick! Where did you two go?”

Stormpaw swallows, his entire body ridged as his other Clanmates demand the same answer. In the back of camp, Featherpaw slips out of the apprentice den and approaches him with the same question in her eyes.

Hawkpaw stands beside him now, so stiff that he’s going to faint. He won’t tell the truth if I won’t. But what other explanation could they possibly offer? Stormpaw’s mind is completely blank and he’s panicking.

“Well?” Blackclaw demands, coming to stand beside Mistyfoot. He looks at Leopardstar. “Why did they disappear tonight?”

“I bet Stormpaw was hanging around the ThunderClan border,” Heavystep mutters, and Stormpaw nearly snaps.

“Of course Hawkpaw would go with him,” Loudbelly agrees. “He hasn’t got a drop of Clan blood in him. No loyalty to no one.”

Stormpaw watches Hawkpaw unsheathe his claws and tenses.

“That’s enough,” Leopardstar speaks up suddenly. Stormpaw looks up at her; her expression is impossible to read. “I don’t know what came over Stormpaw and Hawkpaw tonight, but I do know one thing: we have all made foolish mistakes when we were young and in love for the first time.”

Silence falls upon the Clan. “What?!” Hawkpaw snaps, but his offense is drowned out by the rest of the Clan’s sudden response.

“Ohh, of course! I should have guessed!”

“Well, Leopardstar is right, I made a fish-brain of myself when I had my first crush.”

“Honestly, with so much tension it was only a matter of time until they sneaked off together.”

Stormpaw is utterly horrified. He’s only one more knowing remark away from announcing to the entire camp that they just tried to kill each other at Bonehill. He would almost prefer those reactions instead.

The way Mistyfoot is studying him now is like she’s seeing him in a new light. Stormpaw opens his mouth to tell the truth--

Only for Leopardstar to wrap her tail around his muzzle and order, “Alright, that’s enough humiliation for one night. Everyone, back to your dens. The dawn patrols will be sent out as soon as the sun turns the river gold and not a moment later!” Their Clanmates scatter at that. Mistyfoot shoots him one more knowing smile over her shoulder as Blackclaw pulls her away.

Stormpaw wishes the ground would split open and swallow him whole.

“Why,” Hawkpaw finally asks, deathly calm, “did you say that?”

Leopardstar shrugs. “I didn’t see either of you coming up with an explanation. You’re welcome for covering your tails.” She ambles to her den and doesn’t look back at them.

They’re alone. Together. Alone together.

Stormpaw can feel Hawkpaw’s gaze burning holes into the side of his head. He sighs and decides that he’s ready for this night to be over, and he trudges to the den. If Hawkpaw wants to stand outside and glare at Stormpaw from all the way across the camp, let him.

It’s not like he’s the one who just told all of RiverClan that they’re in love with each other.

--

He stares up at the reed-woven ceiling and deadpans, “Is it too late to join ThunderClan?”

Featherpaw laughs so loud that all the way from across camp, still, Hawkpaw tells her to shut up.

--

The light of day brings new questions, such as,

“Stormpaw, why is one of your ears torn?!”

“Hawkpaw, where did that cut above your eye come from?”

They bite their tongues and stubbornly refuse to offer any explanations, even as Mudfur grumbles about hormones and foolish young love and smears ointment on their bruises.

--

The relentless teasing doesn’t ease up. If Stormpaw and Hawkpaw are in the same general area for too long, somebody has a comment to make. Then it worsens to the point that they don’t even have to be near each other.

Hawkpaw stomps up to him and demands, “Who in StarClan’s name are Timberfur and Ottersplash, and why did Skyheart just compare us to them?”

Stormpaw sighs, loud and long. “You know Sedgecreek and Loudbelly?”

“Of course I do.”

“Okay. Timberfur and Ottersplash were their parents.” And then, because why not, Stormpaw adds, “They were infamous rivals before they became mates.”

Hawkpaw glares at Stormpaw so intensely that his eye starts to twitch. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“It’s not too late. Please, at this point, it would be an act of mercy.”

--

Stormpaw opts to ignore the stupid teasing and petty remarks by focusing more on his training than ever before. He fishes and swims with Featherpaw but he still can’t bring himself to lay a paw on her, so he seeks out Mothpaw instead when it comes time to spar.

Mothpaw’s style is similar to her brother’s; graceful, intentional, quick, RiverClan; except she pulls her strikes at the last moment whereas Hawkpaw always follows through with every deliberate move. After they go a few rounds, Stormpaw lifts his tail to pause and he says, “You know my warrior assessment is coming up any day now, right? You don’t have to go easy on me.”

Mothpaw winces slightly. “I know, I just… I don’t care for sparing.”

“You’re not going to hurt me, I promise.”

“That’s not really my point. I don’t know,” she sighs. “It’s weird. Hawkpaw says I don’t sound like a warrior when I say this, but I don’t like fighting, at all. It’s not even interesting to me.”

“What are you going to do when there’s a battle, then?”

“I’ll fight if I have to, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.” She looks at him with hopeful amber eyes. “There’s been peace ever since my mother brought us to RiverClan, though. Do you think it’ll always stay this way?”

“No. There’s never peace forever. It’s just apart of Clan life.”

Mothpaw eyes him, almost uncertainly, and then she says, “I know it’s none of my business, but… What are you going to do when we have to fight ThunderClan, then?”

Stormpaw’s mouth goes dry at the thought, although it’s not like he and Featherpaw haven’t asked each other the same question a hundred times before. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I’ve never fought them before, so it’s never been an issue.”

“But they’re RiverClan’s main rival. So if there’s never peace forever, then you’ll have to fight them one day.”

“I know that,” Stormpaw says, sharper than he means to. Mothpaw’s ears flick back, and Stormpaw sighs. “Sorry, I just… I’ll fight them. I have to. I’m a RiverClan cat. Mistyfoot and Stonefur are half-ThunderClan and they fought over Sunningrocks more times than they could count.”

Gently, Mothpaw presses, “But they didn’t find out about their mother until they were senior warriors. It’s different when you’re born knowing who you belong to, isn’t it?”

Yeah, it is, Stormpaw doesn’t say. He glares off to the side, frustrated. He looks forward to taking his assessment and receiving his warrior name, but what’s the point if he’s going to spend the rest of his life using it to hurt his father’s Clan?

He startles when Mothpaw brushes against his shoulder. He looks at her, and she offers him a knowing smile. “It’s a hard thing, trying to find where you belong. But I respect that you made a choice and you’ve always stuck with it, even when it isn’t easy. And I respect you for not telling the Clan when you found out about our father.”

Stormpaw blinks. “Hawkpaw told you that I know?”

“Of couse he did. We’re littermates.” She tilts her head. “Didn’t you tell Featherpaw, at least?”

“No.”

“Oh. We just assumed you did. You two tell each other everything.”

Not everything, Stormpaw thinks. He doesn’t know how to explain that part of him is always holding his breath, waiting for something or someone to push Featherpaw over the edge. When they returned to RiverClan, Stormpaw didn’t really return with his sister; he returned with someone less confident, more delicate.

Featherpaw likes Mothpaw and Hawkpaw; she trusts them as much as she can trust anybody these days. She considers them friends. He doesn’t know what she would do if she found out that Tigerstar was their father. The revelation had almost been too much for Stormpaw to handle.

Instead Stormpaw says, “I never really had the opportunity to tell her, and now it just doesn’t seem important. What does it matter Tigerstar is your father? You shouldn’t be judged for the things he did.”

Mothpaw smiles at him, really smiles at him, and it strikes Stormpaw that she doesn’t have Tigerstar’s amber eyes after all; Mothpaw, all of Mothpaw, is golden and warm like the sun.

--

“Leopardstar is going to assess you and Featherpaw tomorrow.”

Stormpaw looks up from the river, startled. Hawkpaw’s expression is one of disinterest, but he followed Stormpaw all the way to the river to give him a head’s up, didn’t he?

“Thanks. I’ll tell Featherpaw.”

Hawkpaw hums, nonchalent, and then he just stands there. Silently. Staring. 

“So… was that it, then?”

“How do you like training with my sister?” Hawkpaw asks, abruptly. 

Stormpaw blinks. “Fine? She’s good. You have similar styles.”

“I’m better, though.”

Ohh, so he’s just being competitive. Stormpaw rolls his eyes. “Yes, Hawkpaw, you are.”

“So then why did you ask her to train with you?”

“Because I’m trying not to spur on the rumors surrounding us?”

“We’ve always been sparing partners, it wouldn’t be unusual.”

“Maybe not, but the rumors haven’t always been there either--”

“I don’t know why you would let silly rumors affect your training--”

“Hawkpaw, are you jealous?” Stormpaw finally snaps, and Hawkpaw stiffens.

Tension crackles between them. Stormpaw stares at the other tom, demanding a response. He’s acting so weird, so-- so jealous, like Stormpaw isn’t allowed to spar with anybody else but him. What crawled up his tail and died?

He doesn’t get an answer. Hawkpaw scoffs and says, “In your dreams. I hope you fail your assessment tomorrow, and I get my warrior name before you.”

Hawkpaw turns around and stomps all the way back to camp, leaving Stormpaw frustrated and confused.

--

In the end, Hawkpaw doesn’t get his wish. Stormpaw shoots him a smirk as Leopardstar begins his warrior ceremony.

“I, Leopardstar, leader of RiverClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in their turn. Stormpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Stormpaw catches Mistyfoot’s eye where she sits at the bottom of Rockpile. She’s gazing at him with pride shining in her blue eyes, and she gives him the slightest nod.

Stormpaw grins. “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Stormpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Stormfur. StarClan honors your determination and your bravery, and we welcome you as a full warrior of RiverClan.”

Leopardstar leaps from the Rockpile and comes to rest her muzzle on his head; he licks her shoulder, the same way that Feathertail did, and the entire Clan erupts into cheers.

“Feathertail, Stormfur! Feathertail, Stormfur!”

Their Clanmates rush to congratulate them; Mosspelt, Dawnflower, Mudfur, others. Shadepelt touches her nose to his and murmurs, “I’m proud of you, Stormfur, and I know that you’ve made Stonefur proud, too.”

Stormfur swallows. “I wish he was here today.”

“He is.” Shadepelt’s smile is watery. “He’s watching over the both of us.”

The rest of the evening passes by in a blur. There’s a feast. So many cats congratulate Stormfur that he loses count of them, although a few cats noticeably do not go out of their way to speak to him or Feathertail; Blackclaw, Heavystep, Skyheart. He tries not to dwell on why. Today is meant to be a celebration.

It ends with Stormfur preparing to sit vigil. He’s just waiting on Feathertail to finish up with Mistyfoot; they’re murmuring on the outskirts of camp. Mistyfoot is congratulating her again no doubt. He wonders if Mistyfoot will tell her that Silverstream would be proud of her, the same way that Shadepelt talked about Stonefur. Stormfur isn’t sure that Mistyfoot understands, but he hopes she knows that it’s a comparison that Feathertail is sick of.

He’d overheard Leopardstar discussing their warrior names right before the Ceremony; Featherstream had been thrown out there. Stormfur was relieved when Feathertail wasn’t named in memory of anyone; she gets to be her own cat by name, at least.

“Hey.”

Stormfur turns and there’s Hawkpaw, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Hey.”

“Congratulations.”

“Awful humble of you to say so,” Stormfur says, teasing, and he watches Hawkpaw relax. “I didn’t think you would have it in you to acknowledge that I received my name first.”

“I won’t be far behind you,” Hawkpaw swears. “And my name will be cooler, too.”

Stormfur rolls his eyes. “Always a competition with you.” He doesn’t mind though, not really. His rivalry with Hawkpaw is what pushed Stormfur beyond his limits, strengthened him, and in the end, it helped to ground Stormfur in RiverClan; gave him a relationship other than his kin and his mentor.

A friend?

Stormfur searches for the right words to say as much, but he’s drawing blank. Then Feathertail finally joins him and sets her tail on his back. “Ready for the longest night of your life?” She teases.

If only, Stormfur thinks dryly, remembering the night he ended up at Bonehill. Hawkpaw snorts as if he’s thinking the same thing. What a twisted joke they share with each other.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies. Feathertail dips outside the entrance and Stormfur turns to say something to Hawkpaw, maybe even an apology for that night, but Hawkpaw has already disappeared. Later, he tells himself before following Feathertail.

--

Maybe there’s something magical about a warrior sitting their first vigil, or maybe Stormfur is too poetic. Either way…

It feels like the entire forest is at peace. The breeze smells sweet and combs through his fur. The night air is warm. Stars are scattered across Silverpelt, shining down on him like approval. He tries to count them, tries to pick out which ones are Stonefur, Crookedstar, Silverstream. He wonders if they’ve celebrated with him today.

Tonight, at least, Stormfur’s blood isn’t humming like thunder on the horizon; it’s singing, softly, but it’s nearly overwhelming. Maybe this is the divine that he grew up hearing stories about.

Feathertail shifts beside him and he glances at her; she’s staring at the moon. It’s a claw-moon, he realizes. After thinking it over, he nudges his sister.

She looks at him.

He nods at the moon, and then looks back at her, questioning. Are you going to see Graystripe tonight?

Feathertail holds his gaze for a long moment before shaking her head. Then she places her paw on top of his paw, and if Stormfur can read her mind, then she’s thinking, We did it.

They’ve come a long way from the two half-blooded apprentices who were scared and unsure of where they belonged. From Bonehill to ThunderClan, now sitting vigil for RiverClan, sworn to protect it with their lives.

Stormfur grins at Feathertail, bunts their foreheads together, and agrees, Yeah. We did it.

Chapter Text

The green-leaf heat is what finally drives Mistyfoot into the cool, empty Nursery. There’s still not been an official announcement that she’s expecting but it would be pointless to make one now. There’s no hiding her swollen belly.

“I know it’s rude to ask,” Mothpaw begins quietly, “but do you know who the father is?”

Stormfur and Feathertail exchange looks. Feathertail answers, simply, “Blackclaw.”

“Oh! I didn’t know they were mates.”

“They’re not,” Stormfur cuts in. “They just… they used to be mates. I don’t think they were planning on having kits again.”

“Again?” Mothpaw repeats, eyes widening. Feathertail shoots him a look.

Frog-dung. Me and my big mouth.

“They died,” Feathertail says, blunt. “Nobody likes to talk about it.”

“I understand,” Mothpaw says, nodding. “Well, I hope her delivery goes smoothly. Maybe Mudfur will even let me watch it.”

“Let you watch?” 

“Yeah, I’ve started helping him with some of his chores since he doesn’t have an apprentice. It’s mostly just gathering herbs whenever Emberdawn gives me the day off, but still.” She smiles to herself. “I really enjoy it.”

--

“You judged Mothpaw and I the same way that everyone has always judged you and Featherpaw! How does that make you any different than them?”

Stormfur has tried hard to forget everything about that night, but he can’t forget the expression on Hawkpaw’s face as he snarled those words; hurt, angry, betrayed. Stormfur can’t forget his expression because he knows exactly how Hawkpaw felt.

And he was right.

Finally, he gives in. Hawkpaw is chewing on a bone but raises his gaze as Stormfur approaches. “Come to boss an apprentice around?” he asks, sarcastic.

“No, actually. I came to ask you if you wanted to escape this awful heat with me and go swimming.”

He’s painfully aware of his Clanmates’ stares; he’s avoided Hawkpaw ever since that night in an effort to not fuel the gossip-starved rumors going around camp about them, but some things are worth a little bit of teasing.

Curiously, Hawkpaw doesn’t even seem to notice the stares. He’s only got eyes on Stormfur as he stands to his paws and asks, “Where at?”

--

It’s a coincidence that Stormfur enjoys swimming near the ThunderClan border most; that’s what he’ll tell Hawkpaw anyway, except Hawkpaw doesn’t bring it up. He steps into the river and it welcomes him like a friend, pulling him out gently. 

Watching him now, no one would ever suspect that he’s half-ThunderClan. No one would ever suspect he has kin just across the river. Stormfur envies him for it, a little bit.

“How do you like being a warrior?”

“It’s great. I love the freedom; no one waking me up at the first ray of dawnlight for training, no picking fleas and ticks off the elders, no replacing bedding--”

“You can stop bragging,” Hawkpaw deadpans. “I was only asking to break the awkward silence.”

Stormfur cracks a grin. “Sorry.” He wades into the river behind Hawkpaw, relaxing as the water soothes his muscles. “You’re probably not far from your warrior assessment yourself, though. Especially with Leopardstar as your mentor, I’m sure she’s just dying to get rid of you.”

It’s a joke but Hawkpaw’s whiskers don’t even twitch. “Yeah, I’m sure she is.”

“I’m kidding, Hawkpaw.”

“It’s true, though.” Hawkpaw treads water, not making a splash. “If I just up and left RiverClan I doubt she would care. I’m just a secret she has to keep, anyway. What good is a warrior that you won’t let patrol Clan borders or attend Gatherings? Just a waste of fresh-kill.”

Stormfur eyes Hawkpaw for a moment before asking, “You really think it’s because Tigerstar is your father?”

“I know that’s why.” The certainty in his voice catches Stormfur off guard. “I overheard Leopardstar talking to Sasha before she ‘disappeared’. Leopardstar wore her down and demanded to know who our father was; Sasha finally told her. But Sasha lied and said that Mothpaw and I didn’t know that he was our father so there was no reason to take it out on us. Leopardstar agreed, but she was still furious, and she said that if Sasha still had feelings for Tigerstar, if she missed him, then she didn’t have a home in RiverClan.”

“So, what? Sasha said goodbye and then--”

“Nope.” Hawkpaw’s voice is as cold as his ice-blue eyes. “She never said anything to Mothpaw or me. Didn’t even give us the opportunity to go with her. She just left.”

Stormfur can’t help but be reminded of Graystripe. It’s not exactly the same, Stormfur understands why Graystripe was exiled from RiverClan, but he does ask, “Would you have gone with her if she’d asked you to?”

Hawkpaw shrugs, staring off into the distance. “I guess I’ll never know.”

Silence falls between them. Stormfur had hoped that swimming would be light-hearted fun and that it would soften Hawkpaw up, but this isn’t the time for a splash war. Instead, he decides to take the plunge and hope for the best.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t give me some pity apology, Stormfur. It’s not your fault that Sasha abandoned us.”

“That’s not what I’m apologizing for.” He swallows, then says, “I’m talking about the night when I brought you to Bonehill.”

Hawkpaw looks at him sharply, but he doesn’t interrupt. Stormfur takes it as a sign to continue. “When we were fighting, you said that I judged you for your father the same way that Feathertail and I have been judged our entire lives, and you were right. That’s exactly what I did, and I feel terrible about it. I never should have held any of Tigerstar’s actions against you, or Mothpaw. I’m sorry.”

Hawkpaw is staring at him still, but Stormfur can see as slowly, he begins to soften. Then he hides his face and in a quiet voice, he says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And if you ever need to talk to somebody who understands at least a little bit of what you’re going through, you can always talk to me.”

Hawkpaw opens his mouth to respond but then he closes it again. For the first time ever, Stormfur has rendered the other tom speechless. It makes him grin and he’s ready to tease Hawkpaw relentlessly for it until a voice screeches,

“Help me!”

Both of their heads shoot up at the same time; the voice is coming from further down the river. Without hesitating, Stormfur pulls himself onto the shore and darts off in the direction of the voice, Hawkpaw hot on his heels.

Racing alongside the river, his heart nearly stops when he spots a limp, pale gray cat being swept away: “Dawnflower!”

She’s unconscious, Stormfur realizes, panicking. He scans his surroundings wildly, searching for something, anything, useful. It’s fruitless; there are no long sticks or vines that he can use to pull her to shore. Nothing on the land to help them. I’m going to have to carry her to land, Stormfur realizes.

As if reading his mind, Hawkpaw takes a flying leap and hits the river with a splash. For a moment Stormfur’s heart does stop beating as Hawkpaw disappears under the current, but he pops up quickly and starts striding towards Dawnflower. Stormfur pumps his legs harder, running faster, trying to get ahead without losing sight of them. 

There’s a ledge that extends across the river coming up. He races towards it, leaving Dawnflower and Hawkpaw behind; he climbs onto the ledge and tenses his muscles, prepared to grab Dawnflower as she passes underneath him; his timing has to be perfect. 

Each heartbeat feels like an eternity until he finally spots Dawnflower and Hawkpaw again; Hawkpaw has her across his back. “Hawkpaw!” Stormfur shouts, fighting to be heard over the rushing river. “Swim this way!”

He doesn’t know if Hawkpaw can actually hear him or not, but Hawkpaw starts swimming towards Stormfur, dragging Dawnflower’s unconscious body with him. Stormfur is terrified that any moment now her weight is going to pull him under and then they’ll both be lost, but Hawkpaw manages to stay above water. 

They’re coming at him fast; Stormfur counts to three in his head before lunging and grabbing Dawnflower’s scruff. He braces himself and digs his claws into the ledge as the river tries to suck him in, but he’s got a good grip. He starts to heave Dawnflower out of the river and Hawkpaw is still underneath her, pushing her towards him. 

Finally Stormfur pulls Dawnflower onto the ledge with him, unconscious and soaking wet but she’s still breathing, at least. Hawkpaw has an easier time scrambling out of the river; he lands beside Stormfur gasping for breath. “Thanks,” he manages to get out.

“Don’t mention it,” Stormfur pants, just as breathless. “Come on, we have to get her back to Mudfur.”

--

By the time Mudfur emerges from his den and announces that Dawnflower is going to make a full recovery, it’s dusk. Relief fills the camp as cats are able to relax; Stormfur falls against Feathertail, finally able to breath easy again.

She’s steady against him as she murmurs, “You did good, Storm.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Hawkpaw; he jumped into the river and carried Dawnflower on his back all the way to me.”

Feathertail hums and Stormfur doesn’t even care about the teasing note in her voice as she replies, “It sounds like you two make a good pair.”

She’s not wrong, though. Hawkpaw leaped into the river the instant that Stormfur had the thought; it was like he could read his mind. Stormfur has never felt that in-sync with a cat other than Feathertail before. He’s too exhausted to dwell on what it means.

--

Mudfur sends for Stormfur a little while later. When he walks into the medicine den Dawnflower looks up at him and even though Mudfur had already said she was going to live, it’s another feeling of relief entirely to see her for himself.

“Hey,” he says, breathless.

“Hey yourself,” Dawnflower replies, mustering a grin. “Thanks for saving my life.”

“Don’t mention it. What knocked you out?”

“She inhaled too much water,” a different voice answers, and only then does Stormfur realize that Mothpaw is in the den, too. He’s surprised to see her there, but nobody else seems to be. 

Mudfur asks Mothpaw to grab Dawnflower some juniper berries, and Mothpaw knows exactly what that is. Stormfur watches her, recalling how she’d said that she started helping Mudfur with some of his chores. It seemed like his work was rubbing off on her.

Stormfur looks back at Dawnflower and asks, “Well, did you at least catch whatever you were fishing?”

“Nope, the darn trout lives to swim another day. I’ll get it next time, though!” They share a laugh, and when their eyes meet again, Dawnflower’s are soft. “I know you said not to mention it, but seriously, thank you.”

Stormfur’s skin feels warm underneath his pelt. “You’re welcome, although Hawkpaw deserves most of the thanks. He swam with you on his back all the way downriver. He deserves his warrior name.”

Dawnflower’s eyes widen slightly. “No kidding! Bring Leopardstar in here and I’ll tell her that myself!”

“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” Mudfur speaks up. His eyes glitter knowingly in the dusklight. “I overheard Leopardstar talking to Emberdawn about two warrior assessments in the next few days.”

“The next few days?” Mothpaw echoes, and Stormfur agrees; such an act of heroism should be enough to immediately grant a warrior name. 

Mudfur looks gently at Mothpaw, and suddenly Stormfur doesn’t know if they were thinking the same thing after all. “Yes, in a few days,” he repeats. “If you don’t feel ready to commit to being a warrior, then you need to talk to Leopardstar.”

There’s a conflicted expression on Mothpaw’s face now. Dawnflower notices and says, “Don’t stress over it, Mothpaw, I’m sure you’ll do great! Emberdawn brags about you all the time.”

Mothpaw just nods. Mudfur seems to understand something that Stormfur doesn’t. He clears his throat and says, “Alright, that’s enough for one night. Dawnflower, I’m going to keep you with me overnight just to be sure you don’t develop any complications, but Stormfur, you’re good to go.”

He takes his cue and leaves to turn in for the night.

--

Hawkpaw isn’t thrilled that he still has to take an assessment, but it’s merely a formality; he and Mothpaw pass with flying colors. The entire Clan gathers to watch them receive their warrior names. 

“Hawkpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Hawkfrost. StarClan honors your loyalty and your ambition, and we welcome you as a full warrior of RiverClan.”

Hawkpaw -- Hawkfrost -- licks Leopardstar’s shoulder when she places her muzzle on his head, and Stormfur has to remind himself that it’s not time to cheer his new name just yet.

Leopardstar turns to face Mothpaw.

“I, Leopardstar, leader of RiverClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a warrior in her turn. Mothpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

The silence stretches on longer than it should. Shadepelt begins to shift beside him; Feathertail whispers, “Did she not hear Leopardstar?”

Leopardstar raises a brow. “ Ahem. Mothpaw, do you promise to--”

“I don’t want to be a warrior,” Mothpaw blurts out, and it’s like the air is sucked out of the camp in one collective gasp. Hawkfrost spins to face his sister, shocked.

Emberdawn takes a step towards her apprentice, frowning. “Mothpaw, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t--” She flattens her ears against her head. “I thought I wanted to be a warrior but I was wrong. I want to be a medicine cat.”

Leopardstar narrows her eyes. “You would have to undergo a completely different sort of training. Are you sure this is what you want?”

Mothpaw looks nervous with so much attention focused on her, but when she nods and says, “Yes, it is,” Stormfur believes her. 

Leopardstar looks at Mudfur. “Would you accept Mothpaw as your apprentice?”

Mudfur, old and proud, nods. “I would be honored to.” A smile flits across Mothpaw’s face.

“Wait one moment,” Blackclaw speaks up, commanding attention. “Everybody knows how important medicine cats are to the forest; they’re just as important as leaders. How can an apprentice with no Clan blood just decide to become a medicine cat?”

“What does blood have to do with anything?” Stormfur demands, hotly.

“The fact that you have to ask just proves my point,” Blackclaw retorts, and the fur along Stormfur’s back bristles. “Think about it: when in our history has a medicine cat not been Clan-borne?”

Silence falls upon the Clan. Even the elders can’t recall such a thing. Blackclaw shrugs as if his point is proven. “Well, there you go.”

“Then what do you propose, Blackclaw?” Mudfur asks with a scowl. “I’m not getting any younger. Should we force one of your kits into the position once they reach six moons?” 

Blackclaw stiffens; Stormfur realizes that this is the first time anyone has publicly acknowledged Blackclaw as the father of Mistyfoot’s kits. He looks across the Rockpile, where Mistyfoot is staring at Blackclaw so hard that he might combust. The entire Clan is waiting for his answer.

Then he asks, “Why don’t we let StarClan decide?”

“StarClan?” Mothpaw echos, uncertain.

“That would make sense,” Sedgecreek speaks up. “Medicine cats share a sacred bond with our warrior ancestors. If they approve of Mothpaw then they will send a sign to Mudfur.” Sedgecreek’s agreement has a ripple effect amongst their Clanmates. 

“Blackclaw has a point,” Heavystep rumbles. “What if StarClan refused to communicate with Mothpaw?”

“Mudfur has interpreted signs before, he knows what to look for,” Skyheart adds.

Frowning, Mosspelt asks, “Is it really necessary though? ThunderClan’s leader was once a kittypet, after all!”

Loudbelly shakes his head. “Medicine cats are different, though. Their connection to StarClan is unlike anything else.”

Leopardstar raises her tail for silence. “Then it’s settled,” she decides. “If StarClan approves of Mothpaw then they will send a sign to Mudfur, and she will be allowed to train as his apprentice. Until then, however, you’ve already proven yourself as a warrior.” She holds Mothpaw’s gaze as she recites the traditional words: “Mothpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Mothwing. StarClan honors your intelligence and your honesty, and we welcome you as a full warrior of RiverClan.”

She rests her muzzle on Mothwing’s head. After a moment, Mothwing licks her shoulder. The Clan takes up the chant, and after such a tense ceremony, Stormfur shouts as loud as he can to make up for it. Still, he can sense the unease that’s settled over the camp, and he doesn’t blame either Hawkfrost or Mothwing for looking troubled.

--

Leopardstar decides to have Hawkfrost and Mothwing stand vigil on opposite sides of camp. Stormfur thinks she’s wise to keep them apart; he hasn’t seen them exchange one word since the Ceremony.

He slips past Mistyfoot after she’s shown Hawkfrost to his post. “Hey.”

Hawkfrost turns to him. “Hey.”

“Congratulations on your name. I admit, it is pretty cool.”

Hawkfrost snorts. “At least your name has meaning. Where did Leopardstar come up with ‘frost’?”

“Your eyes?” Stormfur offers. It pulls a smirk from Hawkfrost.

“You like my eyes?”

“Those words have literally never left my mouth.”

“No, but apparently you’ve noticed them before.”

Stormfur rolls his eyes. “Here I am congratulating you, and you’re making fun of me. This is why you don’t have friends.”

Hawkfrost tilts his head to the side, studying him. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Stormfur remembers the night he sat vigil and Hawkfrost had come up to congratulate him, and Stormfur had the same thought; they were friends. The thought makes something inside his chest swell. “Something like that.”

“Stormfur!” Mistyfoot shouts as cats retire to their dens for the night. “Let Hawkfrost sit his vigil in silence, please!”

“Oops,” Stormfur mutters. He looks back at Hawkfrost. “Good luck tonight.”

“As if I’ll need it,” Hawkfrost snorts. “I’m just guarding the camp.”

“Yeah, but you have to do it silently, and we both know that you can’t keep your mouth shut that longer than a few hours.”

“Stormfur!” Mistyfoot shouts again, sterner this time.

“I’m coming!” Stormfur shouts back. He looks back at Hawkfrost, who’s smirking slightly at him, and Stormfur finds it difficult to leave the other tom. He wants one last word, one last moment. But he knows better than to test Mistyfoot much longer.

“Night,” he says finally, reluctantly. Hawkfrost simply waves his tail, mouth clamped shut.

Mistyfoot shakes her head as Stormfur pads into the warriors' den. “For StarClan’s sake, I thought I was going to have to drag you to your nest.”

“I just feel bad that he has to sit vigil by himself, that’s all.”

Mistyfoot snorts. “Whatever you say, Stormfur.”

--

Feathertail may have just been teasing when she said that Stormfur and Hawkfrost make a good pair, but she wasn’t wrong. They work well together once they get out all of their insults and maybe a strike or two. 

It’s not the same feeling as being alone with Feathertail; it’s not a bond built on trauma and survival and something unbreakable. He doesn’t know quite know how to describe it, except that there’s a familiarity with Hawkfrost that seems to have come too easily, too quickly. It’s the kind of friendship that feels like it should take a lifetime to build.

Stormfur remembers when he was a kit and Graystripe would tell them stories of Firestar; a friendship as easy as breathing and as deep as the gorge and as solid as stone. A Brotherhood. Stormfur thinks that maybe Hawkfrost will be his Firestar.

He’s willing to find out, at least.

--

“Mind if I steal you for a bit?”

Stormfur looks up. Feathertail is all smiles but he can tell when her smiles are forced and she’s trying to hide something. He straightens up and says, “You’re not stealing me from anyone.” He starts walking nowhere in particular, just away from camp, and Feathertail follows him.

“You just have a lot of new friends now, is all.”

“New friends?”

“Yeah. Whenever I go to ask you to fish with me, or swim, or just take a walk, you’re always with somebody else. Hawkfrost, Mothwing, Dawnflower, even some of the senior warriors have taken a shine to you.”

Stormfur looks at Feathertail. “You know, not all of our Clanmates tried to kill us.”

“Nobody tried to protect us, either.”

“Dawnflower was still an apprentice herself, and Hawkfrost and Mothwing weren’t even with the Clan back then--”

“I know you think I should try harder to be involved with the Clan,” Feathertail interrupts. “But I’m fine keeping to myself. I have you and Mistyfoot and that’s enough for me.”

It doesn’t sound like it, Stormfur thinks. But he’s been pushing Feathertail to come out of her shell for moons now and it hasn’t worked. He knows that at least right now, it’s not a battle worth fighting.

“If you say so. What did you want to steal me for, then?”

Feathertail’s ears flick back, as if she’s nervous. “I had a strange dream last night.”

Stormfur blinks. “What kind of strange dream?”

“I dreamt that Oakheart visited me. He told me that I… I need to meet three cats at the new moon to listen to what midnight has to tell us.”

She talks quickly, trying to get everything out at once. It takes Stormfur a few moments to process what she’s said. Then he says, “Wow. That is a strange dream. Did your trout sit in the sun for t

Feathertail shoots him a look. “I’m being serious, Stormfur.”

He stops. “You do believe that was just a dream, right?”

“I mean, it didn’t feel like a dream.”

“What do dreams feel like?” he presses.

“I don’t know,” she snaps. “It felt like, like I wasn’t dreaming at all! And Oakheart, I mean, why would I dream about Oakheart of all cats when we never even met him? And why was that dream so specific? Three other cats? Talk about midnight? None of that makes sense!”

Dreams usually don’t make much sense, Stormfur wants to point out. Feathertail is clearly annoyed, but underneath that he can tell that she’s worried. The dream sounds silly to Stormfur but she truly believes it means something important. He thinks about it for a long moment, and then he asks, “You said on the new moon, right? Well, did Oakheart say where to meet these other cats?”

Feathertail shakes her head. “No, he didn’t.”

“Then I guess you need to figure it out.”

At that, she looks back at him. Her blue eyes are wide with hope. “You believe the dream was real, then?”

“I believe that you believe it was real,” Stormfur says slowly. “I don’t know what to make of it, but you’re a logical cat. I know you wouldn’t just make something like this up.”

That’s good enough for Feathertail. She bumps their foreheads together, purring. “Thank you for not making me feel fish-brained.”

“Of course. Just, promise to tell me before you wander off to meet these other cats, alright?”

“Promise,” Feathertail purrs.

--

The full moon glows overhead, lighting the way for the Gathering patrol. Feathertail runs alongside him; Hawkfrost and Mothwing are behind them, practically trembling as it sinks in that they’re finally about to attend their first Gathering.

“Everyone is really able to fit in Fourtrees?” Mothwing asks in disbelief.

“The hollow is huge,” Stormfur confirms. “It’s twice the size of camp.”

Hawkfrost snorts. “Don’t joke, there’s no way it’s twice the size of camp.”

“Just wait until you see for yourself since you’re such a know-it-all.”

“Can you two not do this tonight?” Feathertail interrupts. “It’s a night of peace, after all.”

Hawkfrost sends Stormfur a smirk that makes his heart thump and says, “Lucky you.”

Stormfur's retort dies on his tongue so it's a small mercy when Leopardstar kinks her tail over her back; the entire patrol falls into a crouch. In need of a distraction, Stormfur opens his mouth and sorts through all the different scents. ThunderClan and ShadowClan are already present. He exchanges a delighted look with Feathertail.

Leopardstar waves her tail and the patrol descends into the hollow in one graceful line. Stormfur and Feathertail follow Mistyfoot to the base of the Great Rock where Graystripe and Russetfur are making polite conversation about the absurd green-leaf heat. Graystripe’s entire face lights up when he spots the trio.

“Stormfur, Feathertail, you’re both here! And Mistyfoot-- you look ready to kit any day now!”

“Don’t remind me,” Mistyfoot says, touching noses with Graystripe. “I had to fight to be able to attend tonight.”

“She put a few cats in their places,” Feathertail adds, rubbing her head against Graystripe’s shoulder.

“I’m sure she did,” Graystripe purrs. He takes a step back so that he can look properly at his kits. “Stars, you two look like you’ve gotten even taller since the last time I saw you. How is life in RiverClan?”

“It’s fine,” Stormfur answers.

“Don’t be so humble, Stormfur,” Feathertail says, turning to face Graystripe. “Did you hear that he saved one of our Clanmates from drowning?”

“Are you kidding? I found out on a passing patrol and I went right back to camp and told everybody who would listen!” Graystripe looks at Stormfur with such pride shining in his eyes that it’s hard to hold his gaze. Stormfur looks down at his paws, warm all the way to the tip of his tail.

“Thanks, dad.” For once, he doesn’t feel the need to add that Hawkfrost did most of the work. 

Hawkfrost and Mothwing, he remembers suddenly. He’d wanted to introduce the new warriors to Graystripe and Sandstorm and the rest of their friends in ThunderClan. He scans the sea of cats for their pelts but it’s impossible to distinguish them.

Graystripe notices his searching. “You two go and mingle. We’ll talk some more before the Gathering is over.”

--

Feathertail goes to greet Rainwhisker and Sorreltail while Stormfur hunts for the littermates. He eventually finds them on the outskirts of the hollow. “Are you two alright?” he asks, observing their defensive body language.

“Everybody is staring at us,” Mothwing mutters. “It’s weird.”

“You knew this would happen,” Stormfur says, gently. “It’s unusual for two brand new warriors to appear out of nowhere. They’re just curious.”

“No, they’re not curious,” Hawkfrost says, glaring. “They’re suspicious.”

“Hawkfrost, be serious. Why would they be suspicious of you?”

Hawkfrost turns his glare to Stormfur and demands, “Do we look like him?”

It takes a moment for Stormfur to realize what Hawkfrost is asking. He hesitates before answering, “In some ways, yes. He was a dark brown tabby like you, Hawkfrost, and he had amber eyes and a similar build to you, Mothwing. But lots of cats have brown tabby pelts and amber eyes!”

“But none of them are kin to Tigerstar,” Hawkfrost hisses.

“Yes they are,” Stormfur says, confused, before realizing. He’s never told them about Brambleclaw or Tawnypelt before. Stormfur wants to take the words back as soon as he realizes, but Hawkfrost and Mothwing are staring at him so intensely that he begins to feel hot like he might combust.

“What?” Hawkfrost asks, deathly calm.

Stormfur takes a deep breath. “Yes, some of them are. Tigerstar had-- has, two other kits. Another son and daughter.”

If the wind picked up just a little bit it would knock Hawkfrost and Mothwing over. “He has-- we have half-siblings?” Hawkfrost demands, voice low. “Stormfur, you never told us that!”

“Honestly, it never seemed important--”

“Shouldn’t we be able to decide something like that for ourselves?” Mothwing asks, hotly. 

“What was I supposed to say?” Stormfur huffs. “Hey, I know I just found out that Tigerstar is your father but I think you should know that you have a brother in ThunderClan and a sister in ShadowClan?”

“Yes!” Hawkfrost snaps.

“Well I’m sorry, but I didn’t do that!”

Mothwing interjects, “What are their names?”

Hawkfrost starts as if he hadn’t thought that far yet. He looks expectantly at Stormfur.

“Brambleclaw of ThunderClan, and Tawnypelt of ShadowClan.”

“I can’t believe I have a brother,” Hawkfrost murmurs, and something ugly rears inside Stormfur. 

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you three! Meet,--” Feathertail pauses as she surveys the scene. “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

“No, you’re not,” Stormfur says quickly, shooting the littermates a pointed look. “They’re just uncomfortable being around so many strange cats.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Hawkfrost grips.

Feathertail isn’t fish-brained, but she also knows better when to press for the truth. She meets Stormfur’s eye before saying, carefully, “Well if you would like fewer strangers, I found Sorreltail and Rainwhisker; they’re ThunderClan’s newest warriors. I could introduce you to them.”

Hawkfrost and Mothwing exchange looks; they weren’t going to continue arguing in front of Feathertail but Stormfur knew they weren’t happy with him. “Sure,” Mothwing finally agrees. “Let’s make some new friends, Hawkfrost.”

--

It’s an eventful Gathering. The green-leaf heat has almost completely drained WindClan’s territory of water and Leopardstar grants them permission to enter RiverClan territory and drink from their streams. Blackstar stubbornly refuses to reveal if ShadowClan are facing the same trouble, but it’s clear that their cats are skinner than usual. Firestar only mentions that prey is not as plentiful as in previous seasons, but he’s not concerned; at least that’s what he claims.

And yet Stormfur can’t bring himself to focus on these reports; beside him, Hawkfrost is silent and cold. Stormfur knows that it’s because of the revelation that he has half-siblings. Stormfur also knows that Hawkfrost is furious at him. Even when Leopardstar announces that RiverClan has two new warriors and Stormfur shouts their new names the loudest, Hawkfrost still refuses to look at him, instead raising his head and soaking up the attention with a proud look; Stormfur knows it’s just for show.

When Hawkfrost leans towards him and finally acknowledges his presence, it’s to gesture to a dark brown tabby and ask, “Is that Brambleclaw?”

Stormfur’s mouth goes dry. What if he agrees and then Hawkfrost makes a scene and is never allowed to attend another Gathering? What if it’s accidentally revealed that he’s also a son of Tigerstar? Stormfur will be the first to admit that he silently judged Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt for their parentage for moons before finally making peace with it. 

But to lie would be pointless. Hawkfrost and Brambleclaw share the same dark brown pelt, the same tabby markings. There’s no denying who they inherited it from.

Stormfur nods, subtly. And then, because it’s better to be as open and honest as possible now, he also points out the she-cat whispering to Brambleclaw. “That’s Tawnypelt beside him.”

Hawkfrost narrows his eyes slightly. “She doesn’t look like me or Mothwing.”

“No, she doesn’t. When we lived in ThunderClan, we were told that she resembles her mother’s side.”

“Their mother is a tortoiseshell?”

“No, but she had a litter before those two.” Before Hawkfrost can ask where those half-siblings are, Stormfur beats him to it. “They died before they became warriors.”

He expects Hawkfrost to lose interest. Instead, a strange new look enters his eyes and almost to himself, Hawkfrost whispers, “Like Tadpole.”

Stormfur frowns. “Who’s Tadpole?”

“Who?” Mothwing asks suddenly, staring at Hawkfrost. They’re starting to attract stares.

“Nobody,” Stormfur says quickly.

“Nobody?” Hawkfrost repeats, somehow defensive.

“Stop,” Mothwing says, her voice firm. “Don’t-- not here, Hawk.”

Hawkfrost clamps his jaws shut so tight that Stormfur can see the tension there. Whatever, he thinks, frustrated beyond belief. Let Hawkfrost sulk like a spoiled kitten. He’s so immature.

The Gathering comes to an end soon afterward. Feathertail immediately goes to say goodbye to Graystripe but Stormfur hesitates; he’d wanted to introduce Hawkfrost to Graystripe. He wanted Graystripe to know that maybe he had found his own best friend, his own Firestar.

Hawkfrost is staring intensely at Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt, as Mothwing whispers into his ear. Hawkfrost couldn’t care less about meeting Graystripe.

Whatever, Stormfur thinks, angry. Whatever.

--

“I figured it out, Stormfur,” Feathertail whispers to him on their journey home. “It’s Fourtrees.”

“Come again?”

“Fourtrees is the only place in the forest where Clans can come together peacefully. It must be where Oakheart wants me to meet the other cats!”

Stormfur wants to groan, You’re still thinking about that dream? But Feathertail’s eyes are bright with excitement, and it’s been such a long time since she’s been genuinely so excited about something. Stormfur doesn’t have it in him to stamp this out for her.

“On the new moon, then,” Stormfur says. “We’ll return to Fourtrees on the new moon.”

--

Hawkfrost is ignoring Stormfur. Hawkfrost has never ignored him before; not after their fight at Bonehill, not after Stormfur threatened to tell everyone about his father, not even after Leopardstar told the entire Clan that they snuck out of camp in the middle of the night because they were in love.

But somehow the fact that Stormfur didn’t tell Hawkfrost about a pair of half-siblings justifies ignoring him. Somehow this is what crosses the line.

The longer he thinks about it the angrier he becomes until finally he can’t stand it. He waits until Hawkfrost slips out of camp by himself, and then Stormfur corners him.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Hawkfrost looks at Stormfur like he can’t believe he has to ask. “You can’t possibly be this fish-brained.”

“So what if I didn’t tell you that you have half-siblings? They’re both in different Clans, anyway!”

“I know you’re not trying to say that borders sever blood-ties,” Hawkfrost retorts, quickly growing irritated. “Not with how you and Feathertail search Sunningrocks for your father every time you go near it.”

“That’s different, I actually have a relationship with Graystripe; you’ve never even spoken to Brambleclaw or Tawnypelt before.”

“How could I, when I’ve never been allowed near another Clan until a few days ago?!”

Hawkfrost is coiled so tightly that he looks ready to snap, and Stormfur has to remind himself that he doesn’t really want to argue; he just wants things to go back to normal. So he inhales deeply and starts over. “Look, I realize I could have told you and Mothwing about them sooner. I just-- I just don’t think that it’s worth being this upset with me.”

Hawkfrost glares at him. “Then you don’t realize how much this means to me. Stormfur, there are two more cats who understand everything that Mothwing and I have gone through, they understand exactly what it’s like to know that the most hated warrior is our father. They understand--”

“I thought I understood,” Stormfur cuts in, and he doesn’t mean to sound petulant but he can’t hide it. “That’s what you told me at Bonehill, that I should know better than anyone--”

“I didn’t know “anyone” included a brother and sister!”

“So now what I am?” He demands. “If I don’t understand you anymore, if I’m not even allowed to know who Tadpole is--”

“I’ll tell you what you’re not,” Hawkfrost snaps. “You’re not my brother, Stormfur!”

Logically speaking, Hawkfrost is right. They’re not brothers, they’re not kin at all. Maybe they’re not even friends. Maybe Stormfur was just a placeholder for Hawkfrost until he found somebody who could understand him better.

Logically speaking, Hawkfrost is right. But that’s not the point right now.

“Well,” Stormfur starts, the petulance and the hurt gone from his voice. “Good luck trying to get to know two cats that don’t even care that you exist.”

He turns around and stomps all the way to camp; Hawkfrost never tries to call out to him. Not even once.

--

Stormfur and Hawkfrost don’t speak again after that. His Clanmates tease him, ask if they’re having their first lovers’ spat, and Stormfur wants to tell everybody who shoots him a knowing smirk that Hawkfrost is the son of Tigerstar, and the brother to Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt, and the only reason that Stormfur didn’t correct Leopardstar that night is because he didn’t think that Hawkfrost and Mothwing deserved to be chased out of RiverClan.

And now the only thing stopping Stormfur from revealing the truth is that he still thinks Mothwing doesn’t deserve to be chased out.

--

Stormfur actually comes to look forward to this meeting at Fourtrees, even if he still thinks Feathertail just ate some bad fresh-kill before going to sleep; it helps that Feathertail is looking forward to it too and is less reclusive. It’s nice to see her look happy, even if it’s just until they’re the only ones to show up on the new-moon.

--

Stormfur stares.

Brambleclaw of ThunderClan, Tawnypelt of ShadowClan, and Crowpaw of WindClan stare back at him.

You have got to be kidding me.

“So, which one of you actually received the dream?” Tawnypelt finally asks.

“I did,” Feathertail says, because Stormfur is too dumbfounded to speak. Not only did three other cats actually show up at Fourtrees on the new moon, but-- what are the odds that two of them are Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt?

Ridiculous. This is ridiculous.

Finally the moon reaches its highest point in the sky; it’s midnight. Everybody holds their breath as they wait for something to happen, but… nothing does.

“So, did you all eat bad fresh-kill before going to sleep?” Stormfur asks, trying for humor. He gets four sets of glares.

So nobody here has a sense of humor. Noted.

“What do we do now?” Feathertail asks, looking up at the moon like she expects it to drop from the sky.

Brambleclaw shrugs. “I guess we wait to hear from our StarClan guides again. Maybe we did something wrong?”

“It’s hard to do anything right when they’re so vague,” Crowpaw grumbles.

“Let’s regroup at the next Gathering,” Tawnypelt suggests. “Surely we’ll have figured something out by then.”

The next Gathering feels so far away, but it’s the best idea anyone can come up with. Reluctantly, the star-chosen cats (and Stormfur) agree.

Crowpaw eyes Stormfur and asks, “Is he going to come along next time, too?”

“Of course he is,” Feathertail says, moving to stand protectively beside him. “Where I go, Stormfur goes too.” Her response warms him, and reminds him that he doesn’t need Hawkfrost as a brother when he has Feathertail. He doesn’t need anyone else when he has Feathertail.

He doesn’t expect Brambleclaw to also speak up. “Stormfur is a good cat to have with us. He and Feathertail will both be an asset to whatever StarClan has planned.”

Crowpaw frowns as he looks between Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt. “Oh, great, so you two are friends with the RiverClan warriors? I’m the only cat here who doesn’t know anyone?”

Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt both look uncomfortable at that; Stormfur can only clear his throat, awkward. You don’t have to be friends to have a history with a cat.

It’s Feathertail who breaks the awkward silence with a pretty smile and says, “Give it time, Crowpaw. Before long I’m sure we’ll all be good friends.”

Crowpaw holds her gaze for a moment before scoffing like he doesn’t believe her. “Whatever you say.” He turns around and goes in the direction of WindClan. “May StarClan light your paths, and all that good stuff.”

Brambleclaw makes a face as Crowpaw leaves. “He’s awful sour,” he mutters. “I hope we don’t have to work too closely together, whatever happens next.”

“Go easy on him, Brambleclaw, he’s just an apprentice,” Feathertail scolds.

“Yeah,” Tawnypelt adds, bumping their shoulders together. “Besides, StarClan knows what a sulky, sour apprentice you used to be.”

“I had a reason to be!” Brambleclaw cries, defensive. “You ran away and left--” He stops abruptly. It doesn’t matter, everybody can finish the sentence for him.

Tawnypelt steps away from him with a scowl. “You’re right, how silly of me to forget that everything was my fault.” She spins around and storms out of the clearing, her tail lashing, even as Brambleclaw tries to call her back and apologize.

He sighs, loud and heavy. Stormfur and Feathertail just stand there, awkward. Finally, without glancing at them, Brambleclaw mutters, “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to us,” Feathertail says. Then she adds, “For anything.”

Stormfur and Brambleclaw both look at Feathertail, surprised. She ignores Stormfur completely and offers Brambleclaw a gentle smile. “Anyway, littermates are hard. You don’t even know the kind of trouble Stormfur gives me.”

“Like what?”

Brambleclaw cracks the slightest smile. “Yeah, it’s definitely… not easy. But I think it’ll be okay. It has to be. StarClan called all of us together for a reason.”

They wrap up their goodbyes and then start to head home. Feathertail talks quickly the entire way, like she’s hurrying to get all of her thoughts out, the way she does when she’s excited about something and she’s worried someone is going to cut her off. Stormfur’s head is still spinning. It wasn’t just a strange dream. Oakheart visited Feathertail with a message from StarClan; three other cats had nearly the same dream. Feathertail talks and talks, but she never wonders what exactly StarClan wants with them. Nobody else poised the question at their meeting, either. But Stormfur wonders.

What kind of danger can StarClan forsee that they visit four powerless, ordinary warriors? Why do they need our help?

And then he has to correct himself: Their help, not mine. Them, not me.

--

Time seems to crawl as they wait for something to happen; someone to receive a new dream, a connection to finally click into place. Stormfur wonders what StarClan wants with his sister, wonders why, of all cats, they need Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt, and he wonders if Hawkfrost will ever stop acting like he doesn’t exist anymore.

“I don’t think he’s really upset with you,” Mothwing tells him, a sad look on her face. “I think it’s me. He’s upset that I want to be a medicine cat, like it’s going to drive a wedge between us or something, as if he isn't doing that all on his own right now.”

Stormfur shrugs, unconvinced, but it seems selfish to claim all of Hawkfrost’s anger, especially when there’s plenty of it to go around. 

--

Finally something does happen.

Mudfur prods Stormfur and Feathertail awake, then whispers, “Mistyfoot wants to introduce you to someone.”

--

A single black tom-kit. Feathertail coos at him as he kneads Mistyfoot’s soft stomach fur while he nurses. Stormfur can only stare at the kit in something akin to amazement.

“He’s wonderful, Mistyfoot,” Feathertail whispers.

“I agree,” Mistyfoot purrs, rasping her tongue across his back. “Say hello to your cousins, little one.”

Stormfur finally finds his words. “Does he-- does he have a name?”

There are so many cats that Mistyfoot could honor with her son; Stonefur, Oakheart, Graypool, Silverstream, Crookedstar--

“I like Reedkit.”

Stormfur blinks, caught off guard.

“Oh,” Feathertail says, simply. “That’s a good RiverClan name.”

Mistyfoot hums as she continues to lick her son. “I don’t see the point in naming him after somebody he’ll never know. Why place such an impossible burden on his shoulders?” She gives them both a meaningful look. “I want him to become his own cat. I don’t want him to be compared to someone else his entire life.”

Oh. Strangely, Stormfur feels emotional.

“Reedkit,” he repeats, blinking back the heat behind his eyes. “It’s perfect.”

--

The camp tingles with excitement; Mistyfoot, their deputy, has finally kitted.

Blackclaw soaks up the congratulations as if he did all the work; as if he didn’t say one word about Mistyfoot’s pregnancy the entire time she carried his kit. It’s Stormfur who stands guard outside the Nursery, refusing to let anyone get too close and disturb Mistyfoot’s precious time with her son.

Eventually Feathertail has to drag him all the way to the river so that Mistyfoot can receive visitors, and then she has to distract him so that he won’t want to return to camp, so she asks, conversationally, “Are you ever going to tell me why you and Hawkfrost suddenly want nothing to do with each other?”

“Haven’t you heard about our lovers’ spat?” Stormfur deadpans.

Feathertail purrs, amused. “Come on, I know Leopardstar was covering for you two that night. I just like to tease you.” She sits down in front of the river, mindful of her shadow and her reflection. “Come to think of it, though, you never did tell me what really happened that night.”

Stormfur lays down behind her, relieved that she’s not staring at him as he starts to panic. “We fought.”

“Well yeah, I knew that. You came home back to camp all bruised up. But why?”

He could tell her half the truth; that Hawkfrost saw her with Graystripe and threatened to tell the Clan. But Feathertail isn’t just a pretty face like their Clanmates seem to believe; she’s observant, intelligent. Her first question would be, “How did we not overhear you fighting, then?”

Because I brought him to Bonehill.

And then he would have to watch her expression contort into horror, and she would demand to know why, and he would have to tell her about Tigerstar, and Feathertail would never be able to look at Hawkfrost and Mothwing, the closest thing she has to friends her own age, the same way ever again.

Hawkfrost already hates him for never mentioning Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt before. Stormfur can’t risk that sort of anger from Feathertail either, ever.

But Stormfur has never been able to lie to Feathertail. She knows him better than anyone else, knows exactly how to read him. When Stormfur still hasn’t answered her and she turns to face him, it becomes difficult for Stormfur to breathe.

Think Stormfur, think think think--

“Hey!” A voice hisses. Stormfur and Feathertail snap to attention. 

“Who’s there?” Feathertail demands.

Brambleclaw’s head pops up from behind Sunningrocks. He has an uncertain look on his face. “Are you two alone?” he calls, keeping his voice low.

Stormfur exchanges a look with Feathertail before she calls back, “Yeah, all of our Clanmates are in camp.”

“Thank StarClan,” Brambleclaw breathes, stepping out from behind the rocks. “I had another dream last night, this time about drowning in water. But the water didn’t taste like the river; it was salty.”

Stormfur frowns. “Saltwater?” he repeats. “I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

“Neither have I, until I asked a loner that’s staying with ThunderClan right now-- oh, you remember Ravenpaw? Anyway, I asked him about it, and he said that he’s heard of a bay full of saltwater. It’s called the sun-drown-place.”

Stormfur isn’t sure he likes where this is going. Feathertail seems to share his thoughts. “Okay, so you had this dream… you’re not suggesting we go find this place, are you?”

Brambleclaw looks at them with a helpless expression. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah, not leave our Clans because you had a dream about salty water,” Stormfur cuts in. “Did Ravenpaw even say how to find this place?”

“He said to follow the setting sun.” Brambleclaw looks sheepish, like he knows how ridiculous he sounds. “Look, I understand that I’m asking a lot based off of another dream, but I know it was from StarClan. And no, I don’t know why StarClan wants us to go there, but-- you were both at the last Gathering. WindClan has no water, ShadowClan obviously is suffering from a lack of prey, and I don’t know about RiverClan but ThunderClan has its' own problems. It’s like there’s something in the air. I just know something is about to happen. If we can prevent it, then I think we have to try.”

Stormfur opens his mouth to say that RiverClan is doing just fine, thanks, and they will not be leaving their Clan to chase after a dream--

“I agree,” Feathertail says, silencing Stormfur’s thoughts. “StarClan sent us these dreams for a reason, and if we don’t at least try to figure out why, then I don’t want to be held responsible for whatever happens next.” 

Stormfur stares at his sister but she doesn’t even look at him as she asks Brambleclaw, “When do you want to leave?”

--

Stormfur can’t deny that StarClan sent these four cats dreams. Still he doesn’t understand why or what they want, but nobody else seems to care about that point. It makes him question if he shares the same raw faith in his warrior ancestors because he simply can’t imagine leaving the forest on a quest because of a dream.

He says as much to Feathertail after Brambleclaw has left, on his way to visit Tawnypelt in ShadowClan. Feathertail shrugs and says, “Maybe because you didn’t receive a dream. I don’t know how to explain it, Stormfur, but there was urgency in Oakheart’s message. I may not know what’s going to happen, but I know that I have to help prevent it.”

There’s something different about Feathertail right now. They’re on their way to the WindClan border, where their warriors will come from to drink from RiverClan’s water. She’s hoping to see Crowpaw so that she can ask him if he’ll leave WindClan in only two days to go on a quest. She’s standing taller, she’s walking with a purpose. She reminds him of Featherpaw, back when Graystripe was still a RiverClan warrior and Tigerstar was the very least of their concerns. Something about this quest is more important to her then she can put into words.

Stormfur can’t hold her back. He just doesn’t know if he can go with her.

Curse her ability to read his mind. Feathertail stops and turns to face him, a knowing look in her eyes. “Stormfur, you have to come with me.”

“Why?” he asks, and the bitterness in his voice surprises even himself. “I didn’t receive a dream.”

“That doesn’t matter to anyone, but even if it did, I don’t care what they think. I want you to come.”

Stormfur looks over his shoulder, back in the direction of camp. “You don’t need me to come, though, and if you’re right and something bad is going to happen, then maybe RiverClan needs me. I mean, Mistyfoot just had Reedkit, and Hawkfrost--” he stops. It dawns on him, I’d have to leave Hawkfrost. The thought makes his chest ache something fierce, something he can't explain.

Feathertail touches her nose to his ear, bringing him back to her. “You don’t have to come,” she says, softly. “Not if you don’t want to. It wouldn’t be fair of me to force you to do that. But Stormfur, no matter where I go, I am always going to need you.” She steps back and gazes at him with sky-blue eyes. “I’ll wait for Crowpaw by myself. Why don’t you go back to camp and think about it, okay?”

--

Stormfur is half-afraid that he’s going to walk into camp and all eyes are going to turn to him because they know something is going on. But he’s just paranoid; he walks into camp and no one seems to notice that he ever left.

Mothwing is in the Nursery with Mistyfoot and Mudfurr. Dawnflower is sharing tongues with Mosspelt and Emberdawn. Hawkfrost stands near the Rockpile and he’s part of quite the crowd; Blackclaw, Shadepelt, Skyheart, Heavystep, even some of the elders. As Stormfur approaches them, he starts to catch pieces of a conversation.

“... belong to RiverClan, then what are we waiting around for?”

“It’s not right to ambush another Clan while they are struggling.”

“But you heard Firestar at the last Gathering, ThunderClan isn’t struggling.”

“Blackclaw is right. This season is when fish are the most plentiful and our Clan is losing out by not being able to use Sunningrocks. If we stake an ambush now, they’ll not see it coming.”

That last voice belongs to Hawkfrost. Stormfur stops where he stands, frozen. Blackclaw stands atop a large stone and when he notices Stormfur, his eyes narrow slightly. “Well, Stormfur,” he says, loud enough to attract the attention of every cat in camp. “Do you agree, or do you think Sunningrocks belongs to ThunderClan?”

Anger starts to bubble in his stomach. “Who they rightfully belong to isn’t the question right now,” Stormfur retorts. “Shadepelt is right, all of the Clans are struggling right now--”

“Not ThunderClan,” Skyheart says again. “Unless of course, you know something that the rest of us don’t.”

Her question sets off a round of murmurs. All Stormfur knows is what Brambleclaw just told them, that ThunderClan is struggling somehow. It’s almost nothing to base an opinion on but he can’t even reveal that much to his Clanmates.

“Every leader will claim their Clan is strong at a Gathering,” Stormfur begins, swallowing. “Of course Firestar won’t admit to being weak--”

“Who cares if ThunderClan is weak right now?” Heavystep cuts in. “That just means our victory will come easily!”

Cheers meet Heavystep’s declaration. A pelt brushes against Stormfur’s, and he turns to face Mosspelt. She doesn’t say a word but he can read the warning in her eyes; Don’t let them get to you.  Stormfur realizes that he’s started to tremble. He meets her eye and nods, and tries to focus on his breathing rather than Blackclaw’s voice calling for Leopardstar.

“What is this about?” Leopardstar asks as she steps out of her den.

“Your Clan is ready to fight for Sunningrocks,” Blackclaw says, and there’s another round of cheers. “Whether ThunderClan is weak or not doesn't matter. Those rocks are a gift to RiverClan from StarClan, and we’ve allowed ThunderClan to have them for far too long.”

Stormfur prays that Leopardstar is still battle-weary after BloodClan, that she wants peace for as long as possible--

Slowly, a smirk spreads across Leopardstar’s face. “Is that so?” She asks. “Well, Blackclaw, this is your idea; when do you suggest we stake this ambush?”

Blackclaw shakes his head. “You’re asking the wrong cat, Leopardstar. This is Hawkfrost’s idea.”

Hawkfrost, who hasn’t said a word since he realized Stormfur was in camp. Hawkfrost, who is looking at him now with one of those fake smirks that he wears for show. Hawkfrost, whom Stormfur might be willing to choose over his own sister.

Stormfur doesn’t realize that betrayal is written all over his face until Blackclaw calls him out. “What’s the matter, Stormfur?” he jeers. “Surprised that Hawkfrost is actually a loyal warrior of RiverClan instead of a ThunderClan sympathizer?”

“Shut up, Blackclaw,” Stormfur spits, his muzzle wrinkling in a snarl. His vision is turning red, he doesn’t even hear Mosspelt whispering in his ear anymore--

“You know why his father was exiled from RiverClan, don’t you, Hawkfrost?” Blackclaw asks suddenly, and Stormfur’s entire body goes rigid. “It was during another ambush on Sunningrocks. Leopardstar ordered Graystripe to kill Fireheart, and he couldn’t do it. He could kill Whiteclaw, he could kill Silverstream, but when it came time to kill just one ThunderClan warrior, Graystripe proved where his loyalties lay.”

Blackclaw has jumped off the stone, and every word brings him closer and closer to Stormfur, and Stormfur can hear his Clanmates shouting now, but their voices sound far away. “That’s why Stormfur is so afraid to take Sunningrocks back. He’s got his father’s traitorous heart. He knows that when the time comes to choose, he’s going to choose ThunderClan .” 

They’re nose to nose now. Blackclaw’s eyes burn bright orange. Stormfur remembers when Mistyfoot called for Blackclaw as TigerClan warriors shoved them into an old foxhole, and all Blackclaw did was watch.

“Can’t trust a half-Clan cat for nothing,” Blackclaw hisses. “Especially not one that’s half-ThunderClan. Isn’t that right, Hawkfrost?”

Stormfur launches himself at Blackclaw with a furious snarl. They roll across the camp and cats scatter to avoid being caught in the fight. Stormfur pins Blackclaw down and he doesn’t hold back; his strikes are sharp and his blows are heavy and when Blackclaw’s thrashing exposes his neck, Stormfur doesn’t hesitate.

Blackclaw yowls. Suddenly, somebody is on Stormfur’s back, pulling him off by his scruff, shouting his name. Blood humming with adrenaline, Stormfur spins around and slices his claws across the cat’s face.

Hawkfrost stumbles back in shock, his cheek already starting to bleed. Stormfur doesn’t care. He holds Hawkfrost’s gaze even as cats start to pull him back, pin him down, keep him from lashing out again. 

Stormfur holds Hawkfrost’s gaze the entire time and he hopes Hawkfrost knows that he's not going to forgive him for this.

--

The adrenaline wears off long after Mudfur has treated his wounds; Blackclaw managed to land a few lucky strikes on him, but Blackclaw is far worse off. Mudfur is treating him by the Rockpile. 

Stormfur can hear Mistyfoot screaming at him. As the adrenaline wears off so does the numbness that allowed Stormfur to attack not one but two Clanmates; he feels sick. Mistyfoot just kitted; she doesn’t need to worry about cats taunting Stormfur, but she doesn’t need to worry about Stormfur not being able to keep his composure, either.

It’s like water off a duck’s back, Stonefur used to tell him. You have to choose to ignore it.

Stormfur’s never let anyone push him so far before. The reason is that he’s always had Feathertail to think about. He’s always been strong for her.

Feathertail is going to leave RiverClan in two days, and she doesn’t know when -- if -- she’s going to come back.

“Hey.”

Stormfur looks up. Hawkfrost is outlined in gray dusklight. The wound on his cheek has stopped bleeding, but Stormfur can already tell that it’s going to leave a scar.

“Is it true? It was your idea to ambush ThunderClan on Sunningrocks?”

Hawkfrost narrows his eyes. “Stormfur, it’s not what it sounds like. Listen. If during the ambush I can manage to draw Brambleclaw away, I can tell him that we’re brothers and we can start to meet up, maybe the same way that Feathertail and Graystripe do--”

“Are you serious?” Stormfur asks, his anger swiftly returning. “You proposed an ambush on another Clan so that you can talk to one cat?”

“What else am I supposed to do, wait another moon for the Gathering to roll around again and hope that we’re both chosen to attend? I’ve thought about it, and this is the best way--”

“Do you understand what you’ve done?!” Stormfur demands. “Do you understand the position you’ve put Feathertail and me in, the danger that you’ve put both Clans in?! All so you can meet one stupid cat?!”

Hawkfrost stiffens. “He’s not stupid, he’s my brother--”

“You’re just as disloyal as I am!” Stormfur snarls. “You heard Blackclaw say all those things about me in front of everybody and you didn’t have the nerve to defend me, even though every word he said also applies to you!”

“Excuse me for trying to hide my interest in ThunderClan--"

“Do you not care about me at all?!” Stormfur explodes. Hawkfrost’s eyes widen, caught off guard. “I’ve kept your secrets, I’ve defended you to our Clanmates, I’ve tried to be a good friend to you, and somehow you can listen to the things Blackclaw said about my father, about me, and you can just stand there and pretend it's not your fault?!”

“What is going on in here?” Mothwing hisses, shoving Hawkfrost to the side. “You’re lucky that Mistyfoot is so busy tearing Blackclaw a new one that no one else heard you, Stormfur!” She stops, then. Reads the look on his face. She turns to Hawkfrost and demands, “What did you do?”

“Me?” Hawkfrost cries. 

“Yes, you! You know what, get out of here and go defend your new best friend or something! Stars know that Blackclaw could use the support!” She starts pushing Hawkfrost out of the medicine den, his complaints falling on deaf ears. Stormfur can barely comprehend them himself.

How could he just stand there? I would have defended Hawkfrost against anybody, in a heartbeat. He just stood there, knowing it was his idea the entire time.

Stormfur tries to take in a deep breath but it gets stuck in his throat. He breathes faster, trying to catch his breath but he starts to choke--

“Stormfur, it’s alright,” Mothwing says, somehow by his side. “Hawkfrost has been such a jerk lately, I don’t know what’s gotten into him--”

“Mothwing, I can't, I can't,” Stormfur rasps in a broken voice, "I can't fight ThunderClan, I can't face my father on the battlefield, I can't--"

"Calm down Stormfur, we're going to figure it out. I'm sure we can do something to keep you in camp--"

"Why would Hawkfrost do this to me?" Stormfur laments, borderline hysterical. "I don't understand why he, I would never do this to him, I don't understand, I feel like he hates me."

“Trust me, Stormfur, he doesn’t hate you. He’s just--” Mothwing pauses as Stormfur looks up at her with watery amber eyes, and her own eyes soften. “I’m sorry, Stormfur,” she murmurs, helpless. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

Mothwing stays with Stormfur until he calms down well enough to sleep.

--

Voices wake him up. Feathertail and Mothwing.

“It was rough. I can’t believe Blackclaw has the nerve to say what he did, especially in the middle of camp.”

“Blackclaw has never trusted half-Clan cats. Honestly I’m surprised he tolerated Mistyfoot long enough to sire a second litter of kits. You said his wounds aren’t that bad, though?”

“No, it’s definitely not his wounds that I would worry about. I-- I know it sounds silly, but I think his heart is what hurts the most. I walked in on an argument between him and Hawkfrost…”

Stormfur turns his back to the world and blocks it all out.

--

He doesn’t find rest again, though. He just stares at the back of the den and listens to Mudfur’s snores and waits for the sun to rise so he can try to put the entire day behind hm.

“Stormfur.”

Stormfur closes his eyes and pretends he’s asleep.

“Stormfur, I… I do care about you. A lot. More than almost anyone. I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking about how ambushing ThunderClan would effect you, and I never expected the Clan to turn on you like it did. You’re right, I should have spoken up and defended you.”

Too late, Stormfur thinks, sore and exhausted.

“Stormfur, please. You’re a light sleeper, I know you can hear me.”

Go away. I don’t want to talk to you. He doesn’t know how to make that any clearer.

He isn’t ready for when Hawkfrost closes the distance between them and pushes his face into Stormfur’s scruff. “Stormfur,” he whispers, pleading, his scent suddenly suffocating. “I care about you. I promise I care.”

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity. Hawkfrost doesn’t plead for anyone or anything. Stormfur isn’t going to forgive him so easily, though, despite the way that every hair on his pelt is on fire and he wants to. He wants to forgive Hawkfrost for everything, every word, every glare. Stormfur wants to forgive him so badly that it hurts worse than any strike Blackclaw landed on him. 

But Stormfur is going to have to face the other half of his very being down in battle. If Leopardstar gives Stormfur the order to kill somebody (stars, what if it’s Graystripe?) then he’s not going to be able to do it. Stormfur is RiverClan but he might not be loyal.

And all of this is Hawkfrost’s fault.

Hawkfrost has made a fool of himself long enough. He pulls away from Stormfur and Stormfur can sense his anger; it fills the den, it drives Stormfur’s own anger. This is all his fault.

Hawkfrost leaves the den without another word.

--

The ambush is going to happen. Leopardstar sits ontop of the Rockpile with her senior warriors beneath her; somehow Hawkfrost has managed to be invited to the meeting as well. His tail twitches in anticipation.

Feathertail sits beside Stormfur, cautious. He knows that she doesn’t know where to begin. He makes it easy for her.

“Did Crowpaw agree to leave with you and Brambleclaw?”

Feathertail nods. “Tawnypelt, too. We’re meeting at Highstones tomorrow at moon-high and we’ll go on from there.”

Stormfur nods, slowly. “Sounds like a plan.”

He hears Feathertail take a breath. “I understand why you’re going to stay behind, but I just want to let you know that it won’t be the same without you--”

“I’m coming with you, Feathertail.”

She turns to face him, eyes bright. “Really?” She asks, and her response pulls a grin out of him. 

“Yes, really.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Just as quickly as it appeared, Stormfur’s grin disappears. He swallows, unsure of how to explain last night.

He doesn’t need to. Feathertail touches her nose to his shoulder and mutters, “Sorry, that’s a silly question. And it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m just happy that you’re coming along.” She offers him a crooked smile. “I’m going to need all the help I can get to make this group get along.”

Stormfur snorts. “I don’t even know if it’s worth the headache. We should just argue the entire time.”

“That’s the spirit, Stormfur.”

--

“Sleep well last night?” Hawkfrost asks later that day, knowingly. He has claw marks on his cheek and an old scratch on his shoulder.

Stormfur nods to the Rockpile. “How did your first war meeting go?”

“War meeting?” Hawkfrost repeats, exasperated. “It wasn’t a war meeting, Stormfur.”

Stormfur shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t know. Nobody trusted me enough to invite me. I imagine it’s because you can’t “trust a half-Clan cat for nothing”.” Stormfur locks eyes with Hawkfrost. “Especially not one that’s half-ThunderClan. That’s what Blackclaw claims, anyway, isn’t it?”

Hawkfrost’s eyes narrow. Stormfur glares with every ounce of anger that he still possesses.

None of their Clanmates exchange knowing looks or giggle or whisper about young love. Tension blankets the camp so thick that it’s almost suffocating. They stand like that for ages, silently, until Shadepelt finally pulls Hawkfrost onto a patrol.

--

Tomorrow at moon-high comes quickly. Too quickly.

Stormfur and Feathertail linger outside of the Nursery; Mistyfoot is wrapped around Reedkit like he’s the most precious thing in the world. To Mistyfoot, he is. 

The realization stings a little but it’s a good thing, mostly; Stormfur can’t imagine leaving Mistyfoot behind with no goodbye and no one for her to lean on while they’re gone. StarClan knows that Blackclaw is going to be absolutely useless. At least Reedkit will be some sort of distraction, somebody else for Mistyfoot to love while they’re gone.

He still feels guilty though. It reminds him of the day they left Graystripe behind in ThunderClan. At least Graystripe knew where they were going, understood why they we leaving.

“I hope Oakheart visits her in a dream, too,” Feathertail whispers in a kit-like voice. “Stars, I want to wake her up so badly.”

“She would never let us leave.”

“I know, but still. She’s going to make herself sick with worry.”

Stormfur licks the top of her head. “We’ll come back as soon as possible, and Mistyfoot is going to be so happy to see us that she won’t even have it in her to be mad at us.”

“Stormfur, she’s going to assign us to every dawn patrol for the rest of our lives.”

They share a quiet laugh, stepping away from the Nursery. Stormfur’s gaze is drawn to the warriors' den. 

He knows that his Clanmates are going to think that they left because of the ambush. They’re going to call them mouse-hearts, they’re going to claim that they knew all along; you can’t trust a half-Clan cat. They’re never going to forgive them, probably.

Hawkfrost is never going to forgive him, for sure. Especially when they launch the ambush on Sunningrocks and Brambleclaw is nowhere to be found. Hawkfrost is a clever cat. Stormfur wonders how long it’s going to take him to put the pieces together; Brambleclaw is with Stormfur, and Tawnypelt, too. The irony is something past cruel.

The ambush is going to be for nothing. That’s what makes Stormfur the angriest, makes him feel nauseous. He hopes Hawkfrost feels the same exact way once he realizes that it was a waste of time. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye?” Feathertail asks softly.

Stormfur shakes his head. “Seriously, Mistyfoot would never let us leave--”

“I wasn’t talking about Mistyfoot.” 

Stormfur shoots Feathertail a withering look. She doesn’t flinch. “I’m not fish-brained, Stormfur. Besides, it was just a question.”

After a moment, he shakes his head again. He doesn’t offer anything further than that.

“Alright,” Feathertail says, looking up at the moon. “Then we need to leave now.”

“Lead the way, star-chosen.”

Feathertail flicks his muzzle with her tail, and he can already tell that’s going to be a fun new nickname. Stormfur follows her, pausing only once to look back when the camp is almost obscured from view.

Stonefur, keep watch over Mistyfoot and Reedkit. Don’t let Mistyfoot worry about us too much. Tell her that we’re going to come home someday.

Keep my father safe in battle. I know you never held love for him, but please, for me and for Feathertail. We still need him. 

And then, because there’s no point in keeping secrets from the stars, Stormfur adds, Keep Hawkfrost from getting into too much trouble while I'm gone. He leaves it at that and then sprints to catch up with Feathertail.

Chapter Text

Two kin of Graystripe plus two kin of Tigerstar plus the stowaway daughter of Firestar and a sour WindClan apprentice; it’s the beginning of a bad joke. Stormfur finds humor in it, even as they start to argue about where to take shelter that night.

“I am not sleeping underneath a monster,” Crowpaw fumes.

“It’s asleep itself, mouse-brain!” retorts Squirrelpaw. “Brambleclaw and I slept underneath one on our way to Highstones and we’re still alive!”

“Well, hallelujah for that,” Crowpaw says, sarcastically. “I cannot believe I’m arguing with a cat who wasn’t even chosen to go on this quest! Why can’t you be like Stormfur and keep your mouth shut?”

“Hey!” Stormfur snaps.

“That’s enough.” Brambleclaw tries to assert himself as the leader of their group. “Why don’t we take a vote? There’s already one vote for underneath the monster, one vote for somewhere else; Tawnypelt, what about-- where did Tawnypelt go?”

Suddenl,y everyone realizes that Tawnypelt is missing. Only Feathertail doesn’t seem concerned as she nods to a hilltop and answers, “She went to find shelter after Squirrelpaw and Crowpaw started arguing again.”

Brambleclaw groans. “She went off by herself again?”

“You seriously expect her to stay and listen to Crowpaw’s whining?” Squirrelpaw asks.

“Okay, I can kind of understand why Stormfur is here, but what possessed you to bring Squirrelpaw along, Brambleclaw?”

It starts another round of arguing, of course. Stormfur shoots Feathertail a withering look.

“I thought you planned on playing the peacemaker on this quest?”

Feathertail shrugs. “I’ve decided you’re right: it’s not worth the headache.”

--

Tawnypelt, wonderful, short-tempered Tawnypelt, finds them an abandoned twoleg den to shelter in for the night. Crowpaw sniffs it suspiciously and asks, “What if the twolegs--”

Tawnypelt turns and fixes him with a cold stare. The complaint dies in Crowpaw’s mouth.

They start to build makeshift nests. Stormfur doesn’t even realize that he and Feathertail are scraping together just one nest to share until Squirrelpaw points it out. “I mean, it’s sweet, but don’t you like having your own nest to stretch out in?”

Squirrelpaw asks a lot of questions and she doesn’t really know when to stop. She’s just young, and she’s not malicious at all, but the question makes Stormfur realize that they probably do a lot of odd things that he can’t really explain.

Or, doesn’t want to explain. He stares at the nest and says, carefully, “It’s just something we’ve done since we were apprentices.” He hopes Squirrelpaw accepts that and leaves it alone.

“When did you start doing it?”

“Hare-brain,” Crowpaw grumbles. “He said when they were apprentices.”

“I heard that. I mean, when exactly?”

“After we returned to RiverClan,” Feathertail answers. Stormfur looks at her, panicking, but she doesn’t seem to share his unease.

“Returned?” Squirrelpaw repeats, eyes widening. Even Crowpaw looks curious now. “Returned from where?”

“From ThunderClan.”

Stormfur doesn’t understand why Feathertail is going this far. Across the den, Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt look distinctly uncomfortable.

Squirrelpaw blinks, confused. “You… lived in ThunderClan? I thought, I mean, I know Graystripe is your father but I thought you had always lived in RiverClan.”

“Nope,” Feathertail shakes her head. “We lived in ThunderClan for about a moon, right after we were made apprentices.” She nods across the den and says, “We were actually denmates with Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt for a while.” 

“What!” Squirrelpaw spins to look at Brambleclaw accusingly. “You never told me that!”

“It’s not,” Brambleclaw starts, then stops. “It’s never come up before.”

“Ashfur and Ferncloud were apprentices then, too,” Feathertail adds. “Ashfur was nice but Ferncloud was my favorite.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense. Ferncloud is everybody’s favorite.”

Squirrelpaw starts a story that Ferncloud told her, back when Ashfur was still an apprentice and he challenged a squirrel to an acorn fight (spoiler: the squirrel won). There’s something infectious about her storytelling, and soon everyone is laughing along with her. Nobody asks Stormfur another question about the nest.

He leans over to Feathertail and murmurs, “Why did you go that far? I mean, why not end the conversation?”

Feathertail shrugs. “I just feel… safe. Honestly, it’s kind of a relief to talk about it. We weren’t allowed to bring it up in RiverClan unless we wanted to start a fight or make everybody uncomfortable. Sometimes I start to question if all those things really happened to us.”

She’s still watching Squirrelpaw ramble and that’s for the best. Stormfur doesn't want her to see the look on his face. “Sometimes I start to question if all those things really happened to us.”

In a way he understands what she means, but he’s never thought of it before. The further they get from RiverClan the more Feathertail seems to relax; one day at a time, she’s been reverting back to the Featherpaw he knew before Bonehill. He didn’t realize…

He didn’t realize that she had been slowly, quietly suffocating in RiverClan.

Stormfur doesn’t know what to do with that realization, but it keeps him awake all night.

--

“They look dangerous,” Tawnypelt says, eyeing the creatures.

“They’re sheep,” Crowpaw repeats like that’s supposed to mean something. “We see them in WindClan all the time.”

“So they’re not going to attack us if we get too close?” Feathertail asks, wearily.

“Nope, they’re harmless. You can walk under their bellies and they wouldn't notice. They just live to chew and make dirt."

“Just like Brambleclaw,” Squirrelpaw remarks, and he cuffs her over the ears even as the others laugh. It’s enough to relax the group and they continue to follow the setting sun. “Does WindClan have any other weird creatures, Crowpaw?”

Crowpaw smirks and says, “You’re going to lose your mind when I tell you about cows.”

Crowpaw’s not as captivating a storyteller as Squirrelpaw, but the group listens intently as he talks about the different types of creatures that he’s seen from WindClan. Brambleclaw falls into step beside Stormfur and murmurs, “Looks like everyone is finally getting along.”

Yeah, finally, Stormfur thinks, but doesn’t say. He’s always struggled with Brambleclaw.

He’s the spitting image of Tigerstar; there’s no way around it. It’s unfortunate because Brambleclaw was the only cat besides Feathertail to speak up in defense of Stormfur coming along on their quest, and he seems like a nice enough cat, and now that they’re older and further away from TigerClan Brambleclaw doesn’t remind him much of Tigerstar anymore.

But now he reminds Stormfur of Hawkfrost. Some days, somehow, that’s worse.

Brambleclaw exhales and murmurs, “Look, I get that you don’t like me, but I promise I’m not going to kill you in your sleep or anything.”

I don’t dislike you, Brambleclaw, dies on his tongue. Stormfur is self-aware enough to realize that he resents Brambleclaw because of Hawkfrost’s interest in him; Hawkfrost was more than happy to cast Stormfur aside when he found out about Brambleclaw. But it doesn’t seem fair to let Brambleclaw assume that resentment is fueled by Tigerstar.

“Don’t take it personally, Brambleclaw. I don’t warm up to cats easily.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with anyone else here. Not even Tawnypelt.”

Stormfur bites down on a retort. It wouldn’t do well to say, Tawnypelt doesn’t look like Hawkfrost, or Hawkfrost wasn’t willing to wage war to meet Tawnypelt. 

“You just remind me of somebody.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Not your father,” Stormfur presses.

Brambleclaw snorts, unconvinced. “Then who?” 

“Just-- a Clanmate. You sort of look alike. We got into a fight right before I left RiverClan, and I guess I’m not over it yet.”

He stares ahead to avoid looking directly at Brambleclaw, so he notices when Feathertail’s ears flick backward, listening to their conversation. Stormfur glares holes in the back of her head until her ears perk forward again. Nosey.

“Whatever you say,” Brambleclaw finally says, but he still doesn’t sound convinced. Stormfur glances at him and immediately regrets it; Brambleclaw isn’t very good at hiding his emotions, or else he doesn’t care to. It fills Stormfur with enough guilt to try and work through the tension between them.

“I am glad that StarClan chose you for this quest, Brambleclaw. It’s kind of neat that we’re both traveling with our sisters, even if I’m technically not supposed to be here.”

Brambleclaw softens more easily than Hawkfrost does. “Yeah, I guess ‘neat’ is one word for it.”

“I bet you’re excited to be so close to Tawnypelt again.”

“I mean, sure. I was excited.”

Stormfur glances at him again. “Was?” he echoes.

“I am excited,” Brambleclaw corrects, but there’s a note of frustration in his voice. “It’s just-- we’re older now, and we haven’t shared a Clan in moons, and she’s not the same cat that I remember. I guess I thought we would come together on this quest like no time had passed at all, but instead I feel like I’m always saying the wrong things to her.”

Stormfur’s gaze slips back to Feathertail. She’s invested in a conversation with the others, no longer straining to overhear him. Stormfur mutters, “I get that.”

Brambleclaw eyes him. “You do? But you and Feathertail share a nest, for StarClan’s sake. You’re closer than any pair of littermates that I’ve ever met.”

Stormfur isn’t sure if he should point out that their entire relationship is built on shared trauma. He opts against it and instead replies, “I mean, I don’t fully understand where you’re coming from, but the part about her not being the same cat that you remember… I get that.”

She’s reverting back to the Feathertail that he does remember, the Feathertail that Stormfur has felt guilty for missing, but it’s been so long that now this version of Feathertail is unfamiliar to him. He doesn’t really know this Feathertail anymore.

Brambleclaw lets the silence linger, in case Stormfur isn’t finished. After a moment, Stormfur continues. “She changed after we returned to RiverClan. I know that’s not fair because I changed, too, but she used to be an entirely different cat. Every day since we returned, I’ve thought that she would still be the same cat that I remember if only we’d stayed in ThunderClan.”

“Can I ask, why did you go back to RiverClan after everything that happened? It wasn’t-- it wasn’t because of me, was it?”

Stormfur looks at him, surprised. “Do you think that was why…?”

Brambleclaw shrugs, not meeting his eye. “That’s what I overheard Ashfur tell Ferncloud, once, when we were still apprentices. You were closer to them than me, so how would I know if it was true?”

Stormfur is really tired of sons of Tigerstar making him feel guilty. “No, it had nothing to do with you. My mentor, Stonefur, sacrificed his life to protect me and Feathertail. He thought he was protecting two future RiverClan warriors. I thought if we stayed behind in ThunderClan and became RiverClan’s enemy, then his sacrifice would be wasted.”

“I thought if I ran away from ThunderClan, I would be proving everybody right when they compared me to my father. Do you regret going back to RiverClan?”

Stormfur’s chest tightens. “I… I think I would have regrets no matter what I chose. I might feel more comfortable in ThunderClan but I would die believing that Stonefur was angry with me. I might still feel uneasy in RiverClan, but at least I know that I’ve made Stonefur proud, and I’m honoring his memory every day. What about you? Do you ever wish that you had gone to ShadowClan with Tawnypelt?”

“Sometimes. I know ShadowClan has its reputation in the forest, but it probably would’ve been easier to start over somewhere else. At the same time, though, I didn’t want to share a Clan with my father, and I don’t think I could have lived under a leader like Blackstar. Honestly, I’m surprised that you were able to forgive Leopardstar.”

Have I forgiven Leopardstar? Stormfur wonders with a jolt. They made peace that night at Bonehill, but has he truly let go of the horrors that she watched him go through as an apprentice?

He doesn’t feel angry when he thinks about her anymore, at least. He hasn't seen her or Tigerstar or Bonehill in his nightmares in a few moons.

“Yeah,” Stormfur says, sounding surprised even to himself. “I didn’t think I would be able to forgive her, either. But I guess it’s part of growing up and maturing.”

“Well, good for you and Feathertail, then.”

There’s not really a reason to correct, No, not Feathertail, so Stormfur doesn’t bother. They walk in silence together but it’s not as tense as it was before. Brambleclaw isn’t so bad.

“I’m happy you’re here too, by the way,” Brambleclaw adds, abruptly. “You’re the only cat here who doesn’t make me want to claw my own ears off at least once a day.”

That earns him a laugh from Stormfur, and the silence turns downright companionable now. Yeah, Brambleclaw really isn’t that bad at all. Maybe he’ll tell Hawkfrost so when they return to the forest.

--

None of the quest cats are that bad. The longer they journey together, the more fond Stormfur becomes of each of them.

Tawnypelt is quick-witted and truly confident. Sometimes she says or does something and she reminds him of Mistyfoot, and it’s awfully high praise, but Stormfur thinks she might be the perfect warrior.

Brambleclaw isn’t as confident as his littermate, but there’s something inside of him that pulls him to the front of the group, something inside of him that doesn’t know how to give up. Stormfur admires it, even relates to it.

Squirrelpaw is the most energetic cat he’s ever met, and it’s infectious. She seems drawn to him for some reason; maybe because he actually answers all of her random questions or maybe because neither of them are star-chosen. Regardless, he’s truly thankful that she demanded Brambleclaw bring her along on the quest.

Crowpaw is the only cat that Stormfur doesn’t know what to think of.

Stormfur doesn’t consider himself a hard cat to get along with, but Crowpaw makes it clear that he doesn’t want to be friends with Stormfur or anyone else for that matter.

Well, Stormfur thinks to himself, watching as Crowpaw drifts closer and closer to Feathertail’s side. Almost anyone.

--

“Go easy on him, Storm,” Feathertail murmurs when he mentions as much to her, the two of them bringing up the back of the pack. “He’s the only cat here who doesn’t have somebody.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you and I have each other; Tawnypelt and Brambleclaw have each other, and Squirrelpaw has Brambleclaw. Who does Crowpaw have to lean on within the group?”

“You think he wants somebody to lean on?”

Feathertail shrugs. “I think everybody does, deep down. It’s just difficult for him to admit it.”

--

It’s weird to see another cat standing so close to Feathertail. It’s even weirder that Feathertail hasn’t found a way to excuse herself and hide from him.

--

Stormfur has lost count of how many days they’ve been journeying. The only things he’s sure of is that his paw pads ache and he would give anything for a fat trout.

He can tell that the others are thinking the same thing. All day, the group mostly made small talk. There haven’t been any jokes, any arguing, any laughter. Even Squirrelpaw has been quiet. Something about the day just feels heavy.

Stormfur realizes what’s dragging them down after the sun has set behind the horizon and the full moon rises. “The Gathering is tonight.”

The silence that follows his statement is thick, weighted. Feathertail brushes up beside him, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing: I never thought I would be so homesick for RiverClan.

“Let’s make camp for the night,” Brambleclaw finally says. No one protests.

They scrape their nests together in silence. It’s starting to eat at Stormfur. He’s gotten used to chatter that flows like a stream, easy and comfortable. He wishes someone would just say something, even if Squirelpaw just blurted out one of her random questions--

“So, Stormfur,” Squirrelpaw begins, “do you have anyone waiting on you back in RiverClan?” All heads swivel towards him, expecting; Feathertail grins.

“I mean, I know Mistyfoot misses us--”

“No, I meant, like, in a romantic way.”

I asked for this. I literally asked for this.

“Oh. Then I guess not?”

“Really?” Brambleclaw asks, and Stormfur can’t fathom why he sounds surprised by that. It makes Stormfur’s pelt feel like it’s two sizes too tight.

“I mean, I don’t think anyone has ever really thought about me like that before-”

Feathertail snorts. Before he can stop himself, he turns to face her with an accusatory look and asks, “What?”

“Ohh,” Tawnypelt drawls. “Feathertail knows something!”

“It’s nothing,” she replies, innocent. “If Stormfur doesn’t want to admit to it, I won’t force him.”

“Lame,” Crowpaw says. “Stop playing coy so that we can all go to sleep, Stormfur.”

Stormfur scowls. “I’m not playing coy. Nobody has ever had a crush on me, at least not in RiverClan.”

His answer seems to physically pain Feathertail. “Stormfur, please. If you’re going to lie about it, at least don’t go so extreme.”

“I’m not lying!” Stormfur cries, his fur fluffed in distress. “If you know something that I don’t know, Feathertail, you’re more than welcome to enlighten me!"

Feathertail squints at her brother as a hush falls over the group. Then she asks, “Have you seriously never noticed Hawkfrost and Dawnflower fighting over you?”

If the wind were to pick up just a little bit, it would be enough to knock Stormfur over.

“Two cats are mooning over you?” Squirrelpaw demands. “I only asked you to share one, and here you are with two!”

“Technically, I count three cats because one time Mothwing told me that if she were into toms, she would jump Stormfur’s bones.”

The entire group starts shouting at this revelation, equal parts thrilled and scandalized. “Mothwing did not say that to you,” Stormfur accuses, only able to focus on one thing at a time.

“She totally did. She was all like, “Do you think they really jumped each other’s bones?” and I said, “Who knows, there’s always tension between those two”, and Mothwing said, “Well, good for Hawkpaw, I would jump Stormpaw’s bones too if I was into toms”.”

“When was this?” Stormfur demands. Only a moment too late does he piece together the answer for himself, and then he panics. “Wait, don’t--”

“It was right after Leopardstar basically told the entire Clan that you and Hawkfrost snuck out of camp in the middle of the night to jump each other’s bones.”

Crowpaw inhales such a sharp breath that he begins choking on it. Brambleclaw demands, “Leopardstar did what?!”

“We were apprentices!” Stormfur rushes to defend himself. “And nothing happened! We just-- we wanted to spar, that’s all!”

Tawnypelt eyes Stormfur like he’s personally insulted her intelligence. “Stormfur, do you honestly expect us to believe that you and another cat snuck out in the middle of the night to spar?”

“We were-- you know, hot-blooded and we had a lot of emotions to work through!”

Squirrelpaw cackles. “I’m never going to complain about Firestar embarrassing me ever again!”

Stormfur fixes Feathertail with a glare because this is all her fault. “Traitor,” he hisses.

“You asked,” Feathertail replies with a shrug.

“Wait,” Crowpaw finally manages to speak, finally overcoming his coughing fit. “Who’s Dawnflower?”

“Just a friend!”

Feathertail snorts. “Stormfur saved her from drowning like two moons ago, and she’s been head-over-heels for him ever since.”

“Aw,” Tawnypelt says. “That’s sweet. Way sweeter than you sneaking out and getting your bones jumped, Stormfur.”

“Can we please stop saying that?!”

Feathertail raises her voice and agrees, “It is sweet! And then it’s also very entertaining whenever Hawkfrost and Dawnflower have to be near each other to do anything because they just glare at each other the entire time, and Stormfur is completely oblivious.”

The wind picks up a little bit and knocks Stormfur over. He lies in his makeshift nest and bemoans, “I can’t believe this.”

“Oh, poor you,” Brambleclaw mumbles. Suddenly he can’t even look at Stormfur anymore.

Feathertail tries to settle into the nest with Stormfur, but he pushes her away. “Make your own nest tonight,” he grumbles.

Feathertail blinks, annoyed. “You know I can’t sleep by myself!”

Crowpaw clears his throat. “I think I made my nest a little bit big--”

Stormfur moves over to make room for Feathertail, shooting her a look that clearly reads, Don’t even think about it. Feathertail rolls her eyes, good-naturedly, and climbs into their nest. “Thanks anyway, Crowpaw.”

Suddenly Crowpaw can’t look at him anymore, either. Stormfur is perfectly okay with that. He actually wouldn’t mind if nobody ever looked at him again. Stormfur wouldn’t mind if everyone just forgot that he existed, even.

Reading his thoughts, Feathertail purrs. “You’re so dramatic. As if you truly didn’t know, fish-brain.”

No, thinks Stormfur. I didn’t.

Mercifully, the excitement that comes with discussing these sorts of things is enough to drain the entire group, and it’s not long after that that every cat is resting easily.

--

Now that they’re full-fledged RiverClan warriors, Leopardstar has stopped hiding Hawkfrost and Mothwing like they’re some sort of secret. Suddenly Mistyfoot is allowed to assign them to patrol Clan borders.

Skyheart leads Stormfur, Hawkfrost, and Heavystep to ThunderClan’s. Hawkfrost tries to appear nonchalant but Stormfur notices the excited flick of his tail. He has to bite down on his grin or else it’ll start an argument, and Skyheart and Heavystep already have a problem with their impure blood. They break into pairs and make small talk until they reach the border, and then they stop.

The ThunderClan patrol is already there, marking their border. Graystripe leads the patrol. Tension immediately falls over the two groups, even when Graystripe smiles that disarming smile he’s so well-known for. “Morning, RiverClan.” His gaze practically skips over Stormfur entirely.

“Morning, ThunderClan,” Heavystep replies, dryly. “Looks like it’s going to be another warm day. Think you’ll enjoy Sunningrocks today?”

Stormfur shoots Heavystep a sharp look, but Graystripe only shrugs, still smiling that smile. “Oh, maybe. We certainly enjoyed them yesterday.” His Clanmates snicker.

Heavystep frowns and opens his mouth to say something, but Skyheart clears her throat and gives him a very pointed look. Heavystep grits his teeth.

They continue remarking in silence. Stormfur does his best not to pay much attention to the other patrol; he recognizes Brackenfur, Thornclaw, and Whitepaw. He resists the urge to call out to them, friendly. Eventually ThunderClan finishes their business, and Graystripe wishes them well before leading his patrol out of sight.

Skyheart looks at Heavystep, unimpressed. “Subtle.”

“Can you blame me?” Heavystep demands. “I understand why Leopardstar isn’t ready to take back Sunningrocks, but do they always have to act so smug about it?”

“You brought it up first,” Stormfur grumbles.

“Come again, Stormfur?” Heavystep asks, turning to face him with a hard glint in his eyes. Stormfur meets his gaze evenly and does not repeat himself. Heavystep snarls lowly and then stomps ahead, leaving the group behind. Skyheart sighs, annoyed, and follows him. Hawkfrost gives Stormfur a look before following as well, leaving him alone. Stormfur sighs heavily.

“You don’t have to do that for me, Stormfur.”

He stares at his paws. “Heavystep is too full of himself anyway.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. He was like that when I lived in RiverClan, too.”

Stormfur looks up, across the river, and meets his father’s eye. Graystripe smiles at him, and Stormfur wants to close the distance between them so badly that it aches.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. How have you been lately?”

“I’ve been alright.” A thought strikes him. “I have a best friend, now.”

“Really? You’ve replaced Feathertail?”

“Not replaced. It’s-- different.”

Graystripe smiles, knowingly. “I know it is.”

“His name is Hawkfrost.”

“That other tom on your patrol? I thought it was strange I didn’t recognize him.”

Stormfur nods.

“Good. I’m glad you have Clanmates that you can lean on, Stormfur. Think I’ll see you at the next Gathering?”

“Hopefully, since I didn’t attend the last one.”

Graystripe nods. “I’ve got to get back to my patrol, but tell Feathertail and Mistyfoot I said ‘hello’, alright?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And hey, if Hawkfrost is chosen to attend the Gathering as well, make sure you introduce us, alright? I’d like to meet him.”

Heat rises to Stormfur’s face, but he nods. “I’ll try. Bye, dad.”

“Take care, Stormfur.”

Graystripe turns and leaves for real this time. Stormfur watches him go until he’s gone from sight, and then he sighs and goes to rejoin his patrol again. 

He skids to a halt right in front of Hawkfrost, who looks at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “That’s your father?”

“You were eavesdropping?” Stormfur demands, and if his face was hot before, then it’s on fire right now. 

“Only for that last part; Skyheart sent me to fetch you, just in case you were doing-- well, exactly this. Don’t worry, I’ll tell her that you just fell into the stream.”

Stormfur narrows his eyes, confused. “Why would you tell her that--”

Hawkfrost shoves him into the stream. When Stormfur appears, stuttering, he’s got half a mind to give Hawkfrost a brand new scratch, but then Hawkfrost leans down and they’re noses apart and Hawkfrost is smirking and Stormfur can’t remember how to form a coherent thought.

“You told your dad about me.”

Stormfur forms exactly one coherent thought and it’s, I should just drown myself.

“Don’t worry. I think it’s sweet.”

No more coherent thoughts.

“Stormfur!” Skyheart scolds as she and Heavystep appear out of nowhere. “What are you-- why are you in the stream?!”

A half-coherent thought. “I-- fell.”

Heavystep rolls his eyes so hard that it looks like it hurts. Skyheart shakes her head, beyond annoyed, and says, “Well climb out, for StarClan’s sake. I swear, you young warriors are helpless on your own.”

Stormfur climbs out and shakes his pelt dry, avoiding making eye contact with anyone. Skyheart grumbles curse words under her breath the entire way back to camp.

Hawkfrost brushes slightly against Stormfur’s side and teases, again, “You told your dad about me."

Stormfur pretends he doesn’t hear Hawkfrost. It doesn’t work.

“I think Stormfur hit his head when he fell,” Heavystep mutters to Skyheart. “He’s got a weird look on his face.”

Skyheart rolls her eyes and grumbles, “Toms.”

--

Stormfur wakes up. It takes him a long moment to gather his bearings; the dream felt so real, he didn’t expect it to even be a dream.

No, wait, Stormfur remembers. Not a dream. It was a memory.

That actually happened.

Hawkfrost actually-- Stormfur remembers emerging from the stream as clear as day, the smirk on Hawkfrost’s face, the heat that radiated off of him in waves, the fondness in his voice as he teased Stormfur. 

Oh, thinks Stormfur. Hawkfrost was totally into me.

--

They resume traveling the next day. The atmosphere surrounding the group isn’t quite as heavy anymore; they joke, they argue, they laugh. It feels normal again. 

If teasing the life out of Stormfur is what it takes to bring the morale back up, then maybe he serves a purpose on this quest after all.

--

Stormfur starts to dream about Hawkfrost nearly every night. Sometimes they’re memories and sometimes they really are dreams, but he wakes up disappointed every morning when he remembers that the other tom is halfway across the earth.

--

He starts to feel like a lovesick apprentice. Everywhere Stormfur looks he’s somehow reminded of Hawkfrost. He takes comfort in the fact that he’s not literally a lovesick apprentice, unlike Crowpaw.

Squirrelpaw is telling a story about the time that she and her best friend, Shrewpaw, hid in the trees from their mentors all day, but Crowpaw isn’t paying her a bit of attention; he only has eyes for Feathertail. Something Squirrelpaw says makes Feathertail laugh, and the smile that spreads across Crowpaw’s face is downright smitten.

It wouldn’t really be a problem, except Feathertail still doesn’t excuse herself whenever their hips bump or whenever their eyes catch and linger for a moment too long. If they were back in RiverClan, Feathertail would cite an upset stomach and disappear for the entire day.

But they’re not in RiverClan, and Stormfur doesn’t recognize this version of Feathertail, and he’s starting to worry that it’s because he’s never seen Feathertail in love before.

--

It’s been a long day. 

The group ran into an old tom named Purdy who swore he knew exactly where the sun-drown-place was, and he swore that he could lead them there, and instead he led them right into a rat’s nest. They eventually defeated the rats but not before one of them landed a nasty bite on Tawnypelt’s shoulder.

It doesn’t take a medicine cat to see that it was rapidly growing infected.

Purdy, for all of his faults, knew to make himself scarce for the night. 

“You can’t be serious,” Crowpaw says, eyes wide. “You want to keep following him tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m with Crowpaw on this one,” Tawnypelt adds, wincing as she shifts in her nest. “Screw Purdy.”

Brambleclaw shakes his head. “Look, I understand he’s annoying, but remember Crowpaw’s saltwater sign? We never would have gotten that sign if Purdy hadn’t led us to that goldfish pond!”

“Brambleclaw has a point,” Feathertail agrees. “We got lost and StarClan sent us a guide… however untrustworthy.”

“Why don’t we take a vote?” Stormfur suggests. “All in favor of ditching our guide first thing tomorrow morning?”

Only Tawnypelt raises her tail. She blinks, then glares. “Crowpaw!”

Crowpaw shrugs, like even he isn’t happy about his own decision, but he mutters, “He did lead me to that saltwater sign, Tawnypelt.”

Stormfur narrows his eyes. He’s just siding with Feathertail.

“Oh, screw all of you. I’m the one who got bit by a rat, my vote should count double!”

“You would still be outnumbered,” Squirrelpaw points out.

“Screw you double, Squirrelpaw.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Brambleclaw interrupts, coming to stand between the two she-cats. “We’re all tired and frustrated. Let’s split up and see if there’s any prey nearby.” He pauses, then looks back at Tawnypelt. “Not you, though, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Tawnypelt hisses. Despite the fact that it causes her a great deal of pain, she rolls over so that the entire group is forced to face her back. Tawnypelt doesn’t usually remind Stormfur of Hawkfrost, but right then, the pettiness shines through.

Brambleclaw sighs, loud and heavy, and ventures into the undergrowth, Squirrelpaw right on his tail. Stormfur turns to Feathertail and asks, “Do you think that stream we passed by has any fish in it?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“I’ll come with you two,” Crowpaw says, and Stormfur’s frustration spikes.

Feathertail fixes him with a teasing eye. “Since when do you fish?” she asks.

Crowpaw shrugs, and there’s that same smitten smile spreading across his face again. “I don’t, yet, but I’m a quick learner.”

“No,” Stormfur says sharply before he can stop himself. Feathertail and Crowpaw turn to face him, bewildered; even Tawnypelt lifts her head and flicks her ears back toward them. Stormfur clears his throat and forces himself to speak slowly. “I mean, Feathertail and I haven’t spent any littermate bonding time together in a while.”

Crowpaw scowls. “You literally share a nest with her every night.”

“And?” Stormfur presses, eyes narrowing. “She’s my sister, I don’t have to share her with anybody.”

“Share her?” Crowpaw repeats, indignant. “How about you let Feathertail decide who she wants to spend time with?”

Stormfur barks out a laugh. “Do you think she would ever choose to spend time with you over me, Crowpaw?”

“That’s enough!” Feathertail raises her voice, moving to stand between the toms. She levels an irritated look at Stormfur; he meets it dead on, unwavering. Without so much of a glance in his direction, Feathertail says, “Crowpaw, sit this one out. I’ll teach you to fish another day.”

Feathertail doesn’t see the hurt that flashes across Crowpaw’s face but Stormfur does, and he doesn’t bother hiding his satisfaction. Crowpaw slinks away, the irritable ball of piss that he is, and Feathertail says in a cool voice, “Lead the way, Stormfur.”

--

“Crowpaw has feelings for you.”

Stormfur is looking down into the stream but he can still feel Feathertail’s stare. “That’s what has you so worked up? Stormfur, even a newborn kit could see that!”

“Okay, could a newborn kit see that you clearly have feelings for him as well?” Stormfur snaps, looking up to meet her gaze now.

Feathertail frowns. “Stormfur, I don’t--”

“Don’t waste your breath lying to me, Feathertail.”

Feathertail is silent for a moment, and then she says, “Fine. I won’t.”

Stormfur knows his sister better than he knows anyone else, sometimes better than he even knows himself. Still, her admission leaves him feeling hollow, no trace of his earlier satisfaction. “So why haven’t you rejected him yet?”

“Why would I do that?”

“You’re going to just keep leading him on?”

“I’m not leading him on--”

“Oh, so he’s going to join RiverClan once we return to the forest?” Stormfur asks sharply, and finally, Feathertail flinches. “Or are you going to join WindClan? Or you’re going to start meeting up in secret, hide your relationship from the entire Clan--”

“Shut up!” Feathertail snaps. “You’re being a snake-heart, Stormfur!”

Stormfur hisses, “Are you truly that stupid, Feathertail? That you would willingly repeat our mother’s mistakes? Do you not realize that you’re just one forbidden relationship away from getting yourself killed?”

Stormfur expects her to snarl and shout. Instead Feathertail rises to her paws, blue eyes flashing with lightning, and says in a deadly calm voice, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Stormfur.” He realizes she’s shaking. “So shut up. Leave me alone. And if you say one more word to me about my relationship with Crowpaw, I’ll make sure that Tawnypelt isn’t the only one limping along on this journey.”

She breezes past him before he can open his mouth and say something he regrets. Stormfur watches her leave, probably going to find Crowpaw, he thinks viciously, and the thought makes him want to follow her and continue to hound her. However.

He’s never gone claw-to-claw with Feathertail before and he’s not going to change that now. Especially not over someone as insignificant as Crowpaw.

--

The rest of the evening passes by slowly. When Stormfur finally returns with a couple of minnows in his jaws, only Tawnypelt is in their makeshift camp. 

“Where’s everyone else?” Stormfur asks, setting down his minnows.

Tawnypelt shrugs, wincing. “Stars if I know. You’re the first one back.”

Stormfur looks up at the sky; the sun has long since set, and the first StarClan warriors have begun to appear. “I thought I’d be the last one back, honestly.”

Tawnypelt just grunts. Stormfur begins scraping together his makeshift nest. Once that’s finished, he forces himself to eat at least one of the minnows, despite his lack of appetite. It bothers him that no one else has returned from hunting yet. It also bothers him that he can think of absolutely nothing to break the silence between himself and Tawnypelt.

He likes Tawnypelt. Still, he realizes, they’ve never had a conversation just the two of them before.

“So,” Stormfur tries. “Do you have any romantic prospects waiting for you back in ShadowClan?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

The silence returns, somehow more awkward this time.

“I’ve never snuck out of camp in the middle of the night to 'spar' with another cat, either.”

Stormfur shoots her a hard look. “That’s because you’re in ShadowClan; it wouldn’t be 'sneaking' for you.”

“Fair,” Tawnypelt concedes. “In that case, I’ve never snuck out in broad daylight to--”

“I get it.”

--

Stormfur was embarrassed by his measly minnows, but it seems that nobody had much luck hunting. When the other four cats finally return, there are two mice and a frog among them all. 

“That’s it?” Tawnypelt demands. “For StarClan’s sake, I could have caught all of that by myself, even with an infected rat bite!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Crowpaw grumbles, flopping down onto the ground; he doesn’t bother to scrape a nest together. 

Squirrelpaw speaks up, “In my defense, I have a weird taste in my mouth and it was throwing off my scenting--”

“Stop it with that lame excuse, Squirrelpaw."

Squirrelpaw turns to Stormfur and says, “I did find a ditch deep enough that we could dump Crowpaw in and no one would ever find him.”

Stormfur blinks. Considers it. Really considers it.

“Leave him alone, Stormfur,” Feathertail snarls lowly, walking past him. Stormfur shoots her an offended look.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You were thinking it!”

“It’s bedtime,” Brambleclaw announces, borderline hysterical. “Everyone, get in your nests, now!”

The group grumbles at being told what to do, but nobody actually protests. They’ve all gotten pretty good at sensing when Brambleclaw’s sanity is about to snap in half-- Wait.

Stormfur stares at Feathertail as she curls up in a pile of grass that she scraped together, right next to Crowpaw. Stormfur doesn’t know which emotion is winning the war inside his chest right now, the anger or the hurt, but it’s so much that he can’t form a coherent sentence.

Crowpaw catches Stormfur’s eye, and the expression on his face is downright smug. Stormfur decides that first thing in the morning, he’s going to help Squirrelpaw drag Crowpaw to whatever ditch she’s found, no matter how hard he thrashes and pleads.

--

First thing in the morning finds Tawnypelt curled up into a tight ball, shivering. The rat bite already looks twice as bad as it did the night before.

“There’s no way we can travel today,” Stormfur says, grim, as Brambleclaw curls up around Tawnypelt, trying to keep her warm.

Nobody points out, We can’t travel at all until she gets better.

--

Stormfur goes fishing by himself. He isn’t hungry, and he doubts the others are, either, but at least this gives him something to focus on instead of worrying around their makeshift camp.

The sky is an interesting shade of blue that morning, he notices. He studies it for a moment, trying to puzzle out why it’s caught his attention. It takes him entirely too long to realize that it’s the same shade of blue as Hawkfrost’s eyes.

Stormfur snorts, self-loathing. He settles down in front of the stream, prepared to make himself useful, but he startles when he sees his reflection.

For a moment, Graystripe stares back at him. Then Graystripe disappears and Stormfur is alone again.

His mind unguarded, he wonders, Did they finally meet in battle?

He hangs his head and thinks pitifully to himself, I want to go home.

--

Stormfur catches another minnow, this one quite large. Almost as large as a newborn kitten.

Stormfur wonders how big Reedkit has grown. He wonders if Reedkit resembles Blackclaw, wonders if he’s going to have Mistyfoot’s deep blue eyes, if he’s going to inherit any of her ThunderClan traits. He wonders if Mistyfoot has told Reedkit stories about him and Feathertail, or if it’s better not to fill a kit’s head with stories of cats they might not ever meet.

Stormfur gets up and heads back to camp, his minnow completely forgotten on the sandy shore.

--

When he returns to camp, Squirrelpaw is spitting on Tawnypelt’s shoulder.

“Why?” Stormfur utters, confused.

“It’s burdock root!” Squirrelpaw announces, and only then does Stormfur see the pulp on Tawnypelt’s wound. “The taste I couldn’t get out of my mouth last night, I realized it’s burdock root! Good for infected rat bites!”

Stormfur blinks. He meanders to Tawnypelt’s side and asks, “How does the bite feel now?”

“Better,” she says with a sigh. “Not great, but better.”

“Squirelpaw, you’re a genius,” Stormfur says. “How did you know about burdock root?”

“Leafpaw is always telling me herb facts, says it helps her retain the information better. I guess some of it stuck with me!” She spits another mouthful onto the bite, then adds, “Hey, can you repeat that whole, ‘Squirrelpaw, you’re a genius’ thing when Brambleclaw comes back?”

--

By the end of the day, Tawnypelt’s wound looks much better. The smell of infection is rapidly fading. Still, they agree to rest one more day before resuming their journey.

Stormfur curls up in his nest that night, while Feathertail sleeps in her pitiful excuse for a nest beside Crowpaw. Stormfur is painfully aware of the fact that he and Feathertail haven’t said one word to each other all day.

--

Stormfur wakes up the next morning and resolves to work things out with Feathertail, no matter how long they have to spend doing it. Feathertail is his littermate, the one constant he’s had his entire life, and he’s not going to let something as insignificant as an apprentice’s crush drive a wedge between them forever.

His resolve wavers when he finds Feathertail by the stream, with Crowpaw. They’re talking softly; Stormfur listens for a while and realizes that she’s teaching him how to fish. I didn’t mean it when I asked if he would be joining RiverClan, Stormfur thinks to himself. He wants to say it aloud, to Feathertail, but watching them now feels like intruding on a private moment. After what feels like ages, Stormfur’s resolve breaks, and he turns to return to their makeshift camp with a heavy heart.

He doesn’t make it very far when he runs into Tawnypelt, literally.

“Let’s go somewhere private and talk, Stormfur,” she says, in a tone he knows not to protest against. “I’ve got some wisdom to drop on you.”

According to Brambleclaw, Tawnypelt needs to rest her shoulder as much as possible before they resume their journey. But between the littermates, Stormfur thinks he faces a better chance against Brambleclaw.

He goes with her.

--

“Feathertail is a smart cat, you know.”

“Even smart cats make foolish decisions when they’re in love. I’ve heard enough stories about my mother to know that.”

“You think she’s in love with Crowpaw?”

Her question prompts him to pause. Then, slowly, he asks, “Do you think so?”

Tawnypelt shrugs, mindful of her still-sore wound. “I haven’t talked to Feathertail about it so I can’t say for sure, but speaking from personal experience… when you’ve spent the better part of your life feeling alone, the first time a cat showers you with attention, it’s easy to be swept away by it.”

“Feathertail has never been alone, she’s always had me, and Mistyfoot, and Shadepelt, and--"

“But the sort of attention she gets from you and your mentors is very different from the sort of attention that Crowpaw gives her. Remember when we teased you about the cats who have the hots for you back in RiverClan? Is that something you could ever tease Feathertail about?”

A familiar frustration builds inside Stormfur. “Feathertail has always isolated herself. I’ve tried to help her make friends but she’s not interested in building real relationships in RiverClan--”

“That wasn’t my question, Stormfur.”

Stormfur bites his tongue and casts his glare off to the side. “... no, I guess this is the first time that someone has had a crush on her before.”

Which is ridiculous because Feathertail is a catch, objectively speaking. She’s lovely to look upon, she’s fun, she’s honest, and above all, she is loyal to those who are loyal to her. She’s a skilled fisher, and she can more than hold her own in a fight. She is very nearly perfect. 

But… nobody knows her the same way that Stormfur knows her. Nobody has ever been able to appreciate her for everything that she offers, everything that she is. She’s never let anyone before, except, for some reason, Crowpaw.

Stormfur doesn’t realize that he’s stopped walking until Tawnypelt touches her nose to his shoulder and brings him back to the present. He looks at her, and her green eyes are surprisingly gentle. “Stormfur, at the end of the day, Feathertail is responsible for her own decisions. There’s nothing you can do to protect her from others or from herself. But just as well as you know the tragedy that comes with forbidden relationships, so does she. You have to trust her to make the right decision in the end.”

Tawnypelt’s voice is like a stone that’s been smoothed by the river. Talking to her right now feels like talking to Mistyfoot, like talking to Stonefur, and it opens up something vulnerable inside Stormfur. He thinks back to his conversation with Brambleclaw,  where he admitted that he wondered who Feathertail would be if only she'd followed her heart and stayed behind in ThunderClan, and he wonders if she would be like Tawnypelt: self-assured and satisfied. He finds himself asking, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Depends on how personal it is.”

“Why did you join ShadowClan?”

Tawnypelt snorts. “That’s not personal, Stormfur. Do you know how many times I’ve been asked that question?” She thinks about it for a moment, though, and Stormfur wonders if that means that he’s going to receive a different answer than she usually gives. Finally, she replies, “There were a lot of reasons. I suppose the biggest one is that I knew my worth as a warrior, and I knew that no matter what cats whispered about me, I am loyal, and I wanted an honest chance to prove myself.”

“But why ShadowClan?”

Knowingly, Tawnypelt clarifies, “You mean, why Tigerstar?”

Stormfur swallows, then nods. Tawnypelt is quiet for a moment, and then.

“Firestar told us all about the crimes that Tigerstar committed and why he was exiled, and I thought, That’s my father. My blood. If he’s truly capable of those atrocities, then I must be capable of the same things. So I decided to find out for myself what he was like because I wanted to know if I was like him. I can’t say it was the soundest logic, but I do know it was the right decision for me.” She meets his eye. “I’m not like Brambleclaw or even you; I can’t spend my entire life proving my loyalty to the same mistrustful cats over and over again simply because of who my father is. In the end, everybody sees what they want to see, no matter what I do.”

Stormfur hums quietly. “That, I can understand.”

“Yeah? Then let me ask you a personal question.” Tawnypelt narrows her eyes at Stormfur like she’s going to extract the answer from him. “Why do you do it?”

It’s a question that Stormfur has asked himself a hundred times before and he still doesn’t have an answer. “I don’t know. I just do.”

“No, I want a real answer.”

“Why does Brambleclaw say he does it?”

“He says the same thing that you do, but I can’t understand that.” Stormfur realizes then, as Tawnypelt glares off at something in the distance, that she wants to understand. Maybe she even wants to understand so that she can better understand her littermate. If Stormfur can help them bridge their divide, then he should try.

Slowly, still thinking it out, Stormfur says, “It’s never been a secret that I’m half-Clan. I don’t even remember a time when I thought I was pureblooded. But I have Clanmates who hate me as much today as they did when I was born, and as hard as I’ve tried, I can’t think of a single reason to justify the way they’ve treated me or the things they’ve said about me. And that hurts, because I know that all of my Clanmates are loyal to RiverClan and to each other and I wish they felt that same sort of loyalty toward me.”

“So then why not start over somewhere else?” Tawnypelt questions. “Somewhere where you’ll be offered a fair chance.”

“Because I want to prove that they’re wrong about me,” Stormfur says, and even as he says it, something intangible clicks into place. “I want to cover them in battle, I want to hunt for them, I want to share tongues with them. I want to prove to them that blood doesn’t count for everything. I can be just as loyal to RiverClan even if I’m only half. And if I waste my entire life and they never believe me, I can die and say that I did my best.”

A sad sort of smile spreads across Tawnypelt’s face. “Well, I can’t say that I relate to all that, but it’s no wonder Brambleclaw likes you so much. I think you two must be made out of the same stuff.”

“Stonefur told me that everybody is made out of the same stuff; flesh and bone.”

“Not everybody.” 

Stormfur knows exactly who she’s thinking of. He doesn’t know what sort of answer Tawnypelt found when she moved to ShadowClan and served underneath her father, but he finds himself saying, “Well, for what it's worth, I don’t think you’re anything like Tigerstar.”

“You didn’t know him like I did.”

“No, but I saw the worst of him and I know that part, at least, doesn't live inside of you.”

Tawnypelt walks across the earth like it belongs to her; she walks with the knowledge that she is stronger than anything that comes against her. And yet a tiny, almost breakable smile touches her face. “Thanks, Stormfur.”

They walk back to their makeshift camp in companionable silence and Stormfur feels lighter after their conversation. He thinks that maybe Tawnypelt needed to have it just as much as he did.

(He'll never stop wondering who Feathertail would be today if she had stayed in ThunderClan.)

--

Later that night, Brambleclaw jolts awake. “A cave,” he pants, waking the others as well. “I saw-- we’re searching for a cave.”

Squirrelpaw yawns. “I thought we were searching for the sun-drown place.”

“The cave is the sun-drown-place. It must be.” 

“StarClan sent you another dream?” Feathertail asks.

“I-I think so. It felt different, like the other dreams have felt.”

Crowpaw grumbles, “Stop hogging all the StarClan dreams for yourself.”

“Yeah!” Squirrelpaw adds, poking Brambleclaw with a paw. “Share!”

Brambleclaw scowls. “I’m not asking StarClan for them!”

“Hush,” Stormfur and Tawnypelt say in unison. Tawnypelt adds, “It’s too early to start bickering. Go back to sleep.”

Reluctantly, the group settles back down, although Stormfur thinks some of them will be too excited by this new dream to actually fall asleep. His gaze meets Tawnypelt’s and she sends him a sleepy smirk. He returns it before closing his eyes, content.

--

“A cave?” Purdy repeats, scratching his ear. “There’s only one cave around here, but it’s not gonna be easy to reach.”

Of course not, Stormfur thinks as the rest of the group sighs.

--

Purdy leads them deeper into the forest before announcing he’s taken them as far as he can go. He wishes them luck on the rest of their quest, and as annoying as Purdy is, Stormfur has grown fond of the old tom. Quietly, he hopes their paths cross again someday.

They continue to follow the setting sun.

--

“Do you smell that?” Squirrelpaw asks abruptly.

The group pauses to scent the air. Stormfur doesn’t detect anything out of the ordinary and asks, “What does it smell like?”

Squirrelpaw wrinkles her nose. “Sorta like fish.”

Stormfur scents the air again and frowns. “I don’t smell fish.”

“Fish…” Feathertail trails off, and then, “Squirrelpaw, do you mean salt?”

Squirrelpaw’s eyes light up. “Yes, that’s it! I smell salt!”

Brambleclaw has been leading the way all morning, but he steps aside and gestures for Squirrelpaw to take his place. “If you can smell it then we must be getting closer. Lead the way.”

Brambleclaw falls into step beside Stormfur and Tawnypelt. Before he can say anything, Tawnypelt asks, “Oh, sorry, am I intruding on something?”

Stormfur blinks, confused. “You were here first, Tawnypelt.”

“And I didn’t even say anything,” Brambleclaw protests hotly.

“Alright, alright, I know when to take a hint.” Tawnypelt picks up her pace to walk ahead of Feathertail and Crowpaw, and joins Squirrelpaw at the front of the group, leaving the two toms alone.

Stormfur feels he’s been left out of an inside joke. “Sisters are weird,” he says to Brambleclaw.

Brambleclaw grunts his agreement, and if Stormfur can’t figure out why the other tom is suddenly embarrassed, then maybe that’s part of the joke, too.

--

The sun is quickly setting behind the skyline, and just when Stormfur is about to suggest that they make camp for the night, Squirrelpaw and Tawnypelt halt. “Hey, Brambleclaw,” Squirrelpaw calls over her shoulder. “I think I found your cave.”

Energy renewed, Stormfur rushes to join them. He understands why they stopped so suddenly, though; Tawnypelt grabs his scruff right before he passes her and it saves him from running straight over the edge of a cliff.

“Whoa!” Stormfur breathes, scrambling backward. His heart pounds in his ears as he takes in the sight; water for as far as his eye can see. The scent of salt practically smacks him in the face. The others learn from Stormfur’s mistake and approach the edge cautiously; Brambleclaw brushes silently against him, eyes wide.

“There’s the cave,” Squirrelpaw points out, and Stormfur follows her gaze. Sure enough, carved into the side of the cliff face is a large, gaping hole.

“Great, we found the cave,” Crowpaw starts. “Now, how do we reach it?”

Silence answers his question. 

“There’s a path we could take,” Feathertail speaks up, gesturing to a narrow strip of soil that descends the cliffside and leads right into the cave. Hypothetically, Feathertail is right. However… 

“That doesn’t look very safe,” Brambleclaw observes.

“I haven’t felt safe this entire quest,” Crowpaw grumbles. “Why should now be any different?”

Stormfur scans the cliffside and is disappointed to report, “I don’t see any other way to reach the cave unless you all would rather jump and swim?”

“Crumbling path it is,” Tawnypelt decides with a nod.

--

Tawnypelt was being sarcastic when she called it a crumbling path, but it turns out that she isn’t wrong. The cats walk in a single-file line: Feathertail up front, then Tawnypelt, Squirrelpaw, Crowpaw, Brambleclaw, and Stormfur brings up the rear. With every step Feathertail takes, Stormfur watches as she knocks soil loose, and it tumbles down the cliff into the water.

“I hate this,” Squirrelpaw announces, just in case anybody is curious.

“Really?” Crowpaw asks, sarcastically. “Because I’m having the time of my life.”

“Not now, Crowpaw,” Brambleclaw snaps. “Tawnypelt, how’s your shoulder holding up?”

“Sore,” she says between gritted teeth, and Stormfur can only wince as he imagines the kind of pain she’s in; they’ve been walking all day long and now her shoulder has to sustain her weight as gravity pulls her downward. 

It goes unspoken that Feathertail is in the front of the line and Stormfur is in the back, just in case the path were to disintegrate and somebody fell into the water. Stormfur is grateful that Tawnypelt is right behind Feathertail. He strains his ears, waiting for the telltale groan that the path is about to give out.

For a while, it seems that StarClan has taken mercy on them, and finally, one thing will not go wrong. Feathertail is nearing the lip of the cave and so far, so good. Then Stormfur hears the groan.

His eyes widen. “Feathertail, run,” he barks, and Feathertail doesn’t hesitate. She bolts down the path, no longer worried about being careful. Tawnypelt tries to keep up but it’s impossible with her injured shoulder, and Stormfur can hear her hiss in pain. The groaning grows louder; Stormfur panics as he tries to pinpoint who is standing in the danger area.

Feathertail pulls herself into the cave, then helps Tawnypelt. Squirrelpaw is right behind them. Suddenly there’s a crack like thunder, and Crowpaw freezes; he’s going down.

Brambleclaw moves like lightning, quick and accurate, and he shoves Crowpaw forward. The next instant the soil gives out and Brambleclaw tumbles into the water with a yowl.

“Brambleclaw,” Tawnypelt shrieks, and Stormfur jumps.

He hits the water hard and is sucked underneath, but he propels himself instinctively to the surface. He breaks the surface with a gasp and immediately saltwater rushes into his mouth; he spits it out, disgusted and disoriented. 

“Stormfur!” Feathertail shouts. “To your left!”

Stormfur looks to his left and sure enough, Brambleclaw is being dragged back underneath the water. Stormfur swims hard, harder than he’s ever needed to before. He reaches Brambleclaw right before he disappears underwater and grabs his scruff; Brambleclaw is thrashing.

“You’re gonna pull us both under!” Stormfur warns between his scruff. “Relax!”

“Relax?!” Brambleclaw sputters.

“Yes!” Stormfur tugs on his scruff. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you now.”

Stormfur prays that Brambleclaw is able to curb his panic, and after a few more heartbeats, he finally stops thrashing and goes limp in Stormfur’s grip. Relief washes over Stormfur. He starts to swim to the shore just below the cave.

--

Stormfur pulls them both onto solid ground and then his legs give out from underneath him. He’s soaking wet with saltwater and the muscles that he hasn’t had to use since he left RiverClan are screaming in protest. He closes his eyes and focuses on steadying his breathing.

Beside him, Brambleclaw gasps, “You… you saved my life, Stormfur.”

“Yeah… don’t mention it… It’s what I do, apparently.” Exhausted, Stormfur thinks that Hawkfrost made saving lives look easier than this.

Feathertail descends upon them both with the same anxious energy as a new queen. “Are you both okay?” She frets. She starts to lick Brambleclaw’s fur backward but recoils with a noise of disgust. “Saltwater!”

“Yeah, it’s terrible,” Stormfur grunts. He looks up at the cave, where Tawnypelt, Squirrelpaw and Crowpaw are watching them. “Everybody else okay?”

“Tawnypelt ripped her wound open again,” Feathertail replies tersely. “And something tells me we’re not going to find any burdock root around here.”

Brambleclaw heaves himself to his paws with a groan. “Maybe there’s something inside the cave that can help her.”

--

Someone, not something.

A badger with oil-dark eyes who speaks their language and calls herself Midnight.

Chapter Text

Stormfur stares at Midnight in shock. “Destroy the forest?” He echoes, fighting against the panic that builds in his chest. “Twolegs can’t possibly be that strong, can they?”

Midnight looks at him sadly. “They are stronger. The Clans must find a new home. You five must guide them.”

“Find a new home?” Tawnypelt demands. “And just how are we supposed to find that home?”

Midnight points her nose to the world outside the cave. “You must follow the dying warrior; it will show you the way.”

“A dying warrior?” Squirrelpaw repeats, alarmed.

“No,” Crowpaw says abruptly, shaking his head. “No, I’m sick and tired of these riddles--”

“Not a riddle,” Midnight insists, but Crowpaw has heard enough. He stands to his paws and stomps all the way to the lip of the den, only to remember that they’re surrounded by water and he’s got nowhere to go and brood. He sits down, tail lashing.

Feathertail sighs. “I’ll talk to him.”

“You don’t have to,” Stormfur says, and Feathertail shoots him a hard look.

“Obviously I don’t have to, Stormfur, but he’s my friend.” She leaves the group to join Crowpaw and sits down beside him, too close for Stormfur’s comfort. 

He has to force himself to push past the tension that’s entered the cave and look back at Midnight. “How will we convince the Clans to leave the forest?”

--

Midnight doesn’t have an answer for them; just that when the time comes, their leaders will listen to them. The thing is, Midnight doesn’t know Leopardstar or Blackstar. Stormfur thinks those two would rather be destroyed alongside the forest if it came down to a battle of stubbornness. 

Stormfur is soaking wet and exhausted and his muscles ache. He wonders why the group had to travel halfway across the earth for Midnight’s message; why couldn’t StarClan just warn them about the twolegs from the very beginning? Why did Stormfur have to leave the forest, his Clan, Mistyfoot and Shadepelt and Hawkfrost, for this?

I didn’t have to, he realizes. I’m not star-chosen. I chose to come on this quest because I was angry at Hawkfrost, and I didn’t want to face ThunderClan in battle.

The thought only serves to further frustrate him so maybe it’s a mistake on his part to sit beside Feathertail and Crowpaw. They had been whispering easily to each other until he joined them; now it seems the tension has followed him. Stormfur clenches his jaw.

Squirrelpaw swoops in to defuse the tension. “Midnight says she has something that she can give Tawnypelt for her shoulder, something better than burdock root!”

“Hopefully it works faster, too,” Feathertail murmurs. “We need to return to the forest as soon as possible.” Or else, goes unspoken.

Silence drapes across the four cats again but it’s not quite so tense thanks to Squirrelpaw. Stormfur watches as the sun finally dips behind the horizon, beyond the endless water, and it lights the surface of the water on fire, turning it every shade of orange and pink and gold. It’s beautiful, Stormfur thinks. Hawkfrost on his mind, he adds, I wish I could show it to him.

And then, because his exhaustion is making him honest, he thinks, I miss him. He wonders if Hawkfrost misses him, too, or if he curses Stormfur’s name every night before he goes to sleep.

Tawnypelt limps to join them, Brambleclaw supporting her shoulder. They settle down just in time to catch the end of the light show. “Midnight said we can spend the night here,” Brambleclaw breaks the silence.

“A badger that speaks cat,” Feathertail says, shaking her head. “I never would have imagined that she was the Midnight that Oakheart spoke about.”

The others hum in agreement. Squirrelpaw remarks, “You’d think she would know how to count, though.”

Stormfur turns to Squirrelpaw, confused. “What?”

“Earlier, when she was talking about the Clans finding a new home; she said, ‘You five must guide them’, but there are six of us.”

Tawnypelt frowns. “That’s true, she did say five. Maybe she meant only the ones who received the dream?”

“Then that would be four, not five,” Crowpaw points out. “Guess you can’t count, either.” 

Tawnypelt shoots the smirking apprentice a withering glare. Before a fight can break out Brambleclaw asks aloud, “How many of us received a saltwater sign?”

Stormfur thinks. “Tawnypelt drank from that puddle that she said tasted like salt; Feathertail had her dream about drinking salty water--”

“Which tastes way worse than it did in the dream, just saying.”

“The goldfish pond,” Crowpaw remembers. “That’s where I had my sign.”

“Brambleclaw had the original saltwater dream,” Squirrelpaw remembers. “And then I scented the saltwater that led us to the cave. So that means everyone received a sign, except for…” she trails off, glancing at Stormfur. “Well, that’s five.”

Silence creeps back in but this time it brings with it a different sort of tension; it sends a shiver down Stormfur’s spine. “Yeah,” he says, his voice wavering. “That’s five.”

Nobody quite knows what to say after that.

--

They depart for the forest at dawn. Brambleclaw remarks that the journey home ought to go by quicker now that they’re not restricted to following the setting sun. Stormfur hopes he’s right.

--

They run unexpectedly into Purdy. I didn’t want our paths to cross this soon, Stormfur can’t help but think, fully aware that Purdy could talk all day long.

But there’s a strangely serious look on Purdy’s face as the group greets him. “Did y’all find your cave?” he asks.

“Yes, we did,” Feathertail answers. “And if you’ll excuse us, Purdy, we have to return home as quickly as possible--”

“Well, you won’t be able to go the way you came,” Purdy interrupts. “A family of foxes has moved into the forest. Nasty creatures, real sharp teeth, they make some weird sounds--”

“We’re warriors,” Crowpaw cuts in. “We can handle some foxes.”

“Well, technically, you’re still an apprentice,” says Squirrelpaw.

“So are you, Squirrelpaw.”

“Not now, children,” Stormfur raises his voice. “Purdy, how many foxes are we talking about? Two, three?”

Purdy scratches behind his ear for a moment, thinking. “‘Bout six of ‘em.”

“Six?” Feathertail groans.

Purdy stops scratching and squints up at the sky. “Or was it eight…”

“Oh, great, so it’s a whole Clan of foxes,” Tawnypelt says, sarcastically.

“Warrior foxes?” Purdy yelps, alarmed.

Brambleclaw sighs. “Alright, through the mountains it is.”

--

Journeying through the mountains is going to slow them down. The land is rocky and it slopes and curves in a way that no one in the group is familiar with. The steep incline already makes Stormfur’s muscles ache.

“First the forest, and now mountains,” Crowpaw complains. “Why do we never have to cross mooreland? It would be a straight shot, we could be home in two days.”

“That would be too easy,” Brambleclaw mutters, walking beside Stormfur. He snorts in agreement.

Now and then the group approaches a ravine that they have to leap across. The ravines aren’t very wide, but they’re rapidly draining everybody’s energy. We’ll be lucky to make it home before the next Gathering, Stormfur thinks to himself, discouraged as they come across another one. 

Feathertail readies herself to make the leap when Crowpaw suddenly steps in front of her. “Hold on,” he hisses, his gaze fixed on the sky above. “I see eagles. They look like they’re hunting.”

Squirrelpaw rolls her eyes. “Oh please, we eat all kinds of birds in ThunderClan, don’t we, Brambleclaw? Let prey just try and hunt me!”

“You wouldn’t last three days in WindClan with that attitude,” Crowpaw spits. “Eagles have talons, bird-brain, unlike the robins and bluebirds you like to hunt.”

Squirrelpaw bristles at that but keeps her mouth shut. Tawnypelt braves asking, “So how dangerous are we talking, here? Dangerous enough to make camp for the night?”

“Make camp for the night?” Stormfur repeats, dismayed.

Crowpaw nods, still blocking Feathertail’s path. “We’re too big for them to carry away, but they can definitely take a chunk out of you. That’s how my Clanmate, Tornear, got his name.”

Brambleclaw looks up at the pale blue sky and squints. “We still have some daylight left. I think it’s too early to make camp.”

“I agree!” Squirrelpaw adds. “Besides, Tornear is an awesome warrior name!”

“Gee, I’ll tell him you said so,” Crowpaw sneers. “You’re not taking the eagles seriously enough.”

“And you’re not taking Midnight’s warning serious enough,” Squirrelpaw retorts, taking a step toward him. “We need to make it back to the forest as soon as possible!”

“We won’t do anyone any good if we’re dead,” Crowpaw snaps.

“Both of you, calm down,” Stormfur raises his voice, stepping between the apprentices. “Let’s take a vote. All in favor of making camp for the night?”

Crowpaw is the only one who votes. His eyes widen, and he turns on Feathertail. “Feathertail-?!”

She shrugs, helpless. “Sorry, Crowpaw, but I don’t think it justifies an early night.”

Crowpaw looks like he wants to argue, and it must only be because Feathertail has sided against him that doesn’t. All he grumbles is, “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when an eagle ruins one of your pretty faces.”

“I can live with those conditions,” Tawnypelt agrees. She breaks into a run and launches herself across the ravine, sailing, and lands squarely on the other side. She turns to face the group with a grin but it fades when the eagles screech overhead; they’ve been noticed.

The group is silent. Slowly, they all look to Crowpaw, who offers them his best ‘I told you so’ look. Then he sprints towards the ravine and leaps.

Another screech. The eagles are directly overtop of the group now. Brambleclaw looks at Squirrelpaw and says, “Squirrelpaw, you’re the smallest so you’re their most likely target. You go next, and stand close to Tawnypelt.”

“You’re not my mentor,” Squirrelpaw shoots back, but Stormfur can hear the way her voice wavers. After standing still a second longer just to spite Brambleclaw, Squirrelpaw runs and leaps. She lands on the other side and immediately clings to Tawnypelt’s side.

Feathertail hasn’t looked away from the eagles. “I can see their talons all the way from down here,” she murmurs. 

“There’s more tree coverage on this side,” Tawnypelt calls. “You’re only going to be exposed during the jump.”

“You can do this, Feathertail,” Crowpaw adds, and if Feathertail wasn’t Stormfur’s sister, he might think Crowpaw’s tone sounded sweet.

Feathertail closes her eyes as she takes in a deep breath, and then she breaks into a sprint. Stormfur’s eyes stay fixed on her as she flies across the ravine in a moment that stretches into eternity. No sooner do her paws hit the ground on the other side that an eagle swoops, barely missing her tail.

Feathertail turns around, blue eyes wide. She meets Stormfur’s gaze and says, “Maybe you two should wait until the eagles leave.”

“They’re not going to leave now,” Crowpaw says, darkly. “They’ve started hunting. We’re going to have to lose them over on this side.”

For a moment there’s silence, only broken by an eagle’s screech. Then Brambleclaw turns to Stormfur and asks, “Together on three?”

A grin spreads across Stormfur’s face. “One, two.”

They take off at the same instant, kicking up dirt and pine needles in their wake. Stormfur mentally counts down in his head, bunching his muscles for the leap even as he hears an eagle soar overtop of him, doesn’t slow down. He reaches the edge of the ravine and jumps. 

It feels like he’s frozen in time, suspended in the air forever. He’s acutely aware of Brambleclaw beside him, hears someone shout his name, and there’s a prickling sensation down his back. Time doesn’t return to normal until he hits the ground and rolls.

He spits out a mouthful of dirt as he stands to his paws, Brambleclaw groaning beside him. The entire world feels like it’s spinning. He barely registers it when Feathertail appears by his side, nosing his back. “It just grazed you,” she breathes, relieved.

“Feels like it,” Stormfur grunts.

Crowpaw clears his throat. “All in favor of making camp the next time we come across eagles?”

Everybody raises their tails except for Squirrelpaw. When faced with five pairs of gazes, though, she sighs and raises her tail as well. “Fine, whatever. Crowpaw can win this time.”

--

That night, they set up camp on the side of a mountain. Stormfur is with five cats that he would trust his life with, has trusted his life with, but he still feels impossibly vulnerable. He blames it on the fact that here, on this mountain, Silverpelt seems to stretch on forever and ever. It makes him feel small; reminds him of the night of the full moon when it took teasing the life out of Stormfur to ease the group.

Squirrelpaw opens her mouth to say something and Stormfur panics. “Brambleclaw, spar with me.”

Brambleclaw looks up from where he’s polishing off a mouse. “Me?” he repeats.

“Do you see anyone else named Brambleclaw on this mountain?”

Obviously not, but Brambleclaw still looks like he expects this to be a trick. It takes some cheering from Tawnypelt and Squirrelpaw to urge him to his paws. “You got this, Brambleclaw!” Squirrelpaw calls. “Show Stormfur to not mess with ThunderClan warriors!”

Feathertail catches Stormfur’s eye and he can tell that she’s struggling to hide her smirk. “Be nice, Stormfur. He’s already sore.”

“Don’t worry,” Stormfur says, eyes locked on Brambleclaw. “I’ll go easy on him.”

Brambleclaw snorts, falling into a crouch. He asks, “You want to be the defense or offense?”

“Figure it out,” Stormfur replies, and then he throws himself at the other warrior.

Brambleclaw meets him in the air and they clash, all sheathed claws and fake snarls and Stormfur could laugh, he’s having so much fun. Brambleclaw strikes the side of Stormfur’s head but Stormfur blocks it just in time and pushes him back, then advances on him. Brambleclaw seems confused by Stormfur’s tactics, and it plays into Stormfur’s favor. When he launches himself at Brambleclaw’s chest he knocks Brambleclaw down, and from there Stormfur wrestles Brambleclaw to the ground, pinning him.

“Brambleclaw!” Squirrelpaw shouts, sounding devastated. “How could you let RiverClan win?!”

“I didn’t let him do anything,” Brambleclaw snaps, but his eyes are locked on Stormfur’s; deep amber eyes that used to remind Stormfur of Tigerstar when they were apprentices, but this close to him, Stormfur is struck by how similar they are to Mothwing’s eyes; warm and golden like the sun. The comparison pulls a smile from Stormfur.

“Good match,” he says and climbs off of Brambleclaw. 

Brambleclaw is slower to his paws, a dazed expression on his face, and Stormfur worries that maybe he did go too hard on him. Then Brambleclaw shakes his head and says, “In my defense, your style is nothing like a RiverClan warrior’s.”

Stormfur laughs, short and dry. “Fair. I learned a lot of my basics when we lived in ThunderClan. When we returned to RiverClan, Shadepelt had an awful time picking up where Graystripe left off. She says my style is a mix of both Clans.”

“Well, it caught me off guard,” Brambleclaw mutters, and Stormfur thinks that he’s still not as sore a loser as Hawkfrost.

Crowpaw looks at Feathertail and asks, “Is your style the same?”

Feathertail shakes her head. “Not really, but it’s because my build favors RiverClan. Mistyfoot does say that I have ThunderClan’s endurance.”

“Ooh, you and Stormfur should spar next!” Squirrelpaw exclaims. “See who’s the stronger littermate!”

At that, Stormfur meets Feathertail’s gaze. “We don’t spar with each other.”

Squirrelpaw tilts her head to the side. “You’ve never sparred with each other? What about when you were apprentices?”

“Nope,” Feathertail says, stretching out before she stands up. “We only spared with our mentors, and then with Hawkfrost and Mothwing once they were apprenticed.”

Tawnypelt frowns. “Don’t you become too used to someone’s style, then?”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m ever going to need to win a real fight against Hawkfrost,” Stormfur says.

Feathertail shoots him an amused look. “Or Shadepelt or Mothwing, right?”

Heat rises to Stormfur’s face. “Obviously.”

Squirrelpaw grows bored with the conversation and turns to Tawnypelt. “Well, I know you don’t have any qualms with kicking your brother’s tail.”

Tawnypelt smirks as she stands to her paws. “Not one.”

“Hey!” Brambleclaw protests, as Tawnypelt descends upon him. This will be good, Stormfur thinks, watching, until a pelt brushes against his own. He glances at Feathertail.

She says, “I think we need to talk.”

--

She’s right. They’re long overdue for a conversation. 

They put some distance between them and the group; Stormfur can only hear Squirrelpaw’s cackle if he really listens. Perfect. 

He says, “Feathertail, I think--” the same instant that she says, “Stormfur, I want to--” and then they both fall silent. Stormfur offers her a lopsided smile and gestures for her to go first.

Feathertail takes a moment to compose herself, and then she says, “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant since our argument. It’s petty of me.”

“I shouldn’t have pried into your life like I did. Crowpaw was right, surprisingly enough; you're my sister but you can spend your time with whoever you want to, even if the company is questionable.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Stormfur purrs quietly and touches his nose to her shoulder. “I”m sorry for bringing up our mother the way that I did. You’re not stupid, I know you won’t make the same mistakes that she did.”

For a moment there’s silence. Then Feathertail says, “I don’t think Silverstream was stupid. I mean, I used to think that, but not anymore. I think-- I think she was just lonely.”

Stormfur wrinkles his nose. “The princess of RiverClan, lonely? The way our Clanmates talk about her it sounds like they used to throw themselves down at her paws.”

“But sometimes that kind of reverence can be isolating. I mean, growing up the more I favored her the more that RiverClan seemed to warm up to me, but not because of who I actually am; it was just because they started to see me in a different light. But I’m not Silverstream, I’m just Feathertail, and I wish our Clanmates could see that, and maybe-- maybe she was tired of always being compared to Willowbreeze. Maybe she just wanted somebody to look at her and see her for who she really was. And maybe Graystripe was that somebody.”

Stormfur can sense where this is going and how it all relates to Crowpaw. He swallows and says, “I’ve always seen you for exactly who you are, though.”

A sad sort of smile touches her face. “Have you, Stormfur?”

“What?” He feels like she just kicked him in the gut. “Of course I have!”

“Stormfur, ever since we returned to RiverClan you’ve treated me like I’m something fragile; like one wrong word is going to shatter me forever. You’ve kept things from me--”

“I have not,” he begins to protest.

“Then why didn’t you tell me that Tigerstar is Hawkfrost and Mothwing’s father?”

His breath hitches in his throat. He stares at Feathertail in disbelief. “I-- they told you?”

“They didn’t have to tell me, fish-brain. Hawkfrost and Brambleclaw look too similar to Tigerstar to not be kin, and Mothwing and Brambleclaw have the exact same eyes, and Hawkfrost and Tawnypelt have this same-- this same edge to them, something that draws you into both of them. Honestly, I’m surprised that none of our Clanmates have put it together yet.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?” Stormfur demands.

Feathertail tips her head to the side, studying him. “Why didn’t you tell me, Stormfur?”

Because I didn’t think you could handle it, Stormfur thinks before he can stop himself, and suddenly he’s overcome with guilt. 

His answer is written all over his face, but Feathertail isn’t actually asking because she wants an answer from him. “See,” she says, sounding frustrated. “You thought the revelation would send me spiraling, even though at that first Gathering I was the one who made conversation with Bramblepaw, and then, on this quest, I’ve been the one to open up and embrace him and Tawnypelt. But even tonight, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if it weren’t for me; you would go on pretending to not know. Stormfur, I’m not your fragile little sister anymore!"

Gone is her sad smile, now replaced with furrowed brows and fierce blue eyes. Stormfur feels like he’s been plunged underneath ice-cold water and he’s in shock but every sense is on high alert.

I’ve been so dumb, he realizes.

“And all of that to say, I like Crowpaw because he knows me for me. He doesn’t look at me and see Silverstream, or Graystripe, or your sister. To him, I’m just Feathertail. And it’s-- it’s really going to hurt when our quest comes to an end and we return to RiverClan.”

“You don’t have to,” Stormfur blurts out before he can think better of it. Oh well, he’s wanted to have this conversation since the day he stumbled upon her teaching Crowpaw how to fish, since he had that conversation with Tawnypelt, but he’s been putting it off because he’s selfish. Now, though, there’s no turning back.

Feathertail narrows her eyes. “What?” She asks, her voice a mixture of frustration and confusion.

Stormfur takes a deep breath, then says, “Feathertail, I know that you’ve never wanted to live in RiverClan. Not when we were younger, and not even now. And I’ve always felt guilty that I’m the reason you won’t follow your heart and start over somewhere new. So when we return to the forest if you want to join ThunderClan, or, or even WindClan, with Crowpaw, then I’ll support you.”

For a long moment Feathertail just stares at him. Then she says, “You really are such a fish-brain, aren’t you.”

“What--”

“Stormfur, I don’t know when you’re going to stop forcing me to repeat myself, but you are my home,” she says, each word sharp and deliberate like she’s trying to drill it into his brain. “Follow my heart? I have! It goes wherever you go!”

“But it’s different,” Stormfur presses, remembering his conversation with Tawnypelt. “I’m your littermate but you love Crowpaw, we’ll never have that sort of relationship! And you- you deserve to be with who you love!”

Stormfur doesn’t know what he would call his feelings for Hawkfrost; all he knows is that he would follow Feathertail to the ends of the earth based off of a dream, but he was willing to stay behind in RiverClan for Hawkfrost. Whatever it’s called it runs deep beneath his skin, it’s in his blood, and if this is how Feathertail feels about Crowpaw then Stormfur doesn’t want her to have to choose like he did--

“Stormfur, I’m not in love with Crowpaw.”

She looks sad again. Stormfur shakes his head. “But you could be.”

Feathertail looks off to the side, hiding her face from him. “Stormfur, I’m going to tell you something that I’m not proud of. I have always been jealous of you.”

His mind stutters to a stop, unable to comprehend the abrupt change in subject. “You-- what? Why would you ever be jealous of me?”

She still isn’t facing him. “Because we went through TigerClan together; we both lost Stonefur; we’ve both suffered through nightmares, and it’s like-- like we had matching wounds. But over time yours healed and you were able to move on and make friends, and cats only warmed up to me the more I looked like Silverstream. And then you became popular and even on this quest, my quest, everyone is drawn to you first and then me because I’m your sister. It’s just how it goes.” 

She looks off, in the direction of camp. “But Crowpaw wanted to know me first, he cared about me before he ever cared about you, and obviously it’s because he’s got a crush on me, but I liked the attention so much that it didn’t matter to me. But I know-- I’ll never love him. Not the way that he loves me.”

Underneath the clear dark blue sky, the moonlight shines down on Feathertail like a spotlight and turns her fur a shade of sterling silver. Gazing off into the distance at something only she can see, a pensive expression on her face, stars in her eyes, Stormfur thinks that his sister looks beautiful when she’s sad. He thinks that’s the reason why their Clanmates never realized that she’s been sad for most of her life.

And part of Stormfur wants to tell Feathertail that he’s always been jealous of her, too; Graystripe never asked him to meet on the river every claw-moon; Crookedstar always dotted on her more, slipped her more honey behind Mosspelt’s back; Leopardstar was always harsher on him when they both set out to be a thorn in her side.

Another conversation for another night. Stormfur doesn’t want to make Feathertail feel any worse than she already does.

He presses his forehead against hers and murmurs, “If you don’t want to return to RiverClan, if you can possibly be happier somewhere else, then don’t return just because of me.”

“I can’t be happy without you, Stormfur,” Feathertail returns softly. “I don’t know how to be.”

Stormfur swallows, and he doesn’t know how to put his heartache into words, how to express the guilt that crawls throughout the hairs on his pelt. He doesn’t know how to rephrase the question in order to get the answer he needs to hear.

“Stormfur, I made my decision when we were apprentices. Don’t ask me again, okay.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

--

They walk back to camp side-by-side, just in time to watch as Brambleclaw pins Crowpaw underneath him.

“No fair!” Crowpaw wheezes. “Of course you can muscle me around, you’re three times my weight!”

Brambleclaw recoils, offended. “I am not that heavy.”

“Fat,” Squirrelpaw corrects.

Brambleclaw shoots her a dirty look as he lets Crowpaw up. “I don’t understand why tonight is ‘bully Brambleclaw night’.”

“The way you just sat on Crowpaw sure looked like bullying to me.”

“Shut up, Squirrelpaw,” Brambleclaw and Crowpaw say in unison.

Stormfur settles down beside Tawnypelt and asks, “Did you win your match?”

“Nah, my shoulder injury flared up.”

“You’re all a bunch of sore losers, you know that?” Brambleclaw demands. “Stormfur, spar with me again.”

“Sorry, but I’m a sore winner. I’m going out on top.”

Brambleclaw gives Stormfur a look that’s identical to the one that Hawkfrost gives him when Stormfur refuses a rematch. It does little to ease the ache in his heart. “But I-- I went easy on you!”

“And why would you go easy on Stormfur, Brambleclaw?” Tawnypelt teases gleefully. Brambleclaw shoots her a dirty look; the same one that Hawkfrost gives Mothwing whenever she makes fun of Hawkfrost.

“I’ll spar with you, Brambleclaw,” Feathertail offers, already moving to take a position in their mock ring. Brambleclaw looks surprised by the offer but he readily prepares himself; from the corner of his eye, Stormfur notices Crowpaw stiffen.

He really likes her.

Feathertail doesn’t even glance at Crowpaw before she dodges Brambleclaw’s first strike.

She doesn’t have feelings for him. She really doesn’t.

Despite the conflicting feelings their conversation left him with, it’s still reassuring to know that Feathertail won’t suffer their mother’s same fate. 

Tawnypelt nudges him. “How did your conversation go?”

Stormfur’s gaze is drawn to Feathertail again; she weaves and flows like the river, graceful and dangerous and overwhelming, her style unmistakably RiverClan. But Stormfur has known for a long time that Feathertail is not RiverClan. It’s not in her heart.

But Stormfur is RiverClan and Stormfur is in her heart and for Feathertail that’s enough, but for Stormfur--

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Stormfur murmurs, as Feathertail smoothly sidesteps another one of Brambleclaw’s strikes.

--

That night Feathertail slides into Stormfur’s nest, always too big for just himself, and she lays her head on his back and he can feel her heart beat rhythmically against his side. It lulls him to sleep in a matter of minutes.

(He doesn’t dream, but memories of home flash across his mind’s eye all night long.)

--

“So,” Tawnypelt starts quietly, conversationally, and Stormfur instinctively falls to the back of the group with her, letting Crowpaw and Brambleclaw take the lead. “About that conversation.”

The truth is that Stormfur still doesn’t want to talk about it, but Tawnypelt is relentless. If she wants to know something then she’s going to hound him until he gives it to her. It’s better to save his breath and just give in. Still, he remarks, “You’re awful interested in it.”

“Because you returned to the group looking like you swallowed a mouthful of hot crowfood.”

The imagery hits him so vividly that Stormfur recoils, his muzzle wrinkling in disgust.

“Yeah, that’s exactly the face I’m talking about.”

Stormfur thinks she’s being a bit dramatic but the fact remains that Tawnypelt immediately sensed his unease when he returned to the group. The fact also remains that if one cat understands exactly what Stormfur is about to say and won’t judge him too harshly, it is her.

“It’s about Feathertail.”

“I figured as much.”

“I told her that if she doesn’t want to return to RiverClan, if she wants to join ThunderClan with our father or WindClan with Crowpaw, then I won’t resent her. I just want her to be happy wherever she’s at.”

He keeps his voice low as he stares at the back of Feathertail’s head, but her ears don’t flick backward. She’s completely engrossed in her conversation with Squirrelpaw, and Stormfur thinks of all the fun they could have in ThunderClan together.

“And how did Feathertail take that?”

“It annoyed her, and I- I understand why. It’s not the first time I’ve told her that she doesn’t have to stay in RiverClan just for me.” He’s reminded her so, so many times before; late nights in the apprentice den, early mornings on the river when he caught her staring longingly at Sunningrocks.

“Okay, so if you understand why it annoys her then why do you continue to press it? Feathertail’s committed to RiverClan, isn’t she?”

“No,” Stormfur says, automatically. “She’s not committed to RiverClan, she’s committed to me. She made it clear when we were apprentices that she wanted to stay in ThunderClan, but when I tell her she can go, it always boils down to one thing: me. She says she doesn’t know how to be happy without me, how to live without me, and I- I would miss her so, so much if we didn’t share a Clan, but at the same time, it feels like I’m being eaten alive by guilt when she says-- when I know that she hates RiverClan but she loves me and so she chooses me, even though--” Stormfur stops abruptly, feeling suddenly like he’s said too much.

Tawnypelt is silent as she ponders his confession. Then she asks, “It makes you feel guilty?”

“If I joined ThunderClan then Feathertail would be thrilled, she would thrive, she would look this happy all of the time, but I-- I just can’t do it. Even if some part of me always longs for ThunderClan, I would feel like I wasted Stonefur’s sacrifice, and I know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, then.”

“So you personally feel responsible for Feathertail’s happiness in RiverClan?”

“In life,” Stormfur says. “In RiverClan, in ThunderClan, on the side of a mountain; she can’t be happy without me, she’s told me that before. And after everything we’ve been through together, after all of the betrayal and heartache and sacrifice, the only thing I want for Feathertail is for her to be happy. That’s it. I would die for her happiness, but I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t leave RiverClan for it.”

He doesn’t know if Tawnypelt fully understands his perspective; she left her littermate sure, but she wasn’t bonded to Brambleclaw the same way that Stormfur is bonded to Feathertail. Matching wounds was a good way to describe it, he thinks. Even if Feathertail thinks that his wound has healed, it’s still there, the same as hers.

He doesn’t know if Tawnypelt is going to scoff at him, if she’s going to scold him, if she’s going to cuff him over the ear and call him a lizard-brain, or--

“Stormfur, that is too heavy a burden to carry with you everywhere; to be completely responsible for somebody else’s happiness...”

Stormfur shrugs, helpless. “I’ve begged her to say it so many times before; to say that she stays in RiverClan because she chooses RiverClan, but it’s always, “I choose you”. And I wish I could stop asking her to leave because I understand why it bothers her, but at the same time, I’ve watched Feathertail die a little bit every single day since we’ve returned to RiverClan. Even when she does laugh with our Clanmates, even when she does look happy, it’s fleeting. It never sticks to her.”

Stormfur doesn’t say, I wish she would just leave RiverClan. He doesn’t say, I would rather see her across the border with our father than look miserable in RiverClan. He doesn’t say, I wish she could love Crowpaw the way she needs to be able to join WindClan.

He doesn’t have to say any of those things. Tawnypelt, to some extent, understands what he doesn’t say. She drifts closer to Stormfur and their shoulders bump.

“I’m sorry, Stormfur. That’s a lot.”

“Yeah, so if you could drop some of that magical Tawnypelt wisdom…”

He can practically hear her smile. “I don’t think you’ll like it today.”

“Maybe not, but I need it.”

“Alright. Tawnypelt wisdom, coming right at you: you are not responsible for anybody’s happiness but your own. Feathertail has made her decision and you can’t change it for her, so you need to accept it. So if you look at Feathertail and you think she looks miserable then that’s her own fault, not yours.”

Stormfur can’t stop his brows from creasing. He doesn’t know what he hates more; the hopeless feeling that Tawnypelt’s wisdom leaves him with, or the fact that he knows she’s right. 

Tawnypelt doesn’t have to see his expression to know that she was right; he doesn’t like her wisdom. She shrugs and says, “I told you so.”

“Well, thanks anyway.”

“Mhm. You know me, always ready to drop wisdom on you fools.”

She’s smirking now, he can hear it, and there is something so decidedly Hawkfrost about her. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for Stormfur to linger in the back of the group with her and confess things that he’s never been willing to admit even to himself. Maybe that’s why, out of all of his new friends, he feels like he will always stay the closest to Tawnypelt.

Maybe that’s what compels Stormfur to ask, “Tawnypelt, if I knew something that could possibly change your life, would you want me to tell you?”

Tawnypelt sputters a laugh. “What kind of question is that?” She turns to catch his eye and her amused expression falters. “Wait, you’re being serious?"

“As serious as I can be.”

“What… what kind of life-altering secret is this?”

“The kind that relates back to kin.”

Tawnypelt curses quietly. “My least favorite kind.”

“You don’t have to say yes. If I never tell you then you might not ever find out, and you can forget that I ever said anything, but I can’t promise that it won’t come out someday, and I just-- I want you to have the option to hear it from me, first.”

He watches as conflicting emotions flash across her face. Finally, she asks, “Will it affect Brambleclaw, too?”

“Maybe even more so,” Stormfur answers honestly because Hawkfrost has never instigated a battle to meet Tawnypelt before (not yet, not that he knows of, anyway).

“What about my mother? Will it affect her as well?”

Stormfur blinks, caught off guard by the reminder that Tawnypelt and Brambleclaw still have their mother in ThunderClan. “No, I don’t think so.”

Tawnypelt nods slowly, absorbing every word. Stormfur can see how much thought she’s putting into her answer, and part of Stormfur hopes that she’ll want to know what he has to share; this secret has been eating a hole in his heart ever since that Gathering, when Stormfur slipped up and it changed things between him and Hawkfrost possibly forever, and Stormfur doesn’t want that to happen with Tawnypelt or Brambleclaw.

“No. At least right now, I don’t want to know what it is.”

Stormfur masks his disappointment well enough. “Okay.”

“But maybe I’ll change my mind by the end of our quest.” Her gaze is fixed on the back of Brambleclaw’s head. “I understand how complicated kin can be, especially my kin. Just let me think about it, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Take as long as you need to.”

“Thanks, Stormfur.” She bumps their shoulders together again and despite his disappointment, it still sends a rush of fondness through him. Tawnypelt reminds him of so many cats; of Mothwing usually, but sometimes of Hawkfrost and sometimes of Mistyfoot and sometimes, when she sits him down and forces him to deal with the emotions he’s buried deep inside, she reminds him of Stonefur.

Because everything that Stonefur ever did for Stormfur, for Feathertail and for Mistyfoot, he always did it out of love. It’s a love that Stormfur worries that he’ll never bask in ever again, but the silence that wraps around Stormfur and Tawnypelt right now, the kind of silence that exists because words simply aren’t necessary, the kind of security that comes with knowing the strength and the loyalty of the cat beside you; that was Stonefur, and that is Tawnypelt.

“You know if you ever want to join RiverClan--”

Tawnypelt cuts him off with a bark of laughter, and it draws a grin from Stormfur. It doesn’t even bother him that she thinks it’s a joke.

(He does think that if Tawnypelt moved to RiverClan and shared a den with Hawkfrost for more than a moon, they would try to smother each other in their sleep.)

--

There isn’t much that the entire group can agree on, but that’s just a testament to how terrible these StarClan-forsaken mountains are.

“If that dying warrior leads the Clans through these mountains to find a new home, I think I’d rather take my chances with the twolegs,” Squirrelpaw mutters.

“Absolutely,” Feathertail agrees whole-heartedly.

“You can say that again,” Brambleclaw grumbles, pausing to dig yet another pebble from between his paw pads.

A far-away look enters Crowpaw’s gaze. “What if the mountains are our new home?”

“Optimistic thoughts only, Crowpaw,” Tawnypelt snaps, as a shiver shoots down Stormfur’s spine.

“I don’t see how anyone could survive here,” Stormfur says. Brambleclaw dislodges the pebble and they continue onwards. “Prey is difficult to catch, there’s barely any shelter from the weather, and if I see one more eagle--”

Stormfur comes to an abrupt halt. He stands in front of a mountain stream that’s rushing down the cliffside. The stream is probably a refreshing place to drink, but right now it’s so swollen with the season’s rain that Stormfur can tell it’s stronger than it looks.

Feathertail comes to the same conclusion and groans. “We have to turn around.”

“What?” Tawnypelt demands. “And lose an entire day’s worth of travel?”

“Please, no,” Squirrelpaw begs. “My paws can’t handle it.” 

Stormfur shakes his head. “We don’t have much of a choice. That stream is full to the point of flooding, I don’t know if even Feathertail and I could swim across it.”

Brambleclaw moves to stand between Stormfur and Feathertail. “It’s not even half as wide as the river in the forest,” he observes. “I bet we could jump it.”

“Maybe if you could fly,” Stormfur retorts.

“Can’t we, though?” Brambleclaw turns to face him as a smirk spreads across his lips. “I mean, that last ravine with the eagles? That felt like flying to me.”

And it’s such a Hawkfrost thing to say, such a Hawkfrost smirk on his face, such a Hawkfrost gleam in his eyes, that Stormfur loses this argument as if it is Hawkfrost standing beside him and urging him to do something reckless that they’ll both laugh about later.

“On three?” Stormfur checks and Brambleclaw’s eyes light up. 

“Stormfur,” Feathertail warns, her voice sharp.

“Brambleclaw is right, that last ravine was nearly as wide as this stream. We just have to aim a little higher, but I would rather take that risk than lose an entire day’s worth of travel.”

Feathertail shakes her head. “I’m not so worried about you; you can swim.” She looks back at Crowpaw, Tawnypelt, and Squirrelpaw. “You all would rather jump than turn around? Even with your shoulder, Tawnypelt?”

Tawnypelt flexes her shoulder. “The pulp that Midnight applied to it really helped. It’s only a little sore, it shouldn’t hold me back.” Crowpaw and Squirrelpaw don’t need to voice their opinions; it’s clear by the determined gleam in their eyes.

Stormfur can tell by the tight lines in her expression that Feathertail isn’t happy. He touches his nose to her shoulder and asks, “Jump, or turn around?” He won’t force her.

Feathertail sighs and says,  “I’ve been outvoted. Just, be careful, alright?”

“Yeah, duh.” He looks at Brambleclaw and asks, “Ready?”

“One, two.”

They break into a sprint and Brambleclaw is right, they did this before with the ravines, and as Stormfur bunches his muscles and leaps in tandem with his friend, he thinks, This does feel like flying.

Drops of water mist their paw pads before they land on the other side of the stream. His landing is far from graceful but adrenaline absorbs most of the impact. He turns around and grins wildly at the group. “Easy!” he calls.

“My turn!” Squirrelpaw exclaims, and Feathertail prepares herself to go with the ThunderClan apprentice. They start running and when they leap, Stormfur is impressed by the height that Squirrelpaw is able to get.

“Firestar ought to name you Squirrelflight,” Feathertail teases as they rise to their paws, nudging Squirrelpaw’s shoulder. Her green eyes light up. 

“Ooh, I like that!”

Tawnypelt falls into a stretch, mindful of her shoulder. She looks at Crowpaw and says, “If you fall in, I’m not saving you.”

Crowpaw snorts. “Good, I wasn’t planning on saving you either.”

--

Crowpaw’s speed does not serve him well on such rocky terrain. His forepaw catches on a small outcrop and sends him tumbling into Tawnypelt.

They both fall into the stream and are swept over a waterfall.

--

By the time the group reaches the pool at the bottom of the waterfall, it seems another group of cats has beaten them to Tawnypelt and Crowpaw.

A stone-gray tom prods Tawnypelt with a paw, claws unsheathed, and when she simply lays there, limp, Brambleclaw closes the distance between them like lightning and snarls, “Don’t you hurt her!”

The tom recoils but not out of fear. The rest of his group moves forward, backing him up, and Stormfur runs to do the same for Brambleclaw, Feathertail, and Squirrelpaw right beside him. Stormfur’s body is travel-weary and his bones ache for rest but if they need to fight their way out of this one, then he’s ready.

But the stone-gray tom only tilts his head to the side. “We found them like this,” he explains, and his voice catches Stormfur off guard. It’s-- there’s something different about it, there’s a raspiness that he’s never heard before. “They swallowed too much water. Let us help them.”

Feathertail is already snaking her way between cats to put herself between these strangers and Crowpaw. “We can take care of them, thanks,” she says, her voice tight, as she rolls Crowpaw onto his back and begins massaging his stomach, pushing the contents of his stomach to his throat. “Stormfur, take Tawnypelt.”

Her order snaps him out of his daze. Stormfur moves to stand over Tawnypelt, between Brambleclaw and the gray tom, and starts to massage Tawnypelt’s stomach the same way that Feathertail is doing, but Stormfur was never very good at this sort of thing.

He remembers carrying Dawnflower to camp on his back and sending Hawkpaw to run ahead and fetch Mudfur because he was scared to death that they weren’t going to make it back in time. Dawnflower’s lungs were full of water and Stormfur didn’t know how to get it out without drowning her in her own body. He remembers being forced to stop running to catch his breath and feeling like he was wasting precious seconds that Dawnflower couldn’t afford to lose. He remembers panting, paralyzed, all of his hope placed in an equally-exhausted Hawkpaw.

Now Stormfur stares down at Tawnypelt, paralyzed, and he can’t make his paws copy Feathertail’s swift movements and Tawnypelt is so still, deathly still--

“Stormfur, why are you just standing like that?” Squirrelpaw asks, her voice strained.

Stormfur shakes his head, unable to form a coherent sentence, praying that Feathertail will bring Crowpaw back to life quickly and then she can work on Tawnypelt, too--

“Let me help,” a voice murmurs, and Stormfur is weak as water as he’s gently pushed to the side and a brown tabby she-cat takes his place above Tawnypelt. Brambleclaw tenses but he doesn’t move to stop her as Squirrelpaw sets her tail across his back.

The she-cat’s movements are rougher than Feathertail’s, more aggressive, and Stormfur wants to snap at her but suddenly Tawnypelt starts to cough. Stormfur watches, amazed, as liquid bubbles in her mouth and then the brown tabby cat rolls Tawnypelt onto her paws, and Tawnypelt begins to empty the contents of her stomach. A few heartbeats later and Crowpaw is doing the exact same thing.

“Ew,” Squirrelpaw whispers, nose wrinkled, and she’s right, it is gross, but their friends are alive.

Stormfur turns to the brown tabby she-cat and breathes, “Thank you.”

She turns to face him and the first thing Stormfur notices are her eyes; they’re gray like an overcast sky right before it rains, and something in Stormfur’s spirit settles. 

“You’re welcome,” she replies in that same raspy voice and Stormfur can’t help it; he’s absolutely charmed.

“My name is Stormfur,” he says, in his own little world.

The she-cat smiles, slightly. “I am Brook Where Small Fish Swim.”

“I’ve never heard of a name like that before.”

Her whiskers twitch. “I have never heard of Stormfur before, either.”

“Brook,” a voice rumbles, and she looks back at the stone-gray tom. Stormfur follows her gaze and thinks there’s an edge to the tom now that didn’t use to be present. Brook, he thinks to himself. That’s pretty.

It takes Crowpaw groaning, “Why do I feel like I just died,” to remind Stormfur that he is not, in fact, in his own little world. He turns around and watches Feathertail coax him into leaning on her. 

“I second that,” Tawnypelt adds, her voice hardly stronger than a whisper, her legs even weaker as she leans against Brambleclaw.

“Probably because you did just die,” Squirrelpaw answers, helpfully. “You fell into the stream and were swept over a waterfall! Feathertail and Stormfur-- well, Feathertail revived you, Crowpaw… Stormfur did his best, Tawnypelt.”

Stormfur shoots Squirrelpaw a look. “You’re both alive and that’s all that matters. Do you feel up to traveling?”

“Only if you’re offering to carry me on your back,” Crowpaw replies. “Maybe not even then, actually.”

“Yeah, no,” Tawnypelt says, dryly.

Brambleclaw looks between his sister and the strangers who saved her life. “That’s fine, considering you just fell over a waterfall and maybe died. We can find shelter and rest.”

Stormfur turns to Brook and asks, “Do you know someplace where we can stay the night?” He’s not hoping she says “with us”, but he’s not not hoping it, either.

Brook glances at the stone-gray tom and says, “The Stoneteller would not turn them away.”

Stormfur follows her gaze hopefully but he’s startled when he sees that the tom’s amber eyes are already set on him; there’s a look in those eyes that’s vaguely unsettling to Stormfur, a certain intensity that suddenly makes him question if he’s being too quick to trust.

“No,” the tom says finally. “The Stoneteller would not turn them away. If you wish to take shelter with us tonight, you will be allowed.”

He’s still staring at Stormfur and only Stormfur. A shiver crawls down his spine.

“That’s very kind of you,” Feathertail says before Stormfur can think of a reason to suddenly turn down the offer, their friends nodding along. “We’ll take you up on it.”

--

Brook makes introductions as they walk. The stone-gray tom is named Crag Where Eagles Nest, Crag for short. Brook and Crag are littermates, and Stormfur convinces himself that’s the reason why Crag keeps shooting him unreadable glances.

--

“You live on the mountain?” Squirrelpaw asks, awed, as she keeps up with the tribe cats. “That must be difficult!”

“It can be a challenge during the cold moons, but every territory will have its challenges,” Brook says. “This has been our home for many generations. We are well-conditioned to it.”

“Brambleclaw and I come from a forest, and it’s not bad, except my father says there was a huge forest fire before I was born and the forest took moons to recover. You were alive then, weren’t you, Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt?”

Brambleclaw seems focused on helping Tawnypelt limp along. “We were just kits.”

“That still counts, mouse-brain. Have you ever had fires on the mountain?”

Crag shakes his head. “There is not much to burn here.”

“One time, though,” Brook adds, “during a great storm, lightning struck the mountain and seared the ground. My father was born in that storm, and that is how he received his name; Lightning That Scorches Ground.”

Squirrelpaw’s eyes are wide with wonder. “That’s so cool,” she breathes. “I wish my name was that cool! I mean, Squirrelpaw - lame! I’m praying my father gives me a good warrior name to make up for it!” She shoots Feathertail a cheeky grin. “Something like Squirrelflight!”

“Please tell her to shut up already,” Crowpaw groans to Feathertail. “She’s not stopped to take a breath since she started!”

“Hush,” Feathertail scolds, her whiskers twitching. “Don’t waste valuable energy complaining.”

“What kind of dangers do you face living on a mountain?” Stormfur asks, interested. “Eagles?”

Brook nods. “Eagles are not to be taken lightly. There are far worse predators, though.”

Before Stormfur can press her for more information, Crag clears his throat and announces, “We are approaching the Cave of Rushing Water. Brook, why don’t you go ahead and alert the Stoneteller to our guests?”

Stormfur doesn’t miss Crag’s sharp tone; that was an order, not a suggestion. He doesn’t miss the tension that crackles between the littermates, either, before Brook begrudgingly nods and sprints ahead of the group, leaving Stormfur to wonder,

What did she almost reveal that Crag didn’t want her to?

--

The Cave of Rushing Water is unlike anything Stormfur has ever seen before. Hidden behind a long waterfall, there is a tunnel that leads into a cave so large that Squirrelpaw remarks it could probably fit all four Clans easily; Stormfur thinks she might actually be right.

They meet many new faces, including Talon of Swooping Eagle, Brook and Crag’s other brother, who does not stare at Stormfur like he’s trying to extract a secret out of him. Mist That Clings to Rocks goes by Mist for short and Stormfur notices when Feathertail slips up and accidentally calls her Mistyfoot.

Brook introduces the group to Teller of Pointed Stones, or the Stoneteller. Looking at him, Stormfur can’t help but think of the Clan leaders back home and in comparison this cat is rather unremarkable. But there’s something about him…

Stormfur can’t quite explain it, but he has seen many desperate cats in his lifetime, and somehow he just knows--

The Stoneteller is desperate. And when his yellow eyes lock with Stormfur’s, it sends a chill down his spine.

--

The Tribe cats are cautious but polite. The more time Stormfur spends talking to them the more they open up. He and his friends share stories about life in the Clans, and in exchange, they start to share their own history and culture. 

Stormfur can’t help but be fascinated by their way of life; in all of his life, he never wondered about groups of cats outside the forest, but here they are on top of a mountain.

Stormfur has always been torn between RiverClan and ThunderClan. Starting over in ShadowClan or WindClan never felt like an option; it was still too close to home to make a difference. But he wonders, absently, what his life would look like if he were a Tribe cat.

Brook makes herself comfortable beside him and when he glances at her, she catches his eye and beams.

Stormfur wonders and wonders.

--

They spend the next two days with the Tribe, waiting for the soreness to leave Tawnypelt and Crowpaw’s bodies as they regain their strength. Stormfur, Feathertail, and Brambleclaw join the Tribe on group hunts, and Stormfur will never forget the feeling of hooking his claws into an eagle and yanking it out of the sky with his friends.

Brook shoulders him, her amber eyes shining with victory, and she exclaims, “We’ll make a prey-hunter out of you yet!”

Stormfur laughs, exhilarated, and he doesn’t protest. 

--

“You’re lucky I’m such a good sister,” Feathertail murmurs later, as Stormfur watches Brook drag the eagle into the center of the cave.

“Why’s that?”

“Because if I were a bad sister, I would be noting every interaction between you and Brook just waiting to tell Hawkfrost all about it.”

Hawkfrost. The name jerks Stormfur out of a trance and he levels a look at Feathertail. “You can tell Hawkfrost whatever you want to. We’re not-- we were never--”

“Not officially, no,” Feathertail agrees, stepping gracefully over Stormfur’s twisted tongue. “But I think everyone knows exactly how Hawkfrost feels about you.”

“I don’t,” Stormfur says, angrier than he means to be. It’s the truth, though. He can look back on memories with Hawkfrost and wonder how he was ever so blind - like when he teased Stormfur for wanting to introduce him to Graystripe, or when he became jealous when Stormfur would ask Mothwing to spar instead of him - but it’s always followed by the memory of Hawkfrost standing on a stone and listening as Blackclaw degraded him in front of the entire camp, dishonored his father, called them both disloyal and what exactly did Hawkfrost do about that?

Tried to pull Stormfur off of Blackclaw when he finally, finally gave Blackclaw what he deserved. Knowing full well that it was Hawkfrost’s plan to ambush ThunderClan and take back Sunningrocks, all on the off chance of meeting Brambleclaw--

Feathertail is watching him closely. She says, “Well, I know Hawkfrost cares about you.”

Stormfur hunches his shoulders and glares at the cave walls. “From where I’m standing, it looks like he cares about other things more than me.”

“Stormfur--”

“Tell him all about Brook once you return to RiverClan. See if I care what he thinks.”

Stormfur, full of familiar emotions that cut just as deep as they did the first time they were inflicted, turns around and follows the tunnel outside.

--

Silverpelt has awoken and the stars twinkle knowingly in her fur. Stormfur wonders if those are his stars or not; Brook and some of her Tribemates have told him about the Tribe of Endless Hunting, and Stormfur wonders if StarClan is even permitted to walk these skies.

He wonders if Stonefur can see him from here, and suddenly Stormfur feels very alone.

Stonefur was a passionate cat, and he felt every emotion strongly, and he died angrily, and Stormfur wouldn’t be surprised if even in death he is still angry. Stormfur doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life angry at the world, but sometimes he thinks it would be easy to do so. 

Angry at Stonefur for being a hero and sacrificing himself. Angry at Graystripe for abandoning them in RiverClan. Angry at Feathertail for burdening him with her happiness. Angry at Leopardstar for allowing him to suffer for an entire moon in a foxhole. Angry at Tigerstar for targeting half-Clan cats. Angry at Hawkfrost for caring about him, but not caring enough to consider Stormfur before he orchestrated an ambush on ThunderClan. Angry at Brambleclaw for being the center of Hawkfrost’s desires. Angry Silverstream for breaking the Warrior Code and dying after childbirth and leaving him all alone in a world that would never be kind to him.

The list goes on. Stormfur could spend the rest of his life miserable and bitter and it wouldn’t even be difficult. He wouldn’t even have to try.

Emotions continue to build inside his chest until he has to sigh, long and heavy, to expel them. Then a twig snaps and he spins around and comes face to face with the Stoneteller.

There is a creeping sensation whenever the Stoneteller is around. Stormfur has been avoiding him; he thinks that the Stoneteller knows this.

“Sorry to startle you. I saw you leave the cave and wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Stormfur’s eyes narrow, slightly. “Should I be in danger out here?”

“There are many dangers outside the cave, Stormfur. You’re not familiar with our territory.”

Stormfur contemplates that for a moment, and then says, “I’m not worried about the eagles.”

“No, you shouldn’t fear the eagles.”

“So then what should I fear?”

The Stoneteller’s unreadable expression does not shift, but Stormfur knows he’s asked the right question. The Stoneteller moves to sit beside him and looks up, up at the waterfall that guards their cave. He asks, “Do you believe in destiny, Stormfur?”

Stormfur eyes him, suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because I think a cat’s destiny is more important than anything else. I believe that everything happens for a reason. And I wonder, why is it that you and your friends have stumbled upon my Tribe in our greatest time of need?”

That last part gives Stormfur pause. “Your greatest…”

“Brook didn’t tell you?” The Stoneteller questions, but there’s no surprise in his voice. “I’m not surprised. My daughter is very good at keeping secrets.”

This is reinforced by the fact that Brook has never mentioned that the Stoneteller is her father. Stormfur stands to his paws and says, “I’m going to find my friends. We’re resuming our journey tomorrow.”

The Stoneteller hums, still looking up at the waterfall. “A cat’s destiny is more important than anything else, Stormfur. And there is no greater honor than to fulfill it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stormfur says, voice level, before turning around and heading back inside the tunnel. When he pauses to glance behind him the Stoneteller is still gazing up, up, up at something only he can see.

--

“Tomorrow?” Squirrelpaw repeats, disappointed. “But I haven't even taken down an eagle yet! If I take down an eagle then Shrewpaw and Spiderpaw will have to admit that I'm the coolest apprentice in ThunderClan!"

“No, it’s time to finish our quest,” Stormfur says sharply. “We’ve wasted enough time here.”

“Wasted?” Feathertail echoes, tilting her head to the side, questioning. “Did something happen, Stormfur?”

“Get into an argument with Brook?” Crowpaw asks, and it’s just a joke but it serves as his breaking point.

“Brook means nothing to me,” Stormfur snaps. “None of the Tribe cats do. All I care about is returning to the forest and ending our quest, and that’s what should be important to the rest of you, too!”

Silence falls over their group, frustrating Stormfur. He wants to ask if they’ve all forgotten about Midnight’s warning until he realizes that they aren’t looking at him; they’re looking behind him. Stormfur turns around and there stands Brook, and if Stormfur has to wonder if she overheard him, then the shock in her wide-eyes is answer enough. Before Stormfur can take back his words she spins around and stomps away, down some other tunnel he’s never explored. Stormfur watches her leave with a weight settling on his chest but this time when he sighs, long and heavy, it does not expel.

His friends are still silent, staring at the back of his head, waiting for whatever comes next. Stormfur sighs again, quieter this time, and mutters, “I don’t trust the Stoneteller. I think he wants something from us, and I-- I want to just go home. Can we leave tomorrow?”

“Yeah, of course,” Brambleclaw answers, sounding unsure but thank the stars he doesn’t press Stormfur any further. “You’re right anyway, these cats have been very kind to us but we have Midnight’s warning to deliver, and we need all the time we can get to convince our Clans to find a new home.”

Tawnypelt sighs, sounding just as tired as Stormfur feels. “Great StarClan, I might have to physically drag Blackstar out of the marshland by his scruff.”

“Leopardstar, too,” Feathertail agrees.

“My dad will probably give some inspirational speech about unity and StarClan and rally all of ThunderClan together.” Squirrelpaw looks at Crowpaw and offers, “I’ll lend him to you if you want, since he and Tallstar are such good friends.” Crowpaw grunts in appreciation.

Conversation flows quietly for the rest of the night until it’s time to curl up in their makeshift nests and go to sleep. 

Stormfur stays wide awake all night long, praying and hoping that Stonefur can hear him underneath these strange skies, in the cave hidden behind a waterfall.

--

“The funny thing about destiny,” the Stoneteller begins the next morning, as their group attempts to say their goodbyes, “is that sometimes it has to drag you by your scruff, screaming and fighting the whole way there.”

--

Crag and Mist drag Stormfur down a tunnel he’s never explored, screaming and fighting the whole way there.

--

The cave he’s thrown in is small and dank, so far away from the outside world that no sunlight can find him here. His friends won’t find him either, even if they were somehow able to make it past the Tribecats. If Stormfur can’t find his own way out then they’ll be forced to return to the Clans without him. He needs a plan. He needs to know why the Stoneteller is so interested in him. Is it the same reason why Crag constantly steals glances at him? I need a plan.

Stormfur already doesn’t know how long he’s been in this cave; there’s no concept of time without the sun. It feels like it’s only been a few minutes but it could be days, for all he knows.

Stormfur’s chest tightens, and he forces himself to swallow the lump of fear clogging his throat. The last time he was held as a prisoner against his own will--

Stop that. Don’t go there.

--Was when he was barely seven moons old and Stonefur was still alive and Tigerstar somehow commanded all of ShadowClan and RiverClan. There was no ray of sunlight able to penetrate that old foxhole, either.

This isn’t TigerClan, you’re not an apprentice anymore, Stonefur is dead--

Stonefur is dead--

Stonefur--

“Stonefur,” Stormfur whimpers and the voice that slips past his teeth belongs to a frightened apprentice.

--

“Stonefur, I don’t understand,” Stormpaw whispers, his throat raw from screaming. Mistyfoot is curled tight around Featherpaw, who has finally cried herself to sleep. “I didn’t do anything wrong. None of us did anything wrong. Why are they keeping us like this?”

Stonefur has no right to stand as tall as he does, but he does, like a shield against all of TigerClan. “I don’t know, Stormpaw,” he admits, quietly so he doesn’t disturb Featherpaw. “Some cats are just…” he trails off.

“Evil?” Stormpaw fills in, venomously.

“No, not evil.”

“Tigerstar is evil.”

“He is.”

“Leopardstar is evil, too.”

Stonefur’s jaw hardens. “Leopardstar is desperate.”

“Desperation makes cats do evil things,” Stormpaw mumbles.

Stonefur isn’t looking at him. His gaze is searching for the smallest ray of sunlight, or maybe for Leopardstar herself. “Yes, it does. But Leopardstar isn’t an evil cat, not like Tigerstar. It’s not too late for her to make the right decision.”

“What if she doesn’t make the right decision?”

Stonefur doesn’t like to answer a lot of questions; he always says that experience is the best mentor. But he turns to look at Stormpaw now, and his blue eyes are dimmer than he’s ever seen them but there’s a storm built behind those eyes. “Then I’ll protect you,” Stonefur says like it’s the simplest answer in the world.

For the first time since they were thrown into the dank old den, Stormpaw manages a weak smile. “Thanks, Stonefur,” he whispers. "I'll protect you, too, and Mistyfoot and Featherpaw."

Stonefur noses the top of his head like he’s something precious and replies, "No, Mistyfoot and I are your mentors, we're responsible for protecting you. I want you and Featherpaw to just stay strong until we all get out of here together, okay?"

"Okay."

--

The Stoneteller stares at him with yellow eyes, eyes full of desperation, and he says, “I really am sorry about this, Stormfur. I don’t have a choice.”

His vision is blurry, weak. He feels nauseous but if he tries to eat the small mouse that someone tossed into the den while he was asleep, he knows it would never hit his stomach. “Where are my friends?” he rasps.

“I don’t know. They left some time ago.” Then, as if to comfort Stormfur, he adds, “They put up a valiant fight, but there is only so much that five cats can do.”

Five cats, Stormfur remembers. Is this why Midnight didn’t count me?

The thought spurs him to ask, “What do you want with me?”

--

The Stoneteller asks him if he knows what a Sharptooth is.

--

The Stoneteller says that for nearly a generation, a monstrous cat-like creature has been hunting Tribecats. It has a taste for their blood. 

It’s how the Stoneteller lost his mate, and how Brook, Crag and Talon lost their mother. He rewatches her death every night in his nightmares, always unable to protect her. He took on the mantle of the Stoneteller shortly after her death. He has to protect his kits. They’re all he has left of his mate.

“There is a prophecy,” the Stoneteller begins, and the fur on Stormfur’s spine rises.

--

Stormfur doesn’t know how to defeat such a beast. He doesn’t even know if it’s possible. 

But when he voices this to the Stoneteller, a regretful look enters his eyes and he says, “I do not expect you to be able to defeat it, Stormfur.”

Oh.

He’s a sacrifice.

--

“It’s your destiny,” the Stoneteller says simply, as panic builds like a flood against a dam inside Stormfur’s chest. He turns around and walks out of the cave and leaves Stormfor alone in his dark, dank prison.

--

“This isn’t fair,” Stormpaw whimpers, trembling against his mentor’s legs. “How can Tigerstar say we aren’t loyal? He doesn’t know us!”

“We’re half-Clan Stormpaw, and to cats like Tigerstar that’s all they need to know to decide our fates.”

“We don’t deserve this,” he cries, voice cracking, but he flinches when Blackfoot of ShadowClan snarls at him to shut up from his post. “We don’t deserve this…”

Stonefur moves to stand in front of him, blocking him from Blackfoot’s sight. “Go to sleep, Stormpaw. You need to rest.”

--

“You should try and rest.”

It’s too dark to identify Brook by sight alone but her scent hits him like an unexpected slash across his muzzle. “I was just told that it’s my destiny to be sacrificed to a beast, Brooke. I can’t rest.” His voice is full of bitterness even to his own ears and he takes the slightest pleasure in how Brook flinches away from it.

“I… I am sorry, Stormfur. You do not deserve this.”

He wishes he had the energy to scoff as he says, “Yeah, well, I’m used to getting what I don’t deserve.”

Brook lingers and tries feebly to make amends with him, but Stormfur tunes her out, forgets how striking her storm-gray eyes are, forgets how she can down an eagle all by herself, forgets how her voice has an interesting raspy quality to it, different from the other Tribe cats' voices, somehow, and how he really wondered what his life would look like if he had run away from RiverClan and made a life with Brook here on top of a mountain--

Brook gives up and leaves him alone with only his own bitterness for company.

--

Sometime later Crag and Talon arrive to escort Stormfur to his death.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Stormfur asks Crag as they guard him, Crag in front of him and Talon behind him so that any attempt at escape is pointless. “You’ve been keeping an eye on me ever since we first met.”

Crag flicks an ear and replies, “I did not know for certain, but I had my suspicions.”

“You could have warned me.”

“You would have run away.”

“And lived,” Stormfur adds, angry.

Crag shrugs, agreeable. “Perhaps, or perhaps you would have died in a way that does not save anyone. At least your sacrifice today will become something of a legend, honored by many generations to come.”

“What if your prophecy doesn’t come true and my sacrifice is for nothing? What will you do then?”

Behind him, Stormfur can sense Talon’s muscles tense; so Stormfur isn’t the only one who thinks the Stoneteller’s blind faith in some prophecy is baseless.

Crag's voice is strong as he retorts, “The Tribe of Endless Hunting delivered the prophecy to my father themselves; it will come true.” But as he’s led into daylight Stormfur squints against the sun, hissing, and he misses the look of doubt that flashes across Crag’s face. 

--

Crag and Talon lead Stormfur away from their cave, past the waterfall, to an abandoned ledge high in the air. He’s completely exposed on this ledge, easy prey for predators. He’s been fighting against his panic since he was thrust into his prison but he’s quickly losing the war. His breath begins to come out in short, quick pants, and his throat becomes so tight he can hardly breathe.

Crag and Talon are crouched behind him, out of sight but ready to pounce. If he dares to look below the ledge he can see Brook, her expression pinched with regret.

“I am sorry, Stormfur,” Talon says, speaking for the first time. “I believe that we can find another way to kill the Sharptooth, but there is nothing I can do.”

Faces flash across Stormfur’s eyes: Emberdawn, Shadepelt, Mudfur, Sedgecreek. None of them thought Tigerstar’s treatment of half-Clan cats was right either, but none of them stood up and said that. Nobody was willing to look Tigerstar or Leopardstar in the eye and tell them that they were wrong; only Stonefur, and look where that got him.

Stormfur closes his eyes and refuses to grace Talon’s feeble apology with a response.

--

The sun is setting slowly. Stormfur is trembling, either from the biting wind or from fear he can’t tell; perhaps both.

Movement near the ledge catches his attention, and his eyes widen; Brambleclaw and Feathertail! Then he spots Squirrelpaw and Crowpaw beneath them. He makes eye contact with Feathertail and his heart begins to pound against his chest; they came back for me!

Feathertail motions for him to ignore them so he raises his gaze and tries not to let his relief show. They’re going to save me. I’m going to make it home! Thank you StarClan, thank you--

A roar echos throughout the wide-open sky and sends a chill down Stormfur’s spine, freezing him. He hears steps next, one after another, paws that must be heavy as boulders for how loud they are--

“It is time,” Crag announces, his voice grave. “The Sharptooth has arrived.”

--

Brambleclaw and Feathertail ambush Crag and Talon and shout for Stormfur to escape; fights break out everywhere, suddenly, and Stormfur dodges them as he runs down the cliffside. He notices Squirrelpaw faced against a Tribe cat twice her senior and swerves to aide her, but then Brook comes out of nowhere and starts fighting against her own Tribemate, pushing him back from Squirrelpaw.

“Squirrelpaw!” Stormfur yells, and she looks back at him and her eyes widen.

“Stormfur! Tawnypelt is waiting for you by the forest, run! We’ll cover you!” And then Squirrelpaw throws herself back into the fray, hissing and clawing like a warrior twice her size. Stormfur wants to drag her with him but he reminds himself that nobody cares about her, they only want him.

He breaks out into a sprint, heading in the direction of the forest. His senses are completely overwhelmed but he can’t stop, he has to keep running, the Sharptooth is coming and he has to get far away from here--

“Stormfur, look out!”

Stormfur looks behind him a moment too late, and he freezes in his tracks as his eyes land on the largest cat he’s ever seen, like something from Mosspelt’s stories about LeopardClan and LionClan. It has huge paws and a tail like a serpent and burning orange eyes that are set on Stormfur--

This is it, Stormfur thinks, paralyzed with fear, unable to catch his breath as the huge cat descends upon him from the top of the waterfall, roaring as it pursues its prey, This is it, Stonefur, this is--

It all happens so quickly that Stormfur can barely process it all: the Sharptooth rapidly closing the distance between them leap by leap; Crowpaw’s strangled shout, “Feathertail, what are you doing?!”; a battle cry so fearsome that for a split second Stormfur thinks it leaves the Sharptooth’s maw; but then Feathertail goes flying from the top of the waterfall and she lands squarely on top of the Sharptooth and she sends them both plummeting into the ground.

There’s a crash that echoes throughout the mountainside, and then complete silence. Stormfur’s heart is beating so painfully hard against his ribcage that he’s worried he’s going to explode; his eyes are locked on Feathertail’s too-still body at the bottom of the waterfall. She isn’t moving. The thought spurs him into action. Stormfur leaps from ledge to ledge until he touches the bottom of the mountain and he splashes into the pool where both his littermate and the Sharptooth lay.

Feathertail has never been a large cat but beside the Sharptooth, Stormfur absently thinks that she has never looked so tiny before.

“Feathertail,” he gasps, rolling her onto her side. He presses his ear against her chest and finds her heartbeat, but it’s faint. Too faint. I shouldn’t have turned my back on her. I should have forced her to save herself first. I should have--

“Stormfur?” Feathertail groans, and her throat sounds like it’s full of gravel. “Is that-- Stormfur?”

“I’m right here,” Stormfur breathes, hurried. “I’m-- I’m here, Feathertail, Feathertail, why did you do that? Why did you-- why did you do that?”

She opens her eyes to look at him and a sob gets caught in his throat; her sky-blue eyes that have always reminded him of their other half, eyes that have always been so bright but now he’s watching the life drain rapidly from them. “I-- you, Stormfur, for you. Graystripe always-- always said to… take care of you.”

“Fish-brain,” Stormfur says, pushing past the lump in his throat. “He told us to take care of each other.”

She stares up at him and whispers, “Maybe, but I always knew that I… that I… had a feeling that I… would be the one… saving your tail in-- in the…” in the end.

Her head falls to the side, water filling her mouth but she doesn’t choke. Stormfur stares down at her in disbelief. “Feathertail, Feathertail, wait, Feathertail--”

“Finally, the Sharptooth is dead,” the Stoneteller announces from the top of the mountain, his voice just white noise in the background of Stormfur’s worst nightmare come to life. “Our ancestors have protected us, and we shall never live in fear ever again!”

Victory cries ring out from all over the mountainside, a sharp juxtaposition to the ache in Stormfur’s chest where his heart physically cannot process the fact that his sister -- his only littermate -- is, is--

“Tribe of Endless Hunting, please,” Stormfur begs as he starts massaging her stomach trying to resuscitate her, one final desperate cry for help. “Don’t take Feathertail from me, please, I need her here, please, I don’t know how to live without her, please--”

“Stormfur,” Tawnypelt says suddenly beside him, her voice thick. “Come on, let Brambleclaw and the others take care of her.” She tries to lead him away but he pushes her off.

“No! I’m not leaving Feathertail here, please, Tribe of Endless Hunting, please, Stonefur, Silverstream, anyone, please, I’m not leaving her here--”

“Stormfur, stop!”

“Please! Please, it was supposed to be me!”

“Stormfur, she’s gone! Stop, before you hurt yourself!”

And suddenly whatever has been holding Stormfur together since he was an apprentice breaks and he explodes like a dam that’s been holding back a flood for seasons and Stormfur screams until his lungs give out and his heart strains to continue beating because what is the point and then--

His entire world falls into darkness.

Chapter Text

It’s always the darkest before the dawn.

Stonefur told him that when they were being kept as prisoners in their own camp. Stormpaw had understood what he meant and it filled him with hope because that stretch of darkness never lasted forever; but now Stormfur wonders if it will ever give way to the first rays of dawn.

Stonefur was murdered. They took shelter in ThunderClan, and then they returned to RiverClan. Stormpaw was a tangle of emotions that he didn’t know how to untangle, how to handle, how to ask for help; didn’t know how to help Featherpaw or Mistyfoot either. Then they became RiverClan warriors but that didn’t mean a whole lot when their Clanmates still questioned their loyalty, and they had a right to question it because sometimes Stormfur still questioned it himself.

Then StarClan selected his sister for a quest and Stormfur came along to protect her, but in the end Feathertail gave her life to protect him. Feathertail is dead.

Stormfur feels like he’s been trapped in an eternal winter ever since he was seven moons old; the world is dark and cold and there is no dawn. 

Feathertail is dead.

The darkness is going to devour him whole and he’s worried that he’s never going to find his way out.

--

“Talon and I buried her at the base of the waterfall. Here, that is one of the greatest honors for a Tribecat.”

If Stormfur was capable of feeling anything but numb, he would feel angry. “She wasn’t a Tribecat.”

“No, she wasn’t, but the Tribe will remember her sacrifice for generations to come. We will never forget her.”

Stormfur wants to spit, She didn’t sacrifice herself for you. But then he would have to acknowledge that Feathertail sacrificed herself for him, and Stormfur is so, so tired of cats sacrificing themselves for him.

Brook touches her nose to his shoulder and whispers, “Stormfur, I’m sorry.”

Stormfur doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean into her. He stares up, up, up at the ledge where his sister leaped from; Crag voted to name it Sacrifice of Falling Feather, in memory of Feathertail, and Stormfur wonders what they would have named it after they pushed him off of the ledge and into the jaws of the Sharptooth, and all he can feel is numb.

“Yeah. Me too.”

--

There is a small farewell ceremony; Stormfur doesn’t pay attention to it, but Brambleclaw manages to grit his teeth and smile for all of them until it is finally time to leave.

And then Stormfur grows roots and cannot bring himself to move.

“Stormfur,” Tawnypelt begins, her voice firm. “It’s time.”

Stormfur can’t tear his gaze away from the ledge. “She’s still here.”

“She’s gone, Stormfur.”

“They shouldn’t have buried her here, she wasn’t a Tribecat. We should have been allowed to take her home, too--” he stops, because where was Feathertail’s home? She never made peace with RiverClan, but she couldn’t claim ThunderClan either.

Feathertail never had a home. She might as well be buried at the base of the waterfall with strangers, it would mean just the same to her as being buried on the riverbank.

Stormfur tries to blink back the burning heat behind his eyes but it doesn’t help. The ledge becomes so blurry that he can hardly see it anymore.

“Stormfur, don’t forget about Midnight’s warning,” Squirrelpaw says in a soft voice. “We have to save the Clans, remember?”

“You were right Squirrelpaw, Midnight only counted five of us. You all thought it was me, it should have been me--”

His friends are protesting, he can see their lips moving, can see their pained expressions, but all Stormfur can hear is It should have been me, It should have been me, It should have been me…

--

The journey home is going to be long.

On Stormfur’s left side walks Tawnypelt, and on the other side walks Squirrelpaw. Brambleclaw leads the way and Crowpaw trails the group like a shadow. Every so often Stormfur halts, unable to take another step, and turns his head to stare at the ledge in the distance and his heart mourns as it grows smaller and smaller.

“I can’t leave her,” he cries, again and again. “StarClan doesn’t walk these skies, she’ll never find StarClan, I’ll never see her again--”

Each time it happens Tawnypelt and Squirrelpaw give him a few moments to grieve and then they make him start walking again. Stormfur thinks he hears Squirrelpaw sniffling, thinks there are tears in Tawnypelt’s eyes, but he doesn’t care. Feathertail was his littermate, his best friend, the other half of his heart, and this is his loss to grieve, and if he wants to grieve every step of the way then that is his right.

The journey home is going to be long.

--

The days blend together and every night Stormfur builds a makeshift nest for two. He tries to build a smaller nest but it’s all muscle memory; he doesn’t remember a time when he didn’t share a nest with Feathertail.

Tonight is no different. His friends make small talk in the background but it’s all just white noise as Stormfur stares down at his lonely nest built for two. His gaze becomes blurry again; he doesn’t even realize when the white noise dies down.

Not until Squirrelpaw slides into his nest. “Wow, you know how to build a really soft nest, Stormfur,” she says, stretching out leisurely. “Mine always fall apart in the middle of the night.”

“Squirrelpaw,” Brambleclaw scolds.

“What?” Squirrelpaw retorts. “Stormfur doesn’t mind sharing a nest with me, do you, Stormfur?” She looks up at him, and there’s a scheme behind those innocent green eyes. “I mean, it’s big enough.”

Stormfur blinks. “Um.”

“See, Brambleclaw, he doesn’t care!”

Brambleclaw makes a frustrated noise. “Leave him alone, Squirrelpaw--”

“I don’t mind,” Stormfur says, without thinking. “I don’t-- really, I don’t mind. It’s too big for just me, anyway.”

Stormfur isn’t fish-brained, he understands what Squirrelpaw is doing. And honestly, it touches his heart and makes it feel soft for the first time since--

He slides into the nest and Squirrelpaw’s fluffy ginger pelt immediately begins to warm him. It’s a bit awkward sharing a nest with her, though; with Feathertail it was different, it was never romantic, never intimate, it was a survival technique, they were littermates, but he doesn’t share a drop of blood with Squirrelpaw--

“Well that’s not fair, Squirrelpaw keeps me warm at night,” Tawnypelt huffs. She pushes her nest beside theirs until the two nests begin melding together, and then she flops down with a satisfied sigh. “There, much better.”

Stormfur’s throat is too tight to speak. So instead he just looks at Brambleclaw, imploringly, until Brambleclaw sighs and says, “Alright, me too.”

Soon three nests have been woven together into one large, awkward nest, and if Stormfur tries to acknowledge what they’re all doing for him then he’s going to start crying again. He keeps his mouth shut and stares up at Silverpelt, fighting back tears.

“Hey, Crowpaw,” Squirrelpaw starts, and suddenly Stormfur remembers that the WindClan apprentice is still there, too. “Come on, bring your nest over--”

“I’m fine,” Crowpaw snaps. No one presses him.

Stormfur realizes it’s the first thing he’s heard Crowpaw say since Feathertail died.

--

It becomes one of those unspoken things: at night, everyone shares a nest. Stormfur intentionally makes the nest bigger and he falls asleep listening to the even breathing of his friends, and it helps keep the nightmares at bay.

--

One night he’s startled awake by a scream and it takes Stormfur a moment to realize that his throat isn’t hoarse and his heart isn’t beating like a hummingbird in his chest; the scream didn’t come from him.

“Crowpaw,” Brambleclaw says, his voice thick with sleep. “Are you–”

“I’m fine,” Crowpaw snaps, and his face is hidden by shadows but his voice trembles. “I’m– it was just a– a stupid dream.”

Crowpaw jumps up and storms off before anyone can question him further. Squirrelpaw sighs and says, “I wish he would just suck it up and join the cuddle puddle. Maybe it would help with his nightmares.”

Stormfur knows nightmares all too well. Squirrelpaw is right, and sometimes it does help sleep next to someone.

But he also knows that grief is not linear, and it affects every cat differently; his grief never looked identical to Feathertail's or Mistyfoot’s.

He resolves to go back to sleep and do something about Crowpaw later.

- -

“Later” comes one morning when Stormfur wakes up, a yawn splitting his jaws, and his gaze strays to Crowpaw’s nest and he realizes that Crowpaw is gone.

Another nightmare, Stormfur thinks. He stands to his paws, careful not to disturb his still-snoring friends, and tracks Crowpaw’s scent.

--

Sitting on the cliffside with his face towards the waning stars and his back to his friends, Crowpaw is perfectly miserable. For a moment the sight reminds Stormfur of Feathertail when she would hide behind a reedbed and watch ThunderClan sun themselves; a lonely apprentice who knows too much of the world’s unkindness. It stirs an old ache in Stormfur’s chest, and it’s what pushes him to finally sit down beside Crowpaw.

“You’re up early,” Stormfur remarks.

“Never went to sleep,” Crowpaw mumbles in response. 

A frown pulls at Stormfur’s mouth as he takes in the other tom; now that he’s close enough to see the lines beneath his eyes, the droop to his ears, the pure exhaustion in his voice, Stormfur believes that Crowpaw hasn’t rested in a few days, actually.

“You have to sleep eventually, or else you’ll make yourself sick--”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

This is why we’ve never talked much, Stormfur thinks, his frustration flaring. He’s a sulky, sarcastic apprentice who thinks he knows everything.

But Feathertail saw something else in him, a voice reminds Stormfur. And he saw something else in Feathertail, something that not even RiverClan could see. That has to matter.

Stormfur takes a deep breath, then says, “I miss her too, Crowpaw.”

Crowpaw’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t respond. Stormfur takes that as a sign to continue.

“I wish she wouldn’t have sacrificed herself to save me. I wish she was on this journey instead of me, and I’ll always miss her, but that isn’t going to bring her back.”

Stormfur’s throat tightens. “I wish I could bring her back, I would do anything in the world to have her here with us right now, but there’s nothing I can do, so I have to just keep going on. Feathertail… she wasted a lot of her life wishing things were different. I watched her die a little bit every single day and it was slowly killing me, too. I don’t want to put my friends, my Clanmates, through that same slow death.”

He looks at Crowpaw now and adds, “There are still cats that care about you, too, Crowpaw. Don’t put them through that, either.”

Tears stream quietly down Crowpaw’s cheeks even as he continues to stare up at the dawnlit sky. “There’s no one in WindClan for me,” he whispers. “Not anyone like Feathertail.”

“What about your kin?”

“My father died in the BloodClan battle. My mother has thrown herself into her duties since I became an apprentice; I think it’s how she copes with, with losing her mate and and then her kits…”

Caught off guard, Stormfur asks, “You have littermates?”

“Had,” Crowpaw corrects. “They all died before six moons.”

Stormfur winces. “That’s horrible, Crowpaw… what were their names?”

“Eaglekit, Downkit, and Hillkit.”

Three littermates, all dead, Stormfur thinks, shocked. “How… I mean, can I ask, how did they die?”

“Hillkit and Downkit caught green-leaf kitten cough. Eaglekit was - you’re never going to believe this - snatched up by an eagle one day while we were playing in camp.”

Suddenly Stormfur is reminded of Crowpaw’s paranoia when eagles start to follow them. The entire group insisted they keep moving, but Crowpaw stood firm that eagles were not to be underestimated. Because he knew. Because it happened right in front of his eyes.

“Crowpaw, I’m so sorry.”

Crowpaw blows out a breath. “Whatever, it’s not the same thing. I mean, I can barely even remember Hillkit and Downkit they died so young, and you’ve been through so much with Feathertail, and--”

“I’m not saying it’s the same thing,” Stormfur interrupts. “But that doesn’t mean what you’ve been through isn’t painful, too.”

Stormfur wonders if anyone has ever told Crowpaw that even though he was so young when his littermates and his father died, and even though he may not remember much about them, his grief is still valid. The silence that has wrapped around them both suggests otherwise.

“Thank you,” Crowpaw finally whispers. “And for what it’s worth, I know that Feathertail knew exactly what she was doing when she jumped off of that ledge, and she knew it would kill her, and she still made that choice. I… I know Feathertail wouldn’t change a thing, even if she could. When she would talk about you to me, even when you weren’t talking to each other, it was so obvious that you were the most important cat in the world to her.”

Stormfur tries to laugh but it comes out a stutter, tears welling in his eyes and making the whole world blurry. 

“I used to be jealous of you over it; it was clear that Feathertail would never leave you to join me in WindClan. Now I can’t believe I was ever that petty. Now I just wish she was alive.”

“Yeah,” Stormfur breathes, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I know what you mean.”

Crowpaw finally looks back at Stormfur, and Stormfur’s own grief is reflected in Crowpaw’s blue eyes. “I’m sorry for everything, Stormfur,” he says, voice wobbly. “I’ve been such a furball, especially towards you--“

“Don’t worry about it,” Stormfur interrupts. “I was definitely a furball towards you, too. Just… just do me one favor, alright?”

“What is it?”

“Stop sleeping by yourself and just join the cuddle puddle, will you?”

Crowpaw blinks, caught off guard by the request, and then he rolls his eyes in typical Crowpaw fashion and grumbles, “Fine, but I’m not going to call it a cuddle puddle.”

“Deal,” Stormfur says with a laugh.

As he and Crowpaw head back to the group together with the dawnlight on their backs, Stormfur realizes it’s the first time he’s laughed.

--

After another long day of travel, Crowpaw makes his nest next to everyone else and lays his head on Stormfur’s back. 

Squirrelpaw, in the middle of recounting the time that she and Shrewpaw put a fire ant in Spiderpaw's nest, goes slack-jawed disbelief. Stormfur thinks her reaction is probably enough to make joining the cuddle puddle worth it to Crowpaw.

--

Finally, after nearly an entire moon, the group emerges from the mountains. It’s practically a straight shot back to Highstones and the forest and RiverClan.

“We’re almost there, guys,” Brambleclaw says, his voice breathy with excitement. “We’ll be home in just a few more days.”

--

Stormfur has dreamt of returning to RiverClan ever since he left it; but now, as every pawstep brings him closer to home, dread has started to mount inside his chest.

Nobody knows that Feathertail is dead. I’m going to have to break the news to everyone: Mistyfoot, Shadepelt, Mosspelt, Leopardstar, Mothwing, Hawkfrost.

A thought freezes him: Graystripe.

He’s always known it in the back of his head but he’s never given it this much thought before. I’m going to have to tell Graystripe that Feathertail is dead, I’m going to have to tell Mistyfoot that another of our kin sacrificed themself to save my life, I’m going to--

“Breathe, Stormfur,” Tawnypelt murmurs in his ear. “Breathe.”

Stormfur takes in a deep breath, then says quietly, “I never thought that I would come home without her. I don’t know-- I don’t know how to tell everyone that she’s-- she’s--”

“Well, you’re not going to be able to get a word out if you’re panicking like this,” Tawnypelt says, no-nonsense as ever. “Breathe, and remind yourself that you need to be strong for your Clan; strong for Feathertail. I know you can do this, Stormfur.”

Stormfur closes his eyes and nods, blocking out the rest of the world. “You’re right, I have to be strong for Mistyfoot and Mosspelt and Graystripe and everyone else who loved her. You’re right.”

“I usually am,” Tawnypelt replies. She gives Stormfur a hard nudge and then speeds up to catch up with the rest of their group.

--

You need to be strong for your Clan; strong for Feathertail.

Starring up at the star-dusted Silverpelt, Stormfur clings to those words. If he can’t find the strength to fight with his grief, to win against it for himself, then he’ll have to do it for everyone who loved Feathertail.

Crowpaw, Squirrelpaw, Tawnypelt, and Brambleclaw, he lists easily. Four cats from rival Clans quickly grew to become Feathertail’s closest friends, and they literally carried Stormfur through the mountain range when he couldn’t bring himself to walk. It’s time for him to start carrying his own weight again.

Mothwing, Hawkfrost, and Shadepelt are the next three names. In another lifetime, Stormfur thinks that Feathertail could have come to love those three RiverClan cats the same way that he has. Nonetheless, her death will hurt them and Stormfur doesn’t want them to push their own sorrow aside for his sake. They deserve to grieve her, too.

Mosspelt, he adds sadly. They never thought of Mosspelt as their mother; RiverClan refused to let the two kittens believe that anyone other than Silverstream was their mother. But Mosspelt nursed them alongside Dawnflower, she loved them even when those two kittens made it difficult, and she did her best.

Graystripe and Mistyfoot, Stormfur finally thinks, and even just thinking their names makes him feel heavy. I don’t even know how to tell them that she’s dead.

He can picture their expressions in his mind if he really wants to. He can see their anguish as he delivers that killing strike, he can hear Graystripe howl in despair, he can see Mistyfoot crumpling to the ground in his mind’s eye--

Tawnypelt shifts beside him, mumbling something in her sleep, and Stormfur remembers, You need to be strong for your Clan; strong for Feathertail.

He takes in a steadying breath and breathes it out through his nose. I can’t ease their pain, but I can be strong for them so that they don’t shove it aside for me. They deserve to grieve however they choose to, and I can’t steal that from them.

He watched Mistyfoot war with her own grief when Stonefur died. He watched her shove it aside again and again because two traumatized apprentices needed her more than she needed to grieve the death of her only littermate. He saw the pain flash bright in Graystripe’s eyes when they told him that they would be returning to the Clan that called for their blood. He had already rescued them once, what if he was too late the next time that RiverClan turned on them? But Graystripe simply nuzzled their heads and told them that he would walk them back to the river, because if he put any more pressure on his two kits then they would shatter. Stormfur isn’t a traumatized apprentice anymore; he owes them this.

You need to be strong for your Clan; strong for Feathertail.

He owes Feathertail this, to not spoil her memory. And if he reminds himself that he’s being strong for Feathertail, then suddenly it’s easier to catch his breath. I can do this, for her.

--

One more day of travel and they’ll reach Highstones. Stormfur looks at each of his friends and he can tell that he’s not the only cat who’s anxious to face their Clanmates again.

“I don’t have anyone to return to,” Crowpaw mutters. “Ashfoot probably assumes that all of her kits have died, and it’s not like I was popular when I disappeared.”

“Your mother will be thrilled to see you,” Stormfur replies. “She might give you a good lecture, but she’ll be happy. As for being popular… You have to show yourself friendly in order to make friends, Crowpaw. If you keep to yourself because you assume nobody likes you, then nothing will ever change.” Trust me.

Crowpaw shrugs. “Maybe.” It’s the most Stormfur is going to be able to get out of the stubborn apprentice, or so he thinks. “Hey, Stormfur, I want… Can I run something by you? An idea?”

Surprised, Stormfur sits down. “Yeah, of course. What is it?”

“Assuming Tallstar eventually gives me a warrior name, I was thinking… Crowfeather has a nice sound to it.” Crowpaw turns slightly so that he can eye Stormfur. “And I thought it would be a nice way to honor Feathertail, to always remember her.”

Stormfur answers before he can even think about it. “No. She wouldn’t like that.”

Crowpaw recoils, hurt flashing in his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was such a bad idea.”

“It’s not…” Stormfur trails off, thinking about how to explain. “If it were anyone else then I would think it’s a good tribute, but… there’s a weight that comes with being named after another cat. Feathertail was nervous that Leopardstar would name her after our mother, and I’m named after my first mentor, Stonefur, and as honored as I am to carry on his memory, there are times when it’s more of a burden than anything.” 

Crowpaw doesn’t look wholly convinced. “Sure, that all makes sense, but… you really think that Feathertail wouldn’t like it?”

Stormfur touches his nose to Crowpaw’s shoulder and replies, “I think what she would really like is for you to accept whatever name Tallstar gives you, and then make that name one to remember; be your own cat. Live your own life. Never forget about Feathertail, but…” Stormfur swallows. “Move on someday. Don’t let your sorrow hold you back. We-- we went through this together with Stonefur, Feathertail understood that you can’t live in misery. She would want you -- us -- to let that wound heal.”

It’s hard when you’re young and somebody so important to you dies. Stormfur knows this better than anyone, and he knows that if Crowpaw allows himself to heal and move on with his life, then he’ll be okay. But sometimes it’s almost impossible to relinquish your grief, your pain, your guilt, your anger -- and it can haunt you for the rest of your life, poison you slowly and silently until it kills you. Stormfur knows this better than anyone else, too.

Crowpaw hides his face from Stormfur and mutters, “Well, you knew her better than I did, so I guess you would know.” There’s still a layer of hurt in his voice; He had probably already made his mind up about the name and just wanted my approval, Stormfur realizes. Guilt makes his stomach twist into a knot, but.

“Take it easy tonight,” Stormfur murmurs, flicking the apprentice with his tail; Crowpaw grunts, noncommittal. “Don’t forget to join the cuddle puddle tonight, or else I’ll sic Squirrelpaw on you.”

Another grunt, this one with slightly more feeling. Stormfur will take whatever he can get. He stands to his paws and goes to rejoin the rest of their group, leaving Crowpaw alone with his thoughts.

--

To say that they’re all tired is the biggest understatement one could make; Stormfur is exhausted, beyond exhausted, he feels like his paws could just fall off at any moment. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go on like this.

But then Highstones comes into sight and all at once, they break into a run.

I’m almost home. Mistyfoot, Graystripe, Hawkfrost, Shadepelt, Mothwing; I’m coming home.

--

They drop Crowpaw off first; it doesn’t make much sense for him to walk all the way to Fourtrees with the rest of the group.

Brambleclaw touches noses with Crowpaw first. “We’ll check in soon,” Brambleclaw promises. “A day or two of rest and then we're going to have to convince our leaders to leave the forest.”

“All work, no play, as always with you,” Crowpaw replies. Brambleclaw’s brow furrows. Squirrelpaw cuts in front of him.

“Remember what I told you about smiling,” she says.

Crowpaw frowns. “What did you tell me about smiling?” He asks.

“That you need to try it every once in a while.” Squirrelpaw bumps their noses together with a giggle and jumps back before Crowpaw can take a swipe at her.

Stormfur purrs and takes Squirrelpaw’s place, lightly touching his nose to Crowpaw’s. “If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me. Take care of yourself, Crowpaw.”

“Yeah, you too,” Crowpaw mumbles, his face flushed. He steps back and turns to face Tawnypelt and says, “Well?”

Tawnypelt waves her tail. “See ya later.”

After a moment’s pause, Crowpaw shrugs agreeably. “Alright.” And then, as if he can’t get away from his tearful friends fast enough, Crowpaw turns around and starts sprinting across the field as fast as lightning, soon just a black speck on the mooreland.

Stormfur watches until Crowpaw has totally disappeared from sight and then the group sets off again, sans one sulky WindClan apprentice.

--

The sun has only just started to set by the time they reach Fourtrees. Stormfur can still go a little further with Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw, but it’s time to say goodbye to Tawnypelt. He lets Brambleclaw say goodbye to his sister first, and then Squirrelpaw, and the whole time he’s trying not to choke on the ball of emotion in his throat.

Tawnypelt meets his eye, and then grimaces. “Ew, Stormfur please, control yourself. You’re embarrassing me.”

It pulls a laugh from Stormfur, and it becomes easier to breathe. He steps forward and touches his nose to Tawnypelt’s. “I know you already shot me down once, but if ShadowClan doesn’t accept your return, I know some very powerful cats in RiverClan.”

Tawnypelt snorts, but she’s masking a smirk. “Stormfur, one of these days you’re going to be a very powerful cat in RiverClan. Hopefully I’ll be a powerful cat in ShadowClan, too, and maybe then we can repair what my father destroyed between our Clans.”

Stormfur’s smile fades. What? Me? But true to her nature, Tawnypelt hates emotions and sappy goodbyes and with a wave of her tail, she steps into a shadow and it devours her whole. 

“Whoa,” Squirrelpaw breathes. “How long have we been traveling together now and she has never taught me how to do that?”

“You’re already silent in trees, if you could blend in with shadows too then you would be too powerful,” Brambleclaw teases. “Come on, I bet we can make it home before Graystripe sends out the dusk patrols.”

Squirrelpaw brightens. "Oh, I can't wait to see everyone again! Firestar and Sandstorm, Leafpaw, Shrewpaw and Whitepaw..." Her excitement is contagious and for just a little while, it drowns out Stormfur's own anxiety at the thought of seeing his home again. 

--

Stormfur hears the river before he sees it. The sound of rushing water across stones and sticks is familiar in a way that makes his heart ache. Feathertail, as much as she longed to join ThunderClan, always loved the river. She had a right to be buried in a secret place right beside it, and now,

Now she’s across the earth buried underneath mud on the side of a mountain.

“Are you going to be alright?” Squirrelpaw asks quietly, brushing up against him. Stormfur shoots her a weak smile.

“Yeah, Squirrelpaw. I’ll be alright.”

The river comes into view, and along with it, Sunningrocks. The rocks look deserted. “You know,” Brambleclaw begins, “Sunningrocks belongs to ThunderClan but you know how Firestar is; if you wanted to, you could wait there while Squirrelpaw and I return to camp and… and fetch Graystripe for you.” He clears his throat. “If something ever happened to me, I would want Tawnypelt to be the one to tell Goldenflower.”

Squirrelpaw winces. “Oh, I forgot that Graystripe wouldn’t know…”

Stormfur sighs, but it does nothing to relieve the tension in his lungs. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll wait on Sunningrocks.”

--

We’ll be quick, Brambleclaw promised. Stormfur was half-tempted to tell him to take his time. No rush. Don’t hurry back. Every second that passes is another second that Graystripe is allowed to live in blissful ignorance, in a world where his kits are missing but they’re both probably alive. 

He deserves to know, a voice reminds Stormfur, and Stormfur swats at it like a pesky fly. Of course Graystripe deserves to know. I just wish-- I wish I didn’t have to tell him. I wish she wasn’t dead. I wish we were both sitting on Sunningrocks, waiting to tell him that we made it home safely.

It feels like the weight of the world is sitting on Stormfur’s chest. After he tells his father about Feathertail’s death he’s going to have to return to RiverClan and tell Mistyfoot, Shadepelt, Mosspelt, Mothwing, Hawkfrost, Leopardstar, Dawnflower--

You need to be strong for your Clan; strong for Feathertail.

Stormfur takes in a steadying breath and breathes it out through his nose. I can do this for them, for her. I can be strong.

Lost in meditation, Stormfur realizes a heartbeat too late that there’s been a splash behind him. Before he can turn around to find the cause, someone shouts, “ThunderClan scum!” and slams into his back and sends them both rolling across the rocks. 

Travel-weary and moons away from his last real battle-training session, Stormfur is pinned easily. His back is shoved against the ground and with the sun in his eyes it’s impossible to see who his attacker is; their scent, however, hits him like an unexpected strike.

“Hawkfrost,” Stormfur gasps.

His attacker shifts and blocks the sun and suddenly Hawkfrost’s face is all he can see. “Stormfur?” Hawkfrost gasps in a strangled voice, and Stormfur’s name on Hawkfrost’s tongue sounds even better than he remembered. The look of disbelief on his face is almost as nice.

“Miss me?” Stormfur asks simply, a complete fish-brain with no thoughts in his pretty head.

“Miss you?” Hawkfrost repeats like the question is absurd. “Miss you?! Are you serio-- where did you go?! Stormfur, everyone thinks--”

“It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, Hawkfrost.”

The other tom’s eyes widen (blue eyes, eyes as bright as ice, eyes that Stormfur once pointed out and Hawkfrost said “You like my eyes?” and Stormfur can’t remember why he didn’t just tell the truth) and Hawkfrost sputters, “What?! Do you even hear yourself right now, you fish-brained--”

“Get off of him!”

Stormfur reacts just in time to stop his father from leaping at Hawkfrost; shoving the other tom off, he jumps to his paws and exclaims, “Dad, stop! It’s fine, I’m fine!”

Graystripe skids to a stop. His eyes widen as he drinks in the sight of Stormfur for the first time in moons. “Stormfur,” Graystripe whispers, in a voice completely unlike Hawkfrost’s; it’s a voice that makes Stormfur wish he were a kit again.

Stormfur closes the distance between them and buries his head in Graystripe’s coat. “Hi, dad,” he whispers, voice muffled.

“I thought you were dead,” Graystripe whispers back, and Stormfur’s heart clenches. “Stars, I prayed for you and Feathertail every single night, I begged StarClan to keep you safe, I can’t believe you’re alive.”

Graystripe steps back and there's pure joy shining in his eyes. “You’re alive,” he says again, as if he can’t believe it. “Where’s Feathertail?”

Stormfur isn’t any good at hiding his emotions; as soon as Graystripe says Feathertail’s name, Stormfur’s face falls. “Feathertail is… she’s not…” he trails off, his eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, unable to think of anything else to say. “I tried-- I tried so hard, so hard, but she’s-- she’s--”

Graystripe’s face crumbles as soon as he understands. It hurts worse than anything Stormfur could have imagined.

--

The silence that hangs over Sunningrocks is suffocating. Beside him, Graystripe’s head is bowed so low that his nose touches the ground; Stormfur gazes across the river, not wanting to stare at his father as he grieves, and it’s happenstance that his eyes find Hawkfrost. 

It took a long, pleading look for Hawkfrost to agree to swim to the shore to give Stormfur and Graystripe their privacy, and even now Stormfur can sense that Hawkfrost isn’t happy about it. His muscles are so tense that Stormfur can see them from Sunningrocks.

Finally Graystripe asks, “Was it painless?”

Stormfur swallows. “It was the impact that killed her, so I-I think so.” He doesn’t bother to tell his father that he had a conversation with her after she hit the ground; she was still conscious. It probably was not painless.

“Good,” Graystripe nods, numb. “I wish I would have nuzzled her a little longer at that last Gathering, I wish I would have--” He sighs. “Well. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. She hunts with Silverstream now.”

“And Stonefur,” Stormfur whispers. “And Crookedstar, and--”

Graystripe places his paw overtop of Stormfur’s, silencing him. Stormfur looks up at his father, afraid he’s going to see anger in his eyes, but instead, there’s acceptance. “I know she had a group of cats eager to welcome her,” he murmurs. “And one day, she’ll be waiting to welcome us.”

Stormfur tucks his head underneath his Graystripe’s chin and stays there for a long moment, finding comfort in his familiar warmth. “Are you okay?” Graystripe whispers, and isn’t that so like Graystripe to concern himself with Stormfur as soon as he processes his daughter’s death.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m always going to worry about you. It’s my responsibility.”

No, not anymore. Stormfur steels himself as he looks up at his father and says, “I’ve had more time to process everything that happened. Honestly, I’m doing as well as I can be.”

It’s not even a lie, and Stormfur is reassured when he feels Graystripe relax against him. “I’m relieved to hear you say that. But Stormfur, don’t try to be so strong for everyone else that you don’t let yourself grieve as well. You and Feathertail-- I’ve never seen a pair of littermates as close as you two. Even if it takes you seasons to feel well again, that’s okay.”

Stormfur frowns, and Graystripe notices. “Don’t give me that look. I know you, Stormfur. I watched you after Stonefur died. You’ll put everyone else before yourself.”

That only deepens Stormfur’s frown; That’s not-- Graystripe, that’s not what I did at all.

Before Stormfur can argue, Graystripe’s gaze raises and he says, “It seems your friend is getting impatient. He’s started pacing.”

“Ignore Hawkfrost. He’s so dramatic.”

Graystripe hums, but there’s a layer of knowing in his tone. “He’s the one that you wanted to introduce me to a while ago. I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances.”

The ambush. Suddenly Stormfur feels ice-cold. “Did RiverClan launch an attack over Sunningrocks?”

“Mhm.” Graystripe’s gaze is fixed on Hawkfrost. “He’s a very strong warrior.”

Anxiously, Stormfur asks, “Did you have to fight him?”

“No. Actually, it’s an odd story. We should have fought; we ended up right in front of each other. I think he recognized me, there was a strange look on his face, and then ducked underneath me and went after an apprentice instead; do you know Shrewpaw?”

“Not personally, but Squirrelpaw told us a lot of stories about him.”

“Well, Hawkfrost lunged at Shrewpaw and he didn’t go easy on him.” Graystripe's jaw clenches. “Broke his leg. Cinderpelt has no idea when he’ll be able to return to training, and even less idea when -- if -- he’ll be able to pass his warrior assessment.”

Stormfur stares at his father in horror. “Broke his leg during an ambush? That’s dishonorable.”

Graystripe hums in agreement. “But it won RiverClan the battle; Firestar heard Shrewpaw’s scream and immediately called a retreat. Sunningrocks belongs to RiverClan now.”

“It never should have happened that way, the ambush never should have even taken place!” Stormfur exclaims. 

Graystripe shakes his head. “Peace between ThunderClan and RiverClan can only last so long, Stormfur. It was bound to happen eventually.”

You don’t understand, it was all so that Hawkfrost could meet Brambleclaw but Brambleclaw wasn’t even here. The protest dies in his throat. Graystripe is looking at him with weak eyes, a knowing look, and understanding dawns on Stormfur.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Stormfur whispers. “Never.”

Graystripe places a lick on Stormfur’s temple. “You won’t ever have to fight me, Stormfur. I’ll make sure of that. But it is time for me to leave.” He looks up at the golden-dusky sky and says, “Leopardstar is less forgiving than Firestar. She won’t take kindly to finding me on Sunningrocks with you.”

I’ll go with you, Stormfur almost, almost says. But to join ThunderClan now, after Feathertail is dead, would be wrong.

"Yeah, I should go too. Tell Firestar I said ‘hi’, will you? And tell Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw I said goodbye, and--”

“Everyone,” Graystripe interrupts. “I’ll tell everyone.”

Stormfur manages to smile. “Yeah, that works.”

Graystripe bunts his head against Stormfur’s and murmurs, “May StarClan light your path, Stormfur.”

“And yours. I love you.”

“I love you too. Remember, take care of yourself.”

Stormfur’s throat tightens as he watches his father turn around and leap off of Sunningrocks, back onto ThunderClan ground. Graystripe has gotten good at saying goodbye; he doesn’t turn around and prolong the moment. Stormfur stands there for a while, wishing that he would have. Then he turns back around, and Hawkfrost has stopped his pacing. He’s staring at him now, waiting, and unease clouds Stormfur’s thoughts. Dishonorable, he recalls.

As Stormfur pulls himself out of the river and onto the shore, Hawkfrost is silent. As they walk back to camp, side-by-side, Hawkfrost is silent. Stormfur doesn’t understand how this is the same cat that pinned him down and said his name in wonderment just a little while ago. He doesn’t understand how this is the same cat who broke an apprentice’s leg and possibly ruined their warrior career just to win the most pointless ambush in history.

“I finally met your father while you were gone.”

Stormfur skids to a stop, affronted. He fixes Hawkfrost with such an intense look that Hawkfrost can’t hold his gaze; he casts his glare off across the riverside.

“Yeah,” Stormfur says, his voice quivering. “He told me. He also told me that you broke an apprentice’s leg, and now his warrior career is up in the air.”

“Good. That’s one less enemy to face down in battle.”

“It’s dishonorable,” Stormfur spits.

Hawkfrost slides his glare back to Stormfur and asks, “So then what exactly do you call disappearing in the middle of the night and returning moons later?”

The words dry on his tongue, and his anger begins to dissipate. “Hawkfrost, I-- it’s such a long story.”

“Does that mean you’re never going to tell it to me?”

Am I allowed to? Stormfur wonders. We weren’t allowed to before, but we’re going to have to convince the Clans to find a new home somehow. As the adrenaline leaks from his blood, exhaustion replaces it. 

Hawkfrost must notice. He looks away again and mutters, “I guess not.”

“No, it’s not-- I will tell you the truth, just not right now. I have to talk to Leopardstar about it first, and I want to see Mistyfoot and Shadepelt and everyone else and I’m so tired that my bones feel brittle, and I--”

“Whatever,” Hawkfrost interrupts. “Clearly I’m not important.”

It’s such a petty, immature thing to say, and it’s that kind of pettiness that amused Stormfur when he was on his quest, the kind of ridiculous argument he longed for again, but now it’s just plain annoying.

Sighing, Stormfur says, “Glad to see you grew up while I was gone.”

“I’ve changed a lot since you’ve been gone.”

I’m sure you have, he thinks, and maybe he would feel sad if he wasn’t so tired. 

Stormfur doesn’t have the time or energy for Hawkfrost right now. He resumes walking, letting his paws guide him back to camp like muscle memory even after being gone for so long. Despite the bad memories and the traumatic experiences, Stormfur chose RiverClan again and again to be his home for better or for worse. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to convince his Clan to leave it all behind.

“I’m sorry about Feathertail.”

Stormfur pauses. Maybe you have grown up a little bit. “Yeah,” he finally whispers, his heart aching. “Me too.”

Stormfur leaves Hawkfrost behind as he steps into camp without Feathertail for the first time.

--

Everything passes by in a blur. Pelts, voices, scents. He hears someone say Feathertail’s name and he keeps walking. Eventually, somehow or another, Stormfur ends up in the Nursery.

Despite the commotion his arrival has caused Mistyfoot is still sound asleep, curled around a black kit that used to be a lot smaller. Stormfur watches her stomach rise and fall, listens to her gentle breathing, and if Stormfur lets himself then he can pretend that Mistyfoot hasn’t stirred since he left RiverClan; she’s been asleep the entire time curled around Reedkit and dreaming. He hasn’t broken her heart yet.

Feathertail is right beside him, so close that he can feel her, and she whispers, I hope Oakheart visits her in a dream, too. Stars, I want to wake her up so badly.

She would never let us leave.

I know, but still. She’s going to make herself sick with worry.

We’ll come back as soon as possible, and Mistyfoot is going to be so happy to see us that she won’t even have it in her to be mad at us.

Stormfur, she’s going to assign us to every dawn patrol for the rest of our lives.

And then they share a quiet laugh and step out of the Nursery together, and they begin their journey and Stormfur is already looking forward to coming home.

Those dawn patrols are going to be awful lonely by myself, Stormfur thinks, and stars, he’s so happy to see Mistyfoot again but a part of him wishes he had never left in the first place. With no one to sacrifice herself for, maybe Feathertail would have come home. Maybe Mistyfoot would have assigned Feathertail to all those dawn patrols by herself, and Stormfur would have volunteered to join every single one of them with her because he’s such a good brother and he missed her so much--

Poisons you slowly and silently until it kills you.

You need to be strong for your Clan; strong for Feathertail.

However, he still can’t bring himself to pull Mistyfoot from her dream and break her heart. He curls up in an empty nest and watches her, determined to be the first thing that she sees when she wakes up.

--

Pale starlight trickles into the Nursery as Stormfur slowly blinks awake. Awake? He thinks with a jolt. Did I fall asleep? Where’s--

“‘Scuse me, sir,” a squeaky voice squeaks. Stormfur lowers his gaze and blinks a few more times for extra measure because he’s faced with three pairs of milky-blue kitten eyes. “You’re in our nest, sir.”

“Um,” Stormfur says, not entirely sure this isn’t a dream. “Sorry about that.” He steps out of the nest, and the three kittens quickly take his place. 

“Don’t you know you’re too old to sleep in the Nursery?” Another kit asks, her voice just as squeaky.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Do any of you know where Mistyfoot went?”

“She’s outside with Reedkit, doin’ deputy things,” the third kit pipes up. “S’not fair that Reedkit gets to stay up past his bedtime, though.”

“Just cause his mama is the deputy,” another kit grumbles. 

Stormfur really isn’t sure what to make about these three kittens, but they’re a question for another time. He mutters his thanks and then ducks outside of the den, searching the camp for Mistyfoot.

--

He finds Mistyfoot by the stream with a few other cats, all whispering to each other. They’ve all got their backs turned towards him but Stormfur can place their scents after a minute: Emberdawn and Mothwing. Stormfur doesn’t want to interrupt their quiet conversation but then he hears a voice whisper, “Mama, he’s awake.”

Mistyfoot turns around and their eyes meet for the first time in moons. Stormfur manages a weak smile and says, “Surprise.”

Mistyfoot doesn’t reply; she closes the distance between them in a few long strides and lays her muzzle on top of Stormfur’s head. “Stars,” she whispers in a voice that trembles. “Stormfur, I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But I have to tell you something… Feathertail, she, she’s not--”

“I know,” Mistyfoot interrupts him, and there’s so much emotion in those two short words. “Hawkfrost told the Clan. Oh, Stormfur, I’m so sorry. I thought when Stonefur died, I thought that I could keep you both safe forever.” She takes a step back and now Stormfur can see that her eyes are dim with grief. “I thought you would always have each other.”

Stormfur can feel his heart tear into two. “It’s not your fault,” he murmurs. “You loved us like your own kits. You did everything you could for us. Feathertail, she… it was her choice. She knew what she was doing.”

Mistyfoot exhales a shaky breath. “Just like Stonefur.” 

You have no idea. Stormfur touches his nose to Mistyfoot’s and whispers, “They’re together again.”

“And with Silverstream,” Mistyfoot adds, just as Graystripe had. “And Oakheart, and Crookedstar, and Graypool.” She sighs. “Oh, Stormfur, I’ll always miss her, but I’m so happy that she’s finally at peace. That she-cat, she was determined to be miserable. If anyone deserves to fish amongst the stars forever, it’s her.”

Finally at peace. Stormfur hadn’t considered that; he had been too wrapped up in his grief to think that Feathertail was finally in a place where she could be happy. It was a thought, at least.

“Welcome home, Stormfur,” Emberdawn says, sensing an appropriate time to join the reunion, a black tom-kit following close behind her. “How did you sleep? Was my nest comfortable?”

“I slept fine--” Stormfur stops. “Your nest? Those are your kits?”

Emberdawn grins. “Yep. I hope they didn’t bother you too much, but after they found a stranger in their nest, well, Heavystep had his paws full trying to keep them from waking you up.”

Stormfur finds himself at a loss for words. He knew that things around camp would change in the moons he was gone, but-- Emberdawn becoming a queen hadn’t been something he anticipated. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks! I should be getting back to them now, actually. Mistyfoot, do you want me to put Reedkit to sleep, too?”

Stormfur lowers his gaze as Mistyfoot replies; Reedkit hides behind Emberdawn’s legs, curious but cautious. Stormfur sends him a friendly look. Reedkit continues to study Stormfur with an expression that reminds him of a much more mature cat.

“Come on, Reedkit,” Emberdawn says, poking him with her tail. “You can ask Stormfur all of your questions tomorrow.”

Reedkit bumps noses with Mistyfoot before following Emberdawn, shooting glances at Stormfur over his shoulder as he walks. Mistyfoot purrs and says, “Sorry, he’s a bit serious for a kit.”

“I’ll say. He doesn’t look like he trusts me as far as he can throw me.”

“That’s just his face,” a new voice chimes in, and Stormfur turns around as Mothwing finally joins them. “Emberdawn’s kits already tease him for it. It’s good to have you home again, Stormfur.”

She touches her nose to his, and a familiar sense of peace washes over him. Stormfur smiles, truly smiles, and says, “How have you been, Mothwing?”

“Busy. You’ve missed a lot while you were gone.”

“You’re talking to RiverClan’s new medicine cat apprentice,” Mistyfoot remarks.

Stormfur’s eyes widen. “StarClan accepted you? That’s great, Mothwing!”

Mothwing purrs, but Stormfur notices how she can’t quite look him in the eye. “Thanks. Mudfur is really putting me to work, but I love every moment of it. And even though I’ve still got a lot to learn, I can already tell you that you need a full night of rest. Stop by the den tomorrow and Mudfur can give you a once-over.”

Stormfur shoots a look at Mistyfoot. “Wow, she’s really taking it seriously.”

“Oh, she’s the bossiest cat in the Clan now, second only to her brother.”

“Hey!” Mothwing exclaims. “I’m a medicine cat now, it’s my right to be bossy! Hawkfrost has no excuse. Speaking of Hawkfrost.” Mothwing shoots Stormfur a look. “I watched him make your new nest with the painstaking care of an expecting queen, so if you hate it, keep it to yourself, please. I don’t want to hear him complain about it later.”

Stormfur blinks, caught off guard. “Hawkfrost made me a new nest?”

“Oh, just wait until you see it. I swear he used every piece of moss that we had stored.”

Mistyfoot catches his eye and she manages a knowing look. “He drove everyone crazy while you were gone.”

Could’ve fooled me, Stormfur doesn’t say. "So Emberdawn had kits and you're the new medicine cat apprentice. You weren't kidding when you said I missed a lot."

"And that's not even all of it. Wait until you meet Swallowtail."

Stormfur blinks, shortwiring. "Who?"

Mistyfoot shushes her. "Don't overwhelm him tonight, Mothwing. Why don't you show Stormfur to his nest?”

“I’m sure I can find it,” Stormfur cuts in. He touches noses with Mothwing, and then again with Mistyfoot. “Sweet dreams,” he whispers.

Mistyfoot places a lick on his temple. “You better not disappear in the middle of the night again, Stormfur.”

He manages a purr. “I promise, I won’t.”

--

Mothwing wasn’t exaggerating when she said that Hawkfrost used a lot of moss to build this nest; Stormfur prods it with a paw and imagines it’s as soft as a cloud. He looks across the den at Hawkfrost’s own nest; he's curled up in a tight ball with his back toward Stormfur, but he still bothered to build the nicest nest Stormfur has ever seen, didn’t he?

I didn’t miss not knowing where we stood, Stormfur thinks. It wasn’t even this hard with Brook, and I knew her for all of three days.

It’s the first time he’s really thought of Brook since they left the mountains. He’s not prepared to confront those emotions yet so he curls up in the nest, and in doing so he notices a tuft of silver fur buried delicately under a layer of moss.

His throat tightens. He sniffs the tuft and suddenly there are claws squeezing his heart so tight that it physically hurts.

It still has her scent.

He looks back at Hawkfrost and wonders where he found a tuft of her fur, how long he kept it, why he kept it, why… 

His head is swimming but despite the nap he had earlier, his bones still feel heavy with exhaustion. Gently, Stormfur pulls the tuft out and lays it on his paws, resisting the urge to rub his cheek against it; he wants to keep her scent for as long as possible.

He lays his head down, closes his eyes, and breathes in Feathertail’s scent.

Chapter Text

Leopardstar squints at him. “To be clear: a talking badger told you that twolegs will destroy the forest?”

Stormfur cages the massive sigh building in his lungs and nods. I knew they would get stuck on Midnight.

Leopardstar exchanges a look with Mistyfoot and Mudfur. “Have either of you ever heard of such a thing?” She asks, and Stormfur buckles down on his sigh because of course, neither of them has. No one has before.

Thoughtfully, Mudfar muses, “The part about twolegs, though… they’ve always fished in our rivers, but we’ve never seen so many before. ThunderClan and WindClan also reported unusually high activity at the last Gathering.”

“But does unusually high twoleg activity warrant uprooting our entire Clan?” Leopardstar challenges. “All four Clans?”

“What about dreams from StarClan?” Stormfur cuts in. “Or, again, Midnight?”

“I’m not interested in what your talking badger has to say,” Leopardstar dismisses, and Stormfur’s frustration spikes. “As for your dream, you said that you weren’t actually visited by StarClan.” 

“No, but Feathertail is dead, so if you’re waiting to hear it come out of her mouth--” 

Mistyfoot lays her tail on his back, effectively cutting him off. “That’s enough,” she says, and her blue eyes are still so dim with grief that Stormfur’s bites his tongue. “Leopardstar, Stormfur has repeated his story three times and it hasn’t changed. We have enough information to discuss amongst ourselves for now.” 

Leopardstar stares at Stormfur with an unreadable expression. “Fine,” she says. “Mistyfoot, fetch the elders; I want their input as well. Stormfur, tomorrow we will go over your story again with the Clan.”

“You’ll send somebody to fetch me, too?” Stormfur asks, sarcastically. 

“As long as you don’t disappear in the middle of the night again,” Leopardstar retorts. 

Mistyfoot has to wrestle Stormfur out of the den, out of Leopardstar’s face, and isn’t it funny how some things never change?

-- 

Mistyfoot promised they would catch up that evening, once Leopardstar no longer needed her. Stormfur isn’t even upset that Mistyfoot has to consult with Leopardstar all day because stars know that Leopardstar needs somebody with a bit of wisdom to consult with, otherwise she’ll end up merging RiverClan with the next tyrant who offers her a fat trout--

Stop, Stormfur thinks, cutting himself off mid-ramble. You’ve made so much progress with Leopardstar, don’t take three steps back now.

Still, he thinks, it would be easier if she wasn’t such a lousy, arrogant, sorry excuse of a--

He finally uncages that sigh and it’s so heavy that it rattles his chest. He hadn’t known what kind of welcome to expect from Leopardstar, but clearly he had been too optimistic. I'll lower my standards next time.

--

For the first time since TigerClan and the battle with BloodClan, Sunningrocks belongs to RiverClan. Stormfur spent many moons staring longingly at Sunningrocks from across the river, but now he can’t bring himself to join his Clanmates. He should probably get over it and join them anyway, start winning their trust back after being gone for so long, and he can see that Dawnflower and Shadepelt are there, but.

Not today. He wanders downstream until his Clanmates’ voices blend in with the rest of the world’s orchestra. He just wants to be alone. Feathertail would understand.

Stormfur pauses, though, as new voices grow louder. Two of them are unfamiliar, but one of them--

“I know it’s hard, Shrewpaw, but we’re about to go on a crazy journey and you have to get your strength up. I’m not going to let you fall behind.”

Squirrelpaw.

Stormpaw stays out of sight and takes in the scene; Squirrelpaw is crouched beside a brown tabby tom and a brown-and-white she-cat. He recognizes the she-cat now; Leafpaw, Squirrelpaw’s littermate and ThunderClan’s medicine cat apprentice. The other apprentice must be Shrewpaw. Sure enough his leg is bandaged with leaves and pulp.

Dishonorable.

Shrewpaw huffs. “I’m trying, Squirrelpaw.”

“Go easy on him,” Leafpaw agrees. “He managed to make it all the way to the river with a broken leg. That’s impressive.”

“It’s not enough,” Squirrelpaw presses. “Neither of you understand. We’re going to cross moorland, we’re going to travel rain or shine, we’re going to climb through mountains--”

Stormfur’s thoughts sputter to a stop. We’re… we’re going through the mountains again. Anxiety threatens to drag him down like a tidal wave and Stormfur is not prepared to fight those emotions yet so he steps out of the shadows and says, “Well, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

Squirrelpaw green eyes fall on him and she brightens. “Stormfur, perfect! Tell Shrewpaw that he needs to regain as much strength as possible before we leave!”

Shrewpaw issues Squirrelpaw a dirty look that makes Stormfur’s whiskers twitch in amusement. “Squirrelpaw, I’m sure he’s doing his best. Besides, the leaders haven’t even discussed moving yet. He’s got time.”

“Traitor,” she retorts. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Stormfur.”

“Squirrelpaw, if I push myself any further then I’m literally going to die,” Shrewpaw says.

“No, not literally,” Leafpaw corrects. “But you will become so sore that it actually sets your progress backward. It’s nice to officially meet you, by the way,” she adds, looking at Stormfur.

Stormfur grins. “Likewise. Squirrelpaw told me a lot about you; about both of you, actually.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Shrewpaw says, bumping his shoulder against Squirrelpaw’s. “Squirrelpaw could talk the ears off of a deaf cat.”

She retorts, “I told him about how you snore loud enough to wake the dead.”

Squirrelpaw mentioned no such thing.

Stormfur opens his mouth to reply, but something makes him pause. Suddenly it sounds like a badger is lumbering through the undergrowth and Stormfur spins around, bristling, until Hawkfrost and Mothwing stomp down a reedbed, clearly locked in a heated discussion. It takes the littermates a moment to realize that they’ve got an audience.

“Hi, Mothwing,” Leafpaw greets, all smiles. 

Stormfur watches as Mothwing forces her ruffled fur to lay flat and manages a smile in return. “Oh, Leafpaw! Did you get a chance to ask Cinderpelt that question I had about green-cough?”

“What, you couldn’t ask your own mentor?” Hawkfrost cuts in.

Mothwing turns on him and snaps, “You are grinding on my very last nerve, Hawkfrost!”

“Hawkfrost?” Squirrelpaw speaks up suddenly, her eyes narrowing. “As in, Hawkfrost the Breaker of Apprentice Legs and Ruiner of Dreams?”

Oh, no.

“Squirrelpaw,” Shrewpaw warns, although his gaze is fixed on Hawkfrost.

Hawkfrost raises a brow and asks, nonchalantly, “ThunderClan couldn’t come up with a shorter title for me? That’s a mouthful.”

“Do you prefer Dishonorable?” Squirrelpaw retorts. “Or how about Coward?”

Leafpaw tries to intervene but that last one catches Hawkfrost’s attention and he takes a step closer to the river that divides their territories and he repeats, “Coward?”

Squirrelpaw, eyes full of green fire, doesn’t back down. “I’ve already heard the story a dozen times. You knew you couldn’t win against Graystripe, so you changed tactics and went for someone weaker because you know that my father is actually an honorable leader and would call a retreat. Did you learn that tactic from Leopardstar herself?”

Stormfur tenses to stop Hawkfrost from leaping across the river and tackling Squirrelpaw, but then Shrewpaw stands up and snaps, “Knock it off, Squirrelpaw! I don’t need you to antagonize warriors on my behalf!” He turns and starts back in the direction of ThunderClan’s camp, and Stormfur can’t look away from his bandaged leg.

“Shrewpaw!” Squirrelpaw calls after him but to no avail. She sighs, frustrated, and without looking back at Stormfur she mutters, “I’ll talk to you later, Stormfur.” She chases after Shrewpaw.

“Who,” Hawkfrost begins, angry, “does she think she is? What apprentice speaks to a warrior like that?!”

“The apprentice who just found out that said warrior broke her best friend’s leg,” Stormfur mumbles.

“Whose side are you on?” Hawkfrost demands.

“The side of acting like an honorable warrior!”

“It was an ambush, Stormfur!”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t have to remind me of the details.”

Hawkfrost glares at him and mutters, “This must be what Blackclaw meant, isn’t it?”

It’s been moons since Stormfur attacked Blackclaw in camp for insulting Stormfur, for insulting his father, but right now his anger feels fresh and Stormfur is prepared to retort that Hawkfrost would know, because Hawkfrost is half-Clan, and the only thing stopping him from saying it is the fact that Leafpaw is still present--

Stormfur blinks, his anger taking a backseat to his confusion. He stares past Hawkfrost and watches as Mothwing and Leafpaw whisper to each other across the river, and Stormfur notices that Mothwing’s muscles are tense like she’s one impulsive decision away from jumping into the river and swimming to the other side.

Confused by Stormfur’s silence, Hawkfrost turns and follows his gaze, and immediately his expression hardens. “Shouldn’t you be following your pest of a sister?” He asks loudly, startling Leafpaw.

“You are so rude!” Mothwing hisses.

“He’s not wrong, though,” Leafpaw says, clearly a peacekeeper by nature. She stands to her paws and says, “I should calm her down before she makes it back to camp. If dad sees Squirrelpaw all worked up then he’s going to ask questions, and then he’s really going to make good on his threat and never let her out of his sight again.”

She lingers, though. “It was nice to finally meet you, Stormfur,” she says (again).

He offers her a grin and says, “Likewise,” (again).

She looks at Mothwing and seems to struggle with how to say goodbye to her, or… or maybe Leafpaw is simply struggling with saying goodbye.

Mothwing makes it easy for her. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure. At the next Gathering, or if the leaders decide to call a meeting about the move.”

Leafpaw perks up a little. “Yeah, of course. Okay. Well, may StarClan light your path, Mothwing.” Mothwing doesn’t say it back, just smiles and nods at Leafpaw, and finally the ThunderClan apprentice turns and leaves. The expression on Mothwing’s face as she watches Leafpaw disappear into the undergrowth is downright fond.

“Wipe that lovestruck look off of your face,” Hawkfrost snarks.

Mothwing shoots him a glare and retorts, “Do you know just how many moons I had to watch you stare longingly after Stormfur, Hawkfrost? You have no right to talk.”

“I did not--"

“Yes, you did!”

Past tense, Stormfur notes. Well.

“You’re lying--”

“I am not lying--”

Hawkfrost hisses at the same moment that Mothwing groans, frustrated, and they both spin around and stomp off in opposite directions of each other, neither of them paying Stormfur any mind. It’s like he hasn’t been standing there the entire time, listening, as if he wasn’t there first; Stormfur didn’t expect RiverClan to become so messy in the moons that he was gone.

His first instinct is to hunt Feathertail down and recount this ridiculous exchange to her because she loved the drama and she would take a sadistic pleasure in Stormfur’s embarrassment at being brought up, and her laughter would make him laugh, too.

Stormfur exhales heavily and decides to just go back to camp and wait around for Mistyfoot.

--

Belly full of trout and sunshine on his back, Stormfur’s eyes flutter as Mistyfoot works the knots out of his fur with her tongue. The rhythm nearly lulls him to sleep. Nearly.

“You stepped on my honeycombs!” Mothwing cries, angry.

“Gross, it’s between my pads!” Hawkfrost growls, glaring at the golden liquid as it drops from his paw.

Mistyfoot sighs. “Those two have been at each other’s throats since Mudfur took Mothwing on as his apprentice. Maybe you can talk some sense into them.”

Stormfur snorts and closes his eyes again, tuning out their bickering.

--

As Stormfur finishes recounting his story to the entire Clan, he can only hope that they’re willing to look at his story as a whole and not just focus on--

“Wait a moment, a talking badger told you that twolegs are going to destroy the forest?”

If Stormfur didn’t strongly believe in kits having a good relationship with their father, then he would strangle Heavystep. He settles for a withering glare and says, “That’s not really the point--”

“Did the badger have a name?”

Even though he knows that Blackclaw is just mocking him, Stormfur answers, “Midnight”.

Blackclaw looks at Leopardstar, offended, and asks, “You expect us to take this nonsense seriously?” Some of his Clanmates pipe up in agreement.

“What about the part where twolegs are going to destroy the forest?” Stormfur demands. “Why is no one concerned about that?”

“Twolegs have always been a pest," Sedgecreek speaks out. "I see no reason to uproot our Clan over twolegs."

Running out of excuses, Stormfur looks at Hawkfrost and hopes that maybe he'll speak up for him if only because they're (rivals, friends, something in between?), but Hawkfrost is too embarrassed to even look at Stormfur right now. Well then, Stormfur won't even bother imploring Mistyfoot, Mothwing or Dawnflower.

"Well, Stormfur," Blackfoot taunts. "What else have you got?"

Stormfur wonders if they would be receptive to Oakheart visited Feathertail in a dream.

Swallowtail, a dark brown tabby she-cat, leans over to Mosspelt and whispers, "Was Stormfur always so eccentric before he disappeared?"

Stormfur clamps his mouth shut and decides to save himself any more embarrassment.

--

He meets with the other quest cats later that night (sans Squirrelpaw, who Firestar is indeed never going to let out of his sight again) and hopes that they’re having an easier time convincing their Clans to move than he is.

“If I get one more question about the talking badger,” Crowpaw fumes.

“Great StarClan, it’s all they want to focus on!” Tawnypelt explodes. “Talking badger this and talking badger that!”

Stormfur adds darkly, “I’ve already made up my mind, the next cat who asks me about the talking badger is going straight to StarClan.”

“A few of my Clanmates will be right behind them,” Tawnypelt agrees.

Finally Brambleclaw speaks up. “You… you told your Clans about Midnight?”

Stormfur turns to Brambleclaw and asks, “You didn’t?”

“Absolutely not. They never would have believed me! Squirrelpaw and I just,” he shrugs, “conveniently left Midnight out. As far as ThunderClan is concerned we went on a very spiritual quest and StarClan told us about the twolegs.”

“And how did ThunderClan receive that?” Tawnypelt asks.

“I mean, they’re still doubtful but not nearly as doubtful as your Clans. Firestar wants to call the Clans together to go over everything we’ve told him, like a Gathering.”

“That’s so level-headed,” Crowpaw muses, wistfully. “We should have gone over what we were going to tell our leaders before we split up.”

Stormfur and Tawnypelt grumble their agreement.

--

A shadow falls across Stormfur’s side and he looks up; Dawnflower offers him a small smile. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I noticed you still haven’t visited Sunningrocks yet, but most of the Clan is on patrols right now. Want to come with me?”

--

Every cat knows the history that surrounds Sunningrocks; the rocks used to be submerged underneath the river and thus, belonged to RiverClan. However, a great flood carved a new course for the river and unearthed the rocks, exposing them to ThunderClan. Neither Clan has ever been willing to give up Sunningrocks for very long. The rocks are stained in blood and countless lives have been lost over them. 

One time Stormpaw asked Stonefur why the two Clans couldn’t just agree to compromise; share the rocks. Stonefur had replied that wasn’t really the point.

All he knows is that Silverstream died kitting on those rocks and Graystripe was exiled from RiverClan on those rocks and Stormfur was raised to believe that his life was worth those rocks. He’s never known how to feel about them.

Dawnflower purrs as she spreads out on her back, soaking up the sunlight. “Mhm, they’re already so warm!”

Stormfur pulls himself onto the stones and warmth immediately seeps into his paws and spreads all the way through his body, and his conflicting thoughts about the pile of rocks starts to fade. “Yeah, they really are.”

“I can’t believe I’ve gone such a long time without them. The last time Sunningrocks belonged to RiverClan, I was still an apprentice and you were just a kit.”

“Yeah, this is my first time ever stepping onto them,” As a RiverClan cat, he doesn’t add, because Graystripe brought him and Featherpaw to Sunningrocks while they sought shelter in ThunderClan.

Dawnflower rolls onto her side and smiles at him. “I’m really happy that you’re back, Stormfur.”

Have you seriously never noticed Hawkfrost and Dawnflower fighting over you?

Stormfur pushes the memory from his mind and lays down, making a conscious effort to enjoy this time with a genuine friend that he hasn’t seen in moons. “I’m happy to be back. I missed everyone.”

“I know you probably can’t tell, but I promise that you were missed, too. I’m sorry everyone keeps harassing you about that badger, though.”

Stormfur can hear that she’s holding herself back. He looks at her and says, “Alright, get it off your chest.”

“Did you somehow learn to speak badger, or did the badger speak cat?”

“She spoke cat.”

“She?” Dawnflower muses. “You said her name was Midnight? That’s so cool. You really had some adventure, didn’t you?”

Stormfur cracks a grin. “That’s an understatement. You wouldn’t believe half the stories I could tell you.”

“Yeah? You have stories more unbelievable than the talking badger?”

He deadpans, “I had a group of cats try to sacrifice me to a cat-like beast.”

Dawnflower’s head shoots up. “You’re lying!”

“Swear on the stars. There was like, a prophecy or something about a silver cat that would defeat the beast -- they called it a Sharptooth -- and so when they met me, well. I didn’t think I was going to find a way out of that one, honestly.”

“No kidding! How did you do it?”

It’s not Dawnflower’s fault for asking, he basically led her to the question. Still, it catches him off guard and he isn’t quick enough to block out the image of Feathertail laying deathly still at the bottom of the waterfall, so, so small compared to the Sharptooth right beside her.

Dawnflower reads the stricken look on his face and her eyes widen. “Oh, Stormfur! I’m-- I’m sorry, I should have known.”

“No, it’s not your fault.” Stormfur stares at his paws. “You weren’t there, you couldn’t have known. Feathertail-- she sacrificed herself to save me. Us. She knew what she was doing.”

A paw on top of his own makes the image dissipate. He looks up and Dawnflower is looking at him with compassion in her eyes. “Stormfur, I’m sorry you came home by yourself. Everyone knows that Feathertail was your best friend. I can’t imagine how hard all of this has been for you.”

Heat springs behind his eyes, and Stormfur blinks back the tears that threaten to spill. Without thinking, he moves closer to Dawnflower and touches his nose to her ear. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For that, and just, for asking about the journey. No one wants to talk about it because of what it means, but there’s so much that happened and I don’t have-- I don’t have anyone to talk about it with.” Nobody cares, or nobody has the time. “It’s lonely, having all these stories and no one to share them with.”

Dawnflower lays her head on her paws and looks up at him like he’s the most interesting cat she’s ever met. “Tell me all of them,” she says.

For a moment Stormfur struggles. Then he starts with, “So, we discovered these huge, wooly creatures called sheep…”

--

That night Stormfur practically falls into his nest, he’s so exhausted. Hawkfrost is already in his nest grooming his chest, and he remarks, “You’re awful tired for someone who wasn’t assigned to a single patrol today.”

“Sorry, I’m still catching up on my rest after I traveled across the earth for moons. You wouldn’t understand.”

(In the back of the den, Heavystep sighs. “Here we go.”

“Young love, or whatever we’re calling it now,” Skyheart agrees.)

Hawkfrost snorts and says, “Yeah, I’m sure talking to that badger really took it out of you.”

Stormfur sits up abruptly and glares at Hawkfrost for all that he’s worth and says, “Hawkfrost, if you don’t get yourself killed between now and then, then I’m going to feed you to the talking badger.”

Hawkfrost recoils in disgust. “What is wrong with you?!”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me, I’ve had to deal with your bad attitude since the day you became an apprentice and somehow, the icicle that was shoved up your tail still hasn’t melted yet!”

“Oh, real mature, Stormfur!”

(“I saw Stormfur and Dawnflower alone on Sunningrocks earlier,” Shadepelt murmurs. “They were laying awful close to each other.”

“Did Hawkfrost see them?”

“Mhm. Took one look at them and then went off on Mosspelt for breathing too loudly.”

Skyheart shakes her head. “Some things really never change, do they?”)

--

Firestar visits RiverClan with Sandstorm, Cloudtail, and Ferncloud. He proposes a night of peace to discuss what the quest cats have told them. He believes that moving the Clans should be a legitimate conversation.

Thank StarClan for Firestar, Stormfur thinks as Leopardstar reluctantly agrees.

--

When the time comes, Leopardstar chooses Mistyfoot, Mudfur, Mothwing, Stormfur, Hawkfrost, Shadepelt, and Blackclaw to attend the meeting. Stormfur walks alongside Shadepelt, making small talk until Hawkfrost slides in next to him and mutters, “Fallback.”

Exchanging a look with Shadepelt, Stormfur shrugs and slows his pace. Once they’re at the back of the patrol, Hawkfrost doesn’t waste any time. “If Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt are here tonight, I want you to introduce me to them.”

“How about you say ‘please’?”

“How about I say, ‘you owe me’.”

Stormfur glares at him, affronted. “For what?”

“For disappearing in the middle of the night; for acting like a fish-brain ever since you came back; for, I don’t know, keeping my half-siblings a secret from me?”

Stormfur huffs. “Fine. I’ll introduce you, but if they aren’t drawn to your sour attitude then you can’t blame me.”

--

(It was a joke until it wasn’t.)

--

Stormfur spots Brambleclaw first; he’s with a few of his Clanmates but as always, he looks slightly out of place; like an outsider who is still trying to figure out how to fake it. Stormfur figures he won’t mind being pulled away from his group and calls, “Hey, Brambleclaw!”

Brambleclaw turns in his direction and as soon as he sees Stormfur, his amber eyes light up. “Stormfur! I was waiting for you.”

Stormfur touches his nose to Brambleclaw’s, friendly, and wonders if Brambleclaw will be able to take one look at Hawkfrost and sense a kinship. “Follow me?” He asks. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

--

Brambleclaw takes one look at Hawkfrost and Stormfur watches his expression become guarded. Still, Stormfur does as he promised and nods to Hawkfrost. “Brambleclaw, this is my Clanmate, Hawkfrost.”

Hawkfrost is sporting his signature half-smirk, half-grin that tugs at Stormfur’s heartstrings and says, “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

If Brambleclaw is moved by the signature look, he masks it well. His gaze slides toward Stormfur and he says, “Funny. I’ve heard about you, too.”

Caught off guard by Brambleclaw’s cool tone, Stormfur blinks. Then he realizes, Sweet StarClan, of course he’s heard about what Hawkfrost did to Shrewpaw. I should have introduced him to Tawnypelt first…

Stormfur can tell that Hawkfrost has the same thought. He laughs, a little breathy, and says, “Right, I forgot I’ve got a reputation in ThunderClan now. Ruiner of Dreams, or something ridiculous--”

“I wasn’t talking about Shrewpaw,” Brambleclaw interrupts. He moves to take Hawkfrost's place beside Stormfur, effectively prompting Hawkfrost to stand off to the side. The look that Brambleclaw gives Hawkfrost is oddly cold, and there’s an edge to it that Stormfur doesn’t quite understand--

Whatever it is, though, Hawkfrost seems to understand. He drops his charming smirk and says in a flat tone, “You’re not serious."

Brambleclaw shrugs. "Can you blame me?"

Hawkfrost looks between Stormfur and Brambleclaw, clearly irritated. Finally he rolls his eyes and says, “You know what, forget it. Come on, Stormfur, let’s go find spots--”

“Sit with me, Stormfur.”

Stormfur has never been more confused in his entire life. He looks between the two toms, his two friends, and says “Uh, I mean, we could all sit together--”

“I’m not sitting with him,” Hawkfrost growls, and Stormfur’s frustration spikes.

“Are you kidding me, Hawkfrost? After all the grief you’ve given me over this and now you don’t even want to sit with him?!”

“I’m not arguing with you over it,” Hawkfrost says through gritted teeth. “Come with me.”

“Stormfur should be with whoever he wants,” Brambleclaw speaks up, and for some reason that sets Hawkfrost off.

“Stormfur,” he snaps.

“Quit acting like a spoiled kit, Hawkfrost,” Stormfur fires back. “Either sit with Brambleclaw and me or go sulk about it somewhere else!”

Hawkfrost’s eyes widen for a heartbeat like he’s shocked that Stormfur isn’t going to just pad obediently over to his side, and then his eyes narrow. “Fine,” he spits. Stormfur watches Hawkfrost leave until he can’t find his pelt in the sea of cats. What a brat, Stormfur thinks, furious. What a spoiled brat. 

“You were right,” Brambleclaw says abruptly. “We do look alike.”

Stormfur turns to the other tom, but all of Brambleclaw’s bravado has melted away. Now he looks like plain ol’ Brambleclaw; specifically, the version that Stormfur first really got to know when Crowpaw was entertaining the group with stories of sheep and cows, and Stormfur and Brambleclaw trailed the group and Brambleclaw was convinced that Stormfur hated him.

Frustrated, Stormfur recalls. And vulnerable.

He sighs, “Look, I’m sorry that Hawkfrost is such a-- well, he’s not always that bad, I promise. He just…” Stormfur trails off searching for an excuse, but it might be time to just come clean with it and tell Brambleclaw the truth; that he has two half-siblings.

Brambleclaw laughs but it’s humorless, and he says, “Stormfur, no offense, but I never wanted to meet him anyway.”

Stormfur’s nose scrunches. “I mean, I don’t remember complaining about him that much on the journey--”

Brambleclaw laughs that same laugh again, and now Stormfur is growing frustrated. “No, you definitely didn’t complain about him.”

“Then why were you so cold toward him?”

Brambleclaw shakes his head in disbelief. “Stormfur, just-- trust me, nobody wants to meet their crush’s crush," and Stormfur stiffens.

Contrary to popular opinion, Stormfur isn't completely clueless. Tawnypelt's teasing, Feathertail's knowing looks, the way that Brambleclaw sometimes seemed to live in awe of him; he's suspected Brambleclaw's crush for a while now. Still, there's a difference between having a suspicion and hearing it confirmed.

"Brambleclaw," Stormfur begins, but Brambleclaw raises his tail.

"Don't," he says. "I don't want you to say something sweet out of pity. I watched you respond to Feathertail and Crowpaw, I know how you feel about forbidden relationships. And I heard the way you talked about Hawkfrost, I'm not mouse-brained. I never thought I actually had a chance with you. But again, I never wanted to meet him."

Stormfur winces. "I wasn't trying to upset you. Hawkfrost-- he asked me to introduce you two."

Brambleclaw snorts. "If I were him, I would also want to meet the tom that my crush had been traveling with for the last few moons. He's strategic, I'll give him that."

"I'm not his-- I mean, Hawkfrost doesn't like me like that. Anymore, I mean. I think it was like, an apprentice crush, or something..."

He trails off because Brambleclaw is staring at him in disbelief. "Stormfur, I told you not to say anything out of pity--"

"I'm being serious!"

"Feathertail literally said that he was fighting with another Clanmate over you--"

"Before I disappeared," Stormfur clarifies. "Hawkfrost never lets go of a grudge."

"So he's a fox-heart," Brambleclaw summarizes. "I could have told you that based on our one meeting. But I can also tell you that he just got insanely jealous of you."

Really? Stormfur doesn't ask in a breathless voice, because he is Not a lovesick apprentice. But hope rises inside of him that maybe Brambleclaw is right and Stormfur just hasn't allowed himself to believe that Hawkfrost still has feelings for him, that maybe it wasn't just an apprentice crush.

"It would suck less if he didn't look so much like me," Brambleclaw adds, truly bitter over the fact, and Stormfur decides to sit on the half-sibling secret just a little longer.

--

He does sit with Brambleclaw, along with Tawnypelt and Crowpaw. The four cats had gone into the meeting feeling optimistic that Firestar could talk sense into the other three leaders, but--

"So you're telling me," Blackstar begins, staring at Firestar, "that you're taking the talking badger nonsense seriously?"

Tawnypelt mutters curses under her breath.

"Yes, I am seriously considering-- wait, talking badger?" Firestar finds Brambleclaw in the crowd and stares at him.

Brambleclaw mutters curses under his breath.

--

The Gathering ends shortly after Leopardstar, Blackstar, and Tallstar take turns gleefully filling Firestar in on the talking badger. Firestar still believes that a move should be seriously considered, but he acknowledges that he needs to have another conversation with his quest cats. Stormfur whispers a prayer for Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw. Speaking of Brambleclaw...

"Hey, Hawkfrost," Shadepelt jokes on the walk home, "who knew you had a doppelganger in ThunderClan? Brambleclaw looks a lot like you!" 

"Looks like Stormfur has options," Blackclaw murmurs wickedly, and that's all it takes for Hawkfrost to abruptly change courses and stomp off, away from the group.

Stormfur shoots Blackclaw a glare. "You are such a fox-heart," he begins.

"Not tonight, Stormfur," Leopardstar orders. "Follow Hawkfrost and make sure he doesn't do anything fish-brained."

I'm the last cat he would listen to tonight, Stormfur thinks with a wince, but he obeys. Blackclaw's singsong, Don't make us come find you two, echoes behind him.

(Gratefully, so does the resounding smack that Shadepelt gives him.)

--

Hawkfrost is pacing behind a cluster of reedbeds, clearly worked up. Stormfur inhales a steadying breath, then enters the clearing.

“Hawkfrost, listen to me--”

“No, absolutely not. When were you going to tell me that my half-brother is in love with you?”

“Don’t be dramatic, he’s not--"

Hawkfrost turns and fixes him with a look, silencing him, and Stormfur already knows this conversation isn’t going to end well. He decides to be honest and says, “Hawkfrost, I wasn't sure.”

Hawkfrost scoffs. “You weren't sure. You spent moons traveling with him, sleeping beside him, alone with him, and you weren't sure that he had feelings for you?”

“To be fair, I didn’t realize that you had feelings for me until Feathertail told me.”

Stormfur half-expects Hawkfrost to go off on him purely because that’s Hawkfrost’s defense mechanism now; instead, he studies Stormfur silently, then looks away. “Everybody has an apprentice crush at some point or another. You happened to be mine.”

Encouraged by the lack of shouting, Stormfur inches closer to him. “That’s all I am to Brambleclaw, too. Now that we’ve talked about it, I’m sure he’ll move on with one of his own Clanmates--”

Hawkfrost laughs the same humorless laugh as Brambleclaw and retorts, “Yeah, right. He stood beside you like you were carrying his kits or something. He’s not just going to get over you.”

The description makes Stormfur wrinkle his nose, weirded out, but this is just Hawkfrost trying to discourage him. He shoves the image out of his mind and takes another step closer to Hawkfrost. “Hawkfrost, I don’t have feelings for him, so who cares?”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re acting like you do.”

“No, I’m not.” Hawkfrost steps away from him. “I’m upset because I just met my half-brother for the first time and he already hates me because he thinks that I’m competition, and it’s so frustrating that after all these moons he wouldn’t even let me say what I've been planning because you were there. Stars, how does everything always come back to you?!"

“That’s not fair! I did exactly what you asked me to!" Stormfur argues, heated. "Not everything that goes wrong in your life can be my fault, Hawkfrost!”

“Well, this can be.” 

He turns around to leave and Stormfur decides that it’s now or never, because there’s a high likelihood that Hawkfrost is never going to speak to him again after tonight, so he blurts out, “Hawkfrost, I thought about you every single day that I was gone.”

Hawkfrost freezes. His back is to him, but his ears are flicked back. Stormfur takes a breath, then says, “I dreamt about you; the smallest things reminded me of you, like, like when the sky was a certain shade of blue or whenever Tawnypelt would say something and I would think, ‘yeah, they’re definitely related because that’s such a Hawkfrost thing to say’.”

Hawkfrost still hasn’t moved. Stormfur walks up to his side and buries his face in the other tom’s scruff, the same way that Hawkfrost did all those moons ago, and Hawkfrost stiffens underneath his touch but then again, so had Stormfur. “I never stopped thinking about you,” he whispers. “There were days when you were the only reason that I kept going, and now I’m back and you’re here and I can’t tell if you hate me or if you-- if you, if you feel the same way as I do, and I just, I need to know. I can’t play this game anymore, Hawkfrost. My heart can’t handle it.” 

There, he’s done it. He’s laid his heart out in every way that he knows how to. Whatever happens next is entirely up to Hawkfrost.

Hawkfrost exhales and says in a quiet, trembling voice, “Stormfur, I can’t do this right now.”

Stormfur doesn’t expect those words to physically hurt, but he flinches; Hawkfrost feels it and steps away from him and immediately Stormfur misses his scent. “Stormfur, I-- it was an apprentice’s crush."

No, it wasn’t, Stormfur isn't bold enough to say. It was more, it was real, I knew it, I felt it, it, it was real enough to get me through the worst day of my life.

“Okay,” Stormfur says, sounding surprisingly calm. “That’s fair. I mean, I figured as much, but Brambleclaw said something and I thought, y'know, maybe... maybe I was wrong..." he trails off, suddenly feeling so, so stupid.

“Stormfur,” Hawkfrost prompts, and stars, he missed Hawkfrost so much.

“I’m fine,” Stormfur says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We should catch up to the patrol before they come looking for us.”

--

First Feathertail, and now I’ve lost Hawkfrost, too.

Miserable and angry, confused and bitter, Stormfur quietly cries himself to sleep in the nest that Hawkfrost painstakingly built him.

--

Dawnlight trickles into the den and when Stormfur looks across, Hawkfrost’s nest is already empty.

--

When Stormpaw was younger and angrier and didn’t know how to process his emotions, he would say Stonefur’s name just to win an argument, to feel justified in his pain.

Mistyfoot told him to stop; that Stonefur was not a wound that Stormpaw could reopen whenever he wanted to hurt Leopardstar. Now that he’s lost his own littermate, Stormfur understands Mistyfoot clearly. Feathertail’s death, Feathertail’s life, is worth more than that.

And yet, here he is, standing in front of Leopardstar.

“She’ll have died for nothing if you choose to stay behind.”

“And that will have been her own choice,” Leopardstar retorts. “Stormfur, I’m sorry that Feathertail is gone, but when you’re the leader of a Clan, you can’t make decisions based on one cat. I have an entire Clan to consider.”

“But what if I’m right?” Stormfur presses. “What if twolegs come and chase RiverClan out and then you have no home, and no way to find the other Clans?”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Leopardstar stands and moves to sit at the lip of her den. She gestures for Stormfur to sit beside her, and after a moment he does. “Stormfur, my father is old. If we make this journey then he will not come with us, and that would make Mothwing her Clan’s sole medicine cat, and I don’t think she’s ready for that responsibility.”

Stormfur follows her gaze across camp, where Mudfur is doing a poor job of sneaking the kits some honey. Emberdawn shakes her head as she watches, but she doesn’t interject. 

“Emberdawn’s kits are still so young,” Leopardstar goes on. “What if she doesn’t feel comfortable caring for them on such a dangerous journey? What if she chooses to stay behind and her kits are raised not as future RiverClan warriors, but as loners with no Clan to protect them? Only a tired queen.”

He opens his mouth to protest but she barrels on, “What about the elders, who have dedicated their entire lives to RiverClan? Like my father, they’re too old to want to make the journey. Will RiverClan abandon them in their twilight moons when they are to be the most respected?"

“And that will have been their own choice,” Stormfur fires back.

“Stars above,” Leopardstar exhales. “Stormfur, I have always thought that someday you would be the death of me, but I expected to be older."

You were literally almost the death of me, Stormfur does not say, because of character development.

“Well,” Stormfur says instead, “I’ll make sure to leave some water lilies at your grave.”

Leopardstar snorts. “Go on with yourself, Stormfur. I’ll let you know when I’ve made my decision.”

--

He finds Mistyfoot by the stream that runs behind the Nursery. Reedkit is at the shallow end, seemingly searching for something underneath the surface. Stormfur sits beside Mistyfoot, and she asks, “How did your talk with Leopardstar go?”

Stormfur shrugs in response, and silence falls over the pair as they watch Reedkit together. The little black kit isn’t so little anymore; he could wade into deeper waters if Mistyfoot would let him, but Mistyfoot is a protective queen. After her first litter, Stormfur doesn’t blame her.

“Does he remind you of anyone?” Stormfur asks, quietly.

Mistyfoot hums. “Quite a few cats. He looks so much like Blackclaw, but he’s got Stonefur’s demeanor and Oakheart’s eyes.”

“What about your mother?”

The question catches Mistyfoot off guard. She’s thoughtful, and then she answers, “I don’t know, honestly. He doesn’t look like Bluestar, and I wasn’t close enough to her to speak on her personality.”

“Do you wish you were?”

“Sometimes, but Graypool was the best mother I could have asked for. I do wish…” she trails off, then whispers, “I do wish that I could find Graypool in him somewhere, but Graypool and I shared no blood. Still, I miss her.”

“Even after all these moons?”

Mistyfoot nods. “Just as much as the day I found her body. You never really stop missing your mother, Stormfur.”

I wouldn’t know.

“What about Stonefur? Do you still miss him?”

“Every day,” Mistyfoot quietly replies. “But it’s a different sort of longing when I think about Stonefur. He was recently made deputy, he still had so many moons left until he retired. It would be different if he gave his life on the battlefield as any honorable warrior should be prepared to do, but he didn’t. He--” Mistyfoot abruptly stops rambling, as if remembering exactly why Stonefur is dead.

Me. Shame floods Stormfur, white-hot and embarrassing. It’s always me that cats are sacrificing their lives for.

Mistyfoot touches her nose to his ear and murmurs, “You’ll always miss Feathertail, but she’s in a better place now, Stormfur. That’s what I tell myself every day, and the wound she left you with may never heal completely, but…”

Her words go in one ear and out the other ear. Mentally, he is far, far away, on the backside of the mountain range and watching as his sister plummets to her death.

--

Her death, for him. Always for him. Cats are always sacrificing their lives for Stormfur’s life and he can’t comprehend why, why, why a half-Clan apprentice who trembles at the names of ghosts is worthy of such a sacrifice.

When they were newborns, RiverClan waged war against ThunderClan for Silverstream’s kits. Almost seven moons later, those same kits were thrown into an old foxhole, held prisoner in their own camp, sneered at like they were lower than crowfood, and Stormfur has never understood how that’s possible.

How can both of those stories be about the same cat? What changed? What did he do to deserve those sneers, what did he do to deserve death?

And what did he do to be worth the lives of two of his most important cats? How is he worthy of war, worthy of death, worthy of sacrifice? How?

At the end of the day, he’s still just frightened and confused little Stormpaw.

--

He crawls into his nest, bone-tired as always. He starting to think there’s something wrong; maybe he’s sick. No matter how much sleep he gets, he still wakes up feeling exhausted. 

(Then again, he isn’t getting very much sleep. He’s not used to sleeping alone.)

--

“... other territories don’t have water.”

“But… the river… never dried before…”

"... shallow..."

“... risk staying behind?”

“Do you really… Clans will… new home?”

“How do we know… disappeared… trust Stormfur?”

After everything? Stormfur thinks in disbelief. I left to save the Clans and when I return, I’ve lost every bit of creditability.

“... wants revenge… TigerClan…”

Stormfur jerks away from the den walls like they’ve burned him. I did not hear that correctly, he tells himself, but his rapidly growing anger tells him otherwise. There’s no way they… they think I would… 

They do.

He turns around and bolts out of camp.

--

Stormfur tries his best. Sometimes he loses. Now he paces in front of the river like a trapped animal, more angry than he's been in a long time.

Feathertail is dead and the Clan thinks I’m setting up a trap for them in revenge of something that happened to me when I was seven moons old,

Feathertail is dead and the Clan doesn’t trust me after everything I’ve done for them, 

Feathertail is dead and she didn’t even die here, Stonefur sacrificed himself for her and she died the exact same way he died, protecting me, like I’m worthy of even one life,

Feathertail is dead, Stonefur is dead, and somehow, somehow, I’m still here--

Stormfur screams until his lungs burn.

--

Hawkfrost steps inside the den, outlined in golden dusklight, and says, “Mistyfoot asked if you feel up to joining a fishing patrol.”

Stormfur’s gaze flickers to Hawkfrost’s face. Still heartbreakingly handsome, he thinks, bitter. “Tell her not tonight.”

“I’m leading it.”

“In that case, absolutely not.”

Hawkfrost snorts. “Somebody’s got their tail in a twist.”

Better than an icicle shoved up my tail, Stormfur doesn’t say, because he’s trying out this new thing where he doesn’t humor Hawkfrost anymore than necessary. Maybe then his feelings for the other tom will go away and Stormfur will be able to move on with somebody who’s actually nice to him and not committed to breaking his heart at every opportunity that arises (of which there are many, because Stormfur is Graystripe’s son and he doesn’t know how to hide his heart from anyone).

“I said, somebody’s got their tail in a--”

Stormfur rolls onto his side, giving Hawkfrost his back, and Hawkfrost’s offense is palpable. 

“Seriously? What’s got you brooding like a rejected appre--”

He can’t help it, Stormfur does tilt his head to fix Hawkfrost with a pointed look at that. Hawkfrost catches himself, looks briefly guilty, and then snaps, “Stop looking me at like that! You’re the one who always rejected me as an apprentice.”

Hawkfrost stomps out of the den, and Stormfur sinks back into his nest with a tired sigh.

--

Silverpelt wakes, casting shadows deep into the den. One by one, Stormfur’s Clanmates drift into the den and settle in their nests for the night.

“Lazybones,” Skyheart grumbles as she passes by, and Stormfur nearly asks if she’s the one who suggested that Stormfur is plotting revenge on RiverClan.

Hawkfrost climbs silently into his nest, not sparing a glance at Stormfur, which is perfectly fine with Stormfur, he would actually like to ignore Hawkfrost for the rest of his life if that’s possible, please and thank you--

“You did a fine job leading that last fishing patrol, Hawkfrost,” Blackclaw says from his nest. “You’ve really turned into an impressive young warrior.”

Stormfur can sense the unspoken, Unlike Stormfur, at the end of Blackclaw’s praise. Maybe Hawkfrost can sense it too, and maybe that’s why he looks extra smug right now. 

“I think you’ve got a lot of skill to pass on,” Blackclaw contuines. “As a matter of fact, Hawkfrost, I think you’re ready to mentor an apprentice. I’ll speak to Leopardstar about giving you Reedkit when it’s time.”

It’s an unexpected kick to the gut; suddenly Stormfur feels winded, but if Hawkfrost is surprised then he masks it well. Blackclaw goes on but it’s all just white noise.

Stormfur has never given much thought to an apprentice before, but unconsciously, he had been hoping that Leopardstar would give him Reedkit. He hadn’t even realized it until the opportunity was stolen from underneath him.

Hawkfrost catches his eye and he has the nerve to smirk that horrible, heart-wrenching smirk. “Careful,” Stormfur remarks, pushing aside his distress. “If your head gets much bigger then it’s going to be too heavy to hold up, and then all of that skill will be a waste. What will you pass onto an apprentice then?”

“Jealous?” Hawkfrost taunts.

“Not on your life,” Stormfur fires back.

(“Look what you’ve done now, Blackclaw,” Skyheart groans.

Blackclaw shrugs, unapologetic. “Hawkfrost deserves an apprentice.”

“And riling Stormfur up is just part of the fun, right?” Shadepelt asks, unimpressed.

Blackclaw shrugs again, smirking to himself.)

--

“You know this isn’t some elaborate plan of mine to seek revenge on RiverClan, right?”

Leopardstar groans, “Sweet StarClan, I’m assigning a guard outside of my den from now on!”
--

He watches as Blackclaw gives Reedkit a badger ride while Emberdawn’s kits dance around his legs. Stormfur asks, “Was he this involved of a father to your first litter?”

“No, he wasn’t.” The Clan knows better than to bring Mistyfoot’s first litter up very often, but as he grooms the tangles out of her fur, she’s relaxed. “I think that’s why he’s so involved this time around. I think he has regrets.”

Stormfur hums quietly. “Heavystep isn’t this involved with his kits.”

“Most fathers aren’t. Silverstream, Stonefur, and I were blessed with wonderful fathers.” A pause, and then, “You too.”

“I know.”

“Graystripe is far from perfect, and his exile… well, regardless, no one has ever doubted how much he loves you and Feathertail.”

“I know.”

Mistyfoot tilts her head to look at him and asks, “Minnow for your thoughts?”

What have I got to lose by asking? “The kits will all be apprenticed soon, won’t they?”

“In the next moon or so. Why?”

“I’ve just been thinking about my future lately, and the next step in my warrior career should be to mentor an apprentice, shouldn’t it?”

Mistyfoot blinks at him, caught off guard. “I suppose it should be.”

“Right, so I thought, wouldn’t it be poetic if I mentored Reedkit?”

Stormfur understands that it’s frowned upon for kin to mentor kin, but it’s not like Reedkit is his brother, and he knows that Willowpelt of ThunderClan mentored her own son, Sootfur. Exceptions can be made under the right circumstances and having the queen’s approval would certainly help his case.

It hits Stormfur that maybe Mistyfoot won’t like the idea. Maybe she thinks he’s not a skilled enough warrior, maybe she wants someone with more experience to train her only kit, to keep her only kit alive. Maybe Mistyfoot doesn’t think he’s ready.

All of his worries vanish like shadows under sunshine as a purr rumbles deep in Mistyfoot’s chest. “Poetic is one word for it. Are you sure you’re ready for the responsibility?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well then, it sounds like I need to have a chat with Leopardstar.”

And like sunshine, warmth floods Stormfur as he listens to Mistyfoot’s relaxing purr and watches Reedkit squeal in delight.

--

Mistyfoot and Blackclaw request an audience with Leopardstar at the same time.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Dawnflower observes. Stormfur shrugs and busies himself with polishing off his trout, ignoring Hawkfrost’s pointed stare.

--

Blackclaw stands in front of Stormfur’s nest, unimpressed. “You’re smarter than you look,” he finally murmurs, not drawing their Clanmates' eyes.

“Thanks, I try.”

“You get your smart mouth from your father, you know. It's going to get you into real trouble someday, Stormfur.”

Stormfur sighs loudly. “Worse trouble than being taken prisoner by TigerClan warriors?”

The entire den falls silent. If no one was paying them any attention before, they certainly are now. Blackclaw is as stiff as a frozen fish. 

Stormfur shrugs. “Sorry, I’m just trying to decide if running my smart mouth is worth it. I’d rather not relive that whole experience again if I can help it.”

Blackclaw doesn't come back with a response. Of course he can’t, Stormfur thinks, as Blackclaw slinks into his own nest. He watched it happen.

"TigerClan?" Swallowtail repeats. "What's TigerClan?"

Stormfur grooms his paws, unconcerned as his Clanmates struggle to come up with an explanation. 

--

“Stormfur,” Mistyfoot says in a warning voice.

“It’s my trauma, Mistyfoot. If I want to shove it in Blackclaw’s face whenever he’s acting like a fish-brain then I should be allowed to.”

--

There will be a Gathering in a few days, and there the Clans will share their final decisions.

“Firestar is convinced,” Brambleclaw says. “What about you three?”

“Tallstar is waiting to see what the other leaders decide first,” Crowpaw says. “If ThunderClan goes, then WindClan will likely go as well.”

Stormfur and Tawnypelt exchange looks. “I don’t know about Blackstar,” Tawnypelt admits. “I’ve done everything I can, but he’s the most stubborn cat alive. If he doesn’t want to leave then I’m not going to be able to change his mind.”

“Leopardstar is the same way,” Stormfur agrees. “I honestly can’t tell which way she’s leaning towards.”

The ugly truth is that he doesn’t know if Leopardstar herself knows which way she’s leaning. Like Tallstar, he thinks she’ll decide once the other Clans announce their own decisions. Stubborn as she is, if someone more powerful and more charismatic attempts to sway her, it will work.

(This is how TigerClan came to be.)

--

The Gathering is only one night away. Stormfur is a bundle of nerves and tension and it must show because Mistyfoot asks him to sunbathe with her. Reluctantly, he lays down beside her and watches as Blackclaw and Hawkfrost go over basic moves with the kits.

“Battle moves?” Stormfur asks, surprised.

“As long as the kits only watch, then I don’t mind,” Mistyfoot shrugs. “They think it’s exciting.”

And it warms them up to Hawkfrost, Stormfur thinks, watching as Hawkfrost demonstrates (shows off) for them. He isn’t fish-brained, and neither is Blackclaw or Hawkfrost. They know exactly what game they’re playing.

Two can play this game, though.

“Show them your backkick,” Stormfur calls. Hawkfrost halts, his gaze flickering to Stormfur and then back to the kits.

“Alright,” he finally agrees. “But only if you’re willing to be my partner.”

Caught off guard, Stormfur says, “I’m not going to go easy on you just because the kits are watching.”

“Stop stalling. This was your idea.”

Not stalling, Stormfur thinks as he stands up. Just trying to figure out your angel.

The backkick is the one move that Hawkfrost always struggled to master; it’s how Stormfur won many of their matches. If he’s trying to impress these kits, he’d have a better chance against Blackclaw.

Stormfur takes up the offensive position, and after allowing Hawkfrost a moment to fall into place, Stormfur leaps.

Hawkfrost meets him in the air and matches him strike for strike, Stormfur staying true to his word and not going easy on him, not giving him the opportunity to show off his backkick. If Hawkfrost expects anything less than he hides it; he comes at Stormfur with all the force of an apprentice with a wounded ego.

There’s the tiniest opening for a backkick and Hawkfrost takes it; the kick he lands on Stormfur’s jaw is so blunt that he stumbles back a step, and Hawkfrost advances, blow after blow until Stormfur finds himself on his back.

I’m out of practice, Stormfur prepares to defend himself, but the defense dies on his tongue. Hawkfrost leans into his personal space until their noses are touching and Stormfur is swimming in a pair of ice-blue eyes.

“That’s for giving me such a hard time when we were apprentices,” Hawkfrost murmurs, his voice husky, and Stormfur just stares up at him, dumb.

He might buy into the whole ‘I’ve moved on from my apprentice’s crush’ thing if Hawkfrost would stop mentioning it every chance he got. He might buy the excuse if Hawkfrost would climb off of him, but Hawkfrost seems quite content to keep him on his back. Hawkfrost has always lingered in these moments, Stormfur suddenly realizes.

When they sparred as apprentices. When Hawkfrost pushed him into the river. He gets the higher ground and he doesn’t move. It occurs to Stormfur that he doesn’t want Hawkfrost to move, either.

Abruptly, Blackclaw clears his throat and says with thinly veiled disdain, “Hawkfrost, I think you’ve proven your point.”

--

Stormfur and Hawkfrost are dead silent in their own nests, neither daring to so much as glance at the other. The memory plays itself on repeat in Stormfur’s head; ice-blue eyes, husky voice, nose to nose, the weight of Hawkfrost on top of him.

(“They’re strangely quiet tonight,” Dawnflower observes.

“Don’t ruin it for us,” Heavystep begs.

“She’s right, though,” adds Shadepelt. “I've gotten used to their arguing again.”

Blackclaw grumbles, “They’re probably too embarrassed to speak to each other. They were sparring for the kits and it got-- weird, quickly.”

“Weird, how?” Heavystep asks, against his better judgment.

“Weird like, I felt like I was watching something I shouldn’t be, if you catch my drift. The kits definitely shouldn’t have been watching.”

Skyheart makes a face. “Oh, for StarClan’s sake. Well, I always knew they would end up there, but in front of kits?”

“Do you think it scarred the kits?” Shadepelt asks, only half-joking.

“It scarred me!” Retorts Blackclaw. “Mistyfoot just called it young love again, but I’m not sure we can call it that anymore.”

“Then what should we call it?” Mosspelt asks.

“How about we finally call it what it's always been?” Skyheart suggests, dryly. “Sexual tension.”

"Wait," Swallowtail says, shocked. "Stormfur and Hawkfrost like each other?")

--

Stormfur has attended some strange Gatherings in his lifetime, but never one so thick with tension before. He wants to make his rounds, greet his friends from other Clans, but everyone is keeping to their own Clans tonight and Stormfur finds himself doing the same.

Moons of journeying, countless near-death experiences, Feathertail’s…; it all comes down to this night.

“Stop worrying,” Dawnflower whispers to him. “I’m sure everyone will make the right choice.”

--

ThunderClan votes to find a new home.

WindClan votes to find a new home.

ShadowClan votes to find a new home.

RiverClan votes to stay behind.

--

When Stormfur branches off from the patrol and heads to the river, nobody stops him.

He sits on the sandy bank and watches it. It’s full of water, full of fish, full of life, full of divinity. The river means everything to his Clan. Maybe he could understand Leopardstar’s refusal to find a new home if he were pureblooded, if all he knew was RiverClan, but--

He’s got his father’s traitorous heart.

He’s half-ThunderClan, he should have died as an apprentice, and this is just a river. He’s traveled across the earth and drank from other rivers just like it. Try as he might, Stormfur does not understand how a river is more important than Feathertail’s sacrifice. 

Feathertail’s sacrifice…

Stormfur bows his head and sobs.

--

He’s on a border patrol with Hawkfrost, Mosspelt, and Swallowtail. By the time they reach the shared border with ThunderClan, Graystripe’s patrol is almost done.

Dustpelt, Rainwhisker, Brightheart. Stormfur can’t bring himself to meet their concerned faces. He adverts his gaze and remarks the border quickly.

“Stormfur.”

Stormfur closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again he’s looking at Graystripe. “Yes?”

Graystripe’s expression is set in stone. He says, “The offer to join ThunderClan still stands.”

To his left, Hawkfrost stiffens. 

“Graystripe,” Dustpelt snaps. “Deputy or not, you can’t--”

“And if it were Spiderpaw, or Shrewpaw?” Graystripe retorts, not breaking eye contact with Stormfur. “Leopardstar made her decision, and Stormfur is allowed to make his.”

To his left, Hawkfrost is very, very quiet.

Stormfur swallows and says, “I’ll think about it, dad. Thanks.”

--

Hawkfrost corners him and snarls, “If you leave with ThunderClan then you are exactly what everyone has always said you are.”

“Yeah,” Stormfur says, sidestepping him. “I guess I am.”

--

The Clans will be leaving in seven nights. Stormfur has a decision to make, but he feels like he’s drowning. He’s chosen RiverClan every time, he’s been as loyal as he can manage, he's risked his life to bring home Midnight’s warning and it cost him Feathertail.

If he chooses RiverClan this time, too, then he’ll never see Graystripe again, or Firestar or Brambleclaw or Squirrelpaw or Tawnypelt or Crowpaw or--

If he chooses ThunderClan this one time, what will Stonefur think of him? Who will mentor Reedkit? Can he break Mistyfoot’s heart again? What about Hawkfrost?

He finds himself in front of the river again, always in front of this stupid river, always either crying or screaming and so this time he prays. He prays to Stonefur (will you hate me if I go?) he prays to Feathertail (will you hate me if I stay?) he prays to Oakheart (why did you choose my sister?) he prays to Silverstream (why, why, why).

He prays until he sees stars.

--

When Stormfur stirs, Mothwing is right there.

“Stormfur,” she breathes. “Oh, thank goodness you’re alright!”

He groans, “My head is pounding. What… what happened?”

“I was hoping you could answer that for me,” she says, her expression pinched. “A fishing patrol found you passed out in front of the river last night.”

Stormfur blinks, trying to get his bearings. “Passed… passed out? How, why--”

“Pure exhaustion is my guess.” Mothwing gently asks, “Stormfur, how have you been sleeping at night?”

Stormfur stares at her, still trying to process the fact that he’s been passed out for, what? Almost an entire day? “I mean… I’ve never had to sleep without Feathertail before…”

Mothwing’s amber eyes are soft. “I figured you weren’t sleeping very well, but I didn’t think you were this tired. I’m sorry, Stormfur. I should have checked in with you sooner.”

“It’s not, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m a medicine cat now,” comes Mothwing’s response, and she looks off to the side, frustrated. “Your health is my responsibility.”

He doesn’t know what to say to comfort her, he doesn’t know what to say at all. The last thing he remembers is the river, and he was… he was praying, he was begging for an answer, for guidance, for anything at all. He just didn’t want to feel so alone…

“Who found me?”

“I told you, a fishing patrol.”

“But who was leading it?”

Mothwing shoots him a wiry smile. “Who do you think?”

Stormfur almost rolls his eyes, because, of course, it would be Hawkfrost. “I’m surprised he didn’t take advantage of me and just drown me.”

“Hawkfrost wouldn’t do that; not with an audience, at least.”

It’s meant to be a joke. Ha, ha.

“Did Mistyfoot… I mean, did she see them carrying me?”

Mothwing’s smile becomes strained. “Mhm.”

“Is she alright?”

“She’s worried, understandably. This is the first time she’s left your side, actually. Mudfur convinced her to go fishing and stretch her legs.”

Stormfur sighs and it rattles his chest. “I have to stop doing this to her.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what she said.” Mothwing touches her nose to his ear and murmurs, “You’re doing your best, Stormfur.”

He is. That’s what burns him the most. He’s doing everything within his power to save everybody he loves, and it feels like all he’s doing is making promises he can’t keep and breaking hearts and watching, slowly, as they all die one by one. 

Stonefur, Feathertail, who’s next?

Mothwing licks the top of his head and says, “Try to get some more rest, Stormfur. I’ll wake you up when Mistyfoot returns.”

--

When Stormfur wakes up again, it’s past dawn. Mudfur and Mothwing are both missing, leaving Stormfur alone in the medicine cat den.

Alone?

--

Mistyfoot never returns from fishing.

--

The Clans depart for their new homes in five nights.

Mistyfoot is still missing. 

Stormfur has a decision to make.

He goes to the river and prays until he passes out again.

--

He gathers his bearings quicker this time and plans to return to the river as soon as his legs feel solid again. Mudfur stops him.

“You’re my prisoner, now,” he says, and Stormfur bristles at the word prisoner.

“I’m no one’s prisoner, Mudfur. Step aside.”

“Why do you keep going to the river?” He asks, not moving an inch.

To pray, Stormfur doesn’t say because it sounds pathetic, and beyond that, it doesn’t seem to be working. Stonefur, Feathertail, Oakheart, Silverstream, like a chant again and again but no one is listening to him, no one cares--

“Mistyfoot is still missing, isn’t she?” Stormfur asks instead. Mudfur’s expression is answered enough. “I’m going to find her.”

“You can barely stand upright,” Mudfur retorts. “You’re not leaving this camp until you get enough rest to function.”

A scream presses against Stormfur’s teeth, I can’t rest, Feathertail is dead, and he’s about to open his mouth and let loose when a familiar scent hits him. No, wait, a whole patrol of familiar scents: ThunderClan scents.

Stormfur ducks past Mudfur just in time to watch Firestar himself be escorted in by Shadepelt and Blackclaw; Graystripe, Mousefur, and Spiderpaw. He catches Graystripe’s eye and resists the urge to rush to his father’s side.

“Firestar,” Leopardstar greets, cautious. “What brings you into RiverClan’s camp, and with a patrol, no less?”

Firestar dips his head. “An emergency,” he says, and Stormfur notices his disheveled pelt. “Twolegs have stolen some of my Clanmates, including my daughter, Leafpaw.”

“Leafpaw?” Repeats a strangled voice. When Stormfur turns to Mothwing, her amber eyes are wide and every emotion is spelled across her face.

Leopardstar frowns. “I’m sorry, Firestar, but that sounds like ThunderClan’s problem. I fail to see why that has brought you to RiverClan.”

Firestar takes in a deep breath, then says, “Leafpaw was grabbed by the twoleg because she spotted Mistyfoot; the twolegs have her as well.”

Stormfur’s heart stutters. “We have to save her.” For a heartbeat, he worries that Leopardstar will disagree with him because she always disagrees with him, but when he faces his leader, she nods.

“Yes, we do,” she says. “RiverClan will join your rescue mission, Firestar. When do you head out?”

Firestar exchanges a look with Graystripe and something passes between them. “As soon as possible,” Graystripe answers. 

Leopardstar nods again, in thought. “Alright. Let me take volunteers from my warriors and then we will meet you on Sunningrocks.”

“I volunteer,” Stormfur calls.

“No,” Mudfur speaks up, coming to stand beside Stormfur. “Stormfur is confined to his nest until he stops passing out, medicine cat’s orders.”

“Stops passing out?” Graystripe repeats, professional deputy demeanor gone. He walks past Firestar and approaches Stormfur, ignoring the quiet hisses from RiverClan warriors. “Why are you passing out, Stormfur?”

How is he supposed to look his father in the eye and admit he doesn’t know how to sleep in a nest by himself? How is he supposed to admit that he keeps going to the river to pray but nobody listens to him?

You need to be strong for your Clan; strong for Feathertail.

“I’m-- I’m fine,” Stormfur says, attempting to hold Graystripe’s concerned gaze. “I just haven’t been sleeping very well, but that’s not going to stop me from rescuing Mistyfoot.”

“Yes, it is,” Mudfur presses. “Great StarClan, do you young cats not respect a medicine cat’s opinion at all?!”

Graystripe looks back at Firestar and reasons, “If Stormfur is up to it, then he should be allowed--”

“Graystripe,” Firestar interrupts and Stormfur has never heard the ThunderClan leader use that tone before. “He’s not our warrior.”

Stormfur can hear Graystripe’s protest already, but he’s my son, and Stormfur’s heart aches like it used to when he was an apprentice and he agonized over if he made a mistake by returning to RiverClan. 

Leopardstar clears her throat loudly. “A stellar observation, Firestar.” She cuts Graystripe a cold look and adds, “Funny how some things never change.” 

Stormfur thought that he had issues with Leopardstar; the pure contempt that flashes across Graystripe’s face steals his breath.

Before Graystripe can defend himself, Leoprdstar goes on. “I’ve already agreed to aid ThunderClan’s rescue mission, and I’ve already told you that we will meet on Sunningrocks. You can return to your own territory now, Firestar.”

“Yes, please,” he overhears Spiderpaw mumble; the ThunderClan apprentice is glaring openly at Hawkfrost. His mentor, Mousefur, shushes him.

“Take a hint, Graystripe,” Firestar says, brushing against his deputy’s side. “We’ve worn out our welcome.”

Graystripe clenches his jaw. Stormfur knows that look, he’s seen it in his own reflection before, seen it on Feathertail’s face; Graystripe isn’t going to back down.

Stormfur touches his nose to his father’s and says, “I’ll see you at Sunningrocks, yeah?”

Graystripe softens. “Only if you get Mudfur’s approval,” he replies, and Stormfur makes a face because that’s not what Graystripe was saying just a minute ago--

“Good seeing you, Stormfur,” Firestar says by way of farewell, and the tail he lays across Graystripe’s back is a final warning that they need to leave. This time, Graystripe takes the hint and gathers the ThunderClan patrol. 

The moment that ThunderClan’s patrol is out of earshot, Swallowtail laughs, “So that’s where Stormfur gets it from!”

--

Any humor dissipates as Leopardstar puts together her patrol. 

“I’m going to volunteer,” Mothwing tells Mudfur.

“No, you’re not,” he counters. “They don’t need a medicine cat with them.”

“But I’m not a typical medicine cat, remember?” Mothwing fires back. “I completed my warrior training, I can be an asset to them--”

“Mothwing,” Mudfur says in a stern voice, “you cannot be both a warrior and a medicine cat. You must choose.”

Quietly, Stormfur thinks that Mothwing would be an asset to the rescue mission. But then he remembers her reaction to finding out that Leafpaw had been stolen by twolegs, and he thinks that maybe there’s more that Mudfur isn’t saying in front of him.

Whatever Mudfur isn’t saying, Mothwing already knows. She bites her tongue and glares off to the side, so much like her siblings when they don’t get their way. (Absently, he thinks they must have inherited that sulky attitude from Tigerstar.)

Stormfur tries to sneak out of the den and join Leopardstar’s meeting, but Mudfur places a heavy paw on Stormfur’s tail and says sharply, “Stormfur, no.”

“But I told Graystripe that I would--”

“And I’m sure he’ll be very disappointed,” Mudfur interrupts. “But Graystripe has given me enough headaches to last a lifetime, and I’m not about to do either of you any favors. You’re sitting this one out, Stormfur, and that is final.”

On that note, Mudfur stomps out of the den and joins the meeting, leaving Stormfur and Mothwing alone. After a moment of silence, Stormfur offers, “I’ll help you sneak out if you help me, too.”

Mothwing sighs. “If I trusted you to not pass out, then I would say yes. Unfortunately, we’re both stuck here.”

--

By dusk, the rescue patrol has been assembled. Shadepelt will lead the patrol and will bring Blackclaw, Skyheart, Dawnflower, and Hawkfrost with her. It’s a strong patrol, strong enough to be a battle patrol, even, but as they prepare themselves to depart Stormfur feels sick to his stomach.

I should be going, too, he thinks. Nobody will fight as hard as me to bring Mistyfoot home.

But even now, Mudfur is keeping one sharp eye on Stormfur and one on Mothwing. No matter what scheme Stormfur conjures up, he’s not going to be able to get past Mudfur. 

Leopardstar is giving the patrol their final instructions. Stormfur’s heart is pounding against his chest and his paws are sticky with sweat. StarClan please, please let Mistyfoot come home.

Mosspelt and Emberdawn are wishing Dawnflower good luck; Blackclaw is telling Reedkit to behave while he’s gone. Stormfur sucks up his pride and walks up to Hawkfrost.

--

Hawkfrost notices him and asks, his voice condescendingly sweet, “Come to see me off?”

“I’ve got a favor,” Stormfur answers. “I need you to come back with Mistyfoot.”

Hawkfrost looks confused. “That’s the point of the entire mission, isn’t it? Mudfur is right, Stormfur, you’re starting to lose it--”

“You’re not listening to me,” Stormfur interrupts. “I’m saying, I need you to come back with Mistyfoot.”

He doesn’t know how else to phrase it without breaking down. Mistyfoot is all he has left in RiverClan. She’s the only cat alive who knows how it feels to rot away in a dank old den, your own Clanmates standing guard. She’s the only cat alive who knows what it feels like to watch your only littermate sacrifice themself, she’s the only cat alive who loved both his mother and his father, she’s--

“She’s all I have left in RiverClan,” Stormfur says, and his voice trembles.

Hawkfrost regards him with an unreadable expression. “If I can’t save her, are you going to take Graystripe's offer and leave with ThunderClan?”

“I might,” Stormfur admits. “I wouldn’t have anything else tying me to RiverClan.”

For just a moment, that unreadable expression cracks and Hawkfrost’s has the nerve to look wounded by that. Then he says, “Mistyfoot is my deputy, and I’ll do my best to save her.” 

He turns his back to Stormfur, and if Stormfur wasn’t so exhausted, if he knew where they stood, he would brush up beside Hawkfrost and press his muzzle against the other tom’s, and he would tell Hawkfrost no, I would stay in RiverClan for you, but he doesn’t know where they stand, and--

The patrol streams through the camp exit, led by Shadepelt with Hawkfrost right on her tail, leaving Stormfur behind, always.

Something soft presses against Stormfur’s legs, and when he looks down, Reedkit is staring right back up at him with innocent amber eyes. “I miss my momma,” he whispers, somehow sounding younger than he really is; not at all like the apprentice he will be soon. 

It was nearly a lifetime ago but Stormfur remembers sitting in the shade underneath the Nursery, burrowed into Featherkit’s fur, waiting eagerly for Graystripe to return from battle with ThunderClan.

“Come on,” Stormfur says, and leads him to the stream that runs through camp. “Let’s catch frogs while we wait for her.”

Reedkit follows obediently at his heels, only looking back once at where the patrol was moments ago.

--

Reedkit doesn’t last very long. As the sun sets beyond the river, he curls up against Stormfur’s side and naps. The dusklight turns his fur a shade of gray, and for a minute, Reedkit looks exactly like Mistyfoot and Stonefur.

I won’t let anything happen to Mistyfoot or her kits, Stonefur. I promise.

It’s an old promise, one that Stormfur made when he was still an apprentice and Mistyfoot first told them the news that she was pregnant, but it’s a promise that Stormfur intends to keep with his dying breath.

He pulls Reedkit closer and waits for Mistyfoot to walk into camp.

(Graystripe never returned.)

Chapter Text

It’s moon-high when the rescue patrol returns to camp. Mistyfoot isn’t with them.

Stormfur can’t even bring himself to despair with the rest of his Clan. Of course, Mistyfoot would be the next casualty to add to his collection. Stormfur’s calamity has never been anything except entertainment to the stars.

--

The next day, Stormfur braces himself to break the news to Reedkit. When he reaches the Nursery, Emberdawn says that Blackclaw beat him to it.

“He is Reedkit’s father,” Emberdawn gently reminds Stormfur. “Blackclaw had a right to tell him.”

“How did Reedkit handle it?”

“About as well as you did when you were his age.”

Not well, then. Mosspelt carefully explaining that Graystripe wouldn’t be returning to RiverClan is the beginning of many horrible, nightmare-inducing memories. His confusion had been overwhelming at the time, and it haunted him for a long time afterward.

“I should be there for him,” Stormfur murmurs, staring at the Nursery.

“Once Blackclaw is done with him,” Emberdawn says vaguely. 

Stormfur looks back at her and asks, “He doesn’t want me around Reedkit, does he?”

Emberdawn sighs. “No, he doesn’t.”

“That’s not fair, Reedkit is my kin too--”

“Kin is different from parent,” Emberdawn gently interrupts. “If I told Mosspelt or Dawnflower to stay away from my kits for any reason, I would expect them to respect my wishes.”

But he’s the only kin I have left, gets lodged in Stormfur’s throat.

“Fine,” Stormfur finally manages. “I’ll wait until Blackclaw leaves camp.”

--

He distracts himself the best way he knows how to; by harassing Leopardstar.

“You’re going to send out search patrols, aren’t you?”

She nods. “Once the other Clans leave on their journey, yes.”

“In four nights?” Stormfur asks, shocked. “Every day that we wait, the chances of finding her--”

“We still have mouths to feed and borders to protect,” Leopardstar interrupts. “I have an entire Clan to take care of. I can’t forget about their needs just to pour everything we’ve got into finding one cat.”

“Even if that one cat is your lifelong friend?” Stormfur retorts, anger making his voice tremble. “Even if that one cat has forgiven you for treating us like prisoners, for watching her brother’s murder--”

“Stormfur,” Leopardstar snaps. “I have been selfish for most of my life and it has only hurt others. If it were just me then I would spare no resources, but that’s not the case. I can’t afford to throw everything at the wind and see if we get lucky.”

Lucky. “You don’t think we’re ever going to find her, do you?”

Leopardstar won’t look at him. “In four nights I’ll let you lead your own patrol, Stormfur. Don’t talk to me about it again until then.”

--

He’s still waiting for Blackclaw to leave camp when a brown tabby pelt catches his eye. Hawkfrost is picking absently at the fresh-kill pile and when he looks up, their eyes connect. Stormfur quickly distracts himself by grooming his chest.

He expects Hawkfrost to ignore him as well; he doesn’t expect Hawkfrost to slowly pad over to him and ask, “Am I going to be allowed to say goodbye this time, or are you going to disappear in the middle of the night again?”

Stormfur is so caught off guard that he forgets about ignoring Hawkfrost. “What?”

“You told me to come back with Mistyfoot, and I failed,” Hawkfrost replies, spitting the word ‘failed’ like it’s poisonous. “So you’re going to take Graystripe’s offer and leave with ThunderClan, aren’t you?”

The truth is that Stormfur hasn’t thought about it. He’s only got a few nights left to make the decision, but he’s been so consumed with Mistyfoot’s disappearance, with his plans to find her, what he’s going to say to Reedkit once he has the chance…

Eventually, Stormfur asks, “Did you do everything in your power to save her?”

Hawkfrost misses a beat, then two, then says, “Of course I did. She was my deputy.”

She’s still your deputy, Stormfur doesn’t point out. Instead, he asks, “Is there anything else you need to tell me? Are you being completely honest with me?”

Hawkfrost looks frustrated. “I’ve told you everything you need to know.”

That doesn’t answer my question, Stormfur thinks, and he can read Hawkfrost well enough to know that behind his mask, he is hiding something. But what if it’s not something connected to him or Mistyfoot? What if it’s not something that will rear its head and hurt him someday? Stars above, Stormfur loves this tom and all he wants is for it to be easy.

“Good,” he says, sounding neutral to his own ears. “Then if I leave with ThunderClan, I’ll let you say goodbye.”

Hawkfrost stills. “If?” He echoes.

Stormfur shrugs and returns to grooming his chest. “Someone’s got to mentor Reedkit, and with your massive head weighing you down--”

“Right,” Hawkfrost snorts, but the resentment is gone from his voice. There’s still caution, but maybe there’s a lightness as well. Maybe Stormfur is just a hopeless optimist. Maybe he should listen to the uneasy stirring in his gut.

Hawkfrost walks away and doesn’t look back, but if he’s still the same stubborn apprentice that Stormfur knew, then it’s taking every ounce of self-control Hawkfrost has to keep staring straight ahead. 

The problem is that nobody stays the same forever; Stormfur and Stormpaw are not the same cats. Stars, Stormfur isn’t even the same cat that left RiverClan to fulfill StarClan’s quest. Hawkpaw was always intelligent and prideful and stubborn but then he grew into a warrior, into someone who knew how to weaponize those traits, into the kind of cat that would start a war for his own selfish reasons, the kind of cat who would risk ruining an apprentice’s entire future over the most pointless ambush in history--

“I’ve changed a lot since you’ve been gone.” That’s what he said when Stormfur returned from his quest. It makes Stormfur uneasy when he wonders just how well he really knows this version of Hawkfrost.

Stormfur has to decide: is Hawkfrost the kind of cat who would sabotage a rescue mission for his own ambition? Would Hawkfrost choose to leave Mistyfoot behind if he had the opportunity? Hawkfrost wants to be deputy someday, is this part of his plan--

Right before Hawkfrost passes through the camp entrance, he pauses and looks backward, right into Stormfur’s eyes. Hawkfrost suppresses a grin but Stormfur can still see it in the tilt of his mouth and the sparkle in his blue eyes. His gut stirs in a completely different kind of way; his heart beats against his chest like it’s trying to run away from him.

Hawkfrost holds his gaze for another moment, and then he leaves. Stormfur’s heart doesn’t slow down until long after he’s gone.

--

It’s nearly sun-fall and Blackclaw is still stationed right outside the Nursery. Stormfur contemplates the pros and cons of just walking into the Nursery and risking his anger; what could he do to Stormfur, anyway? Question his loyalty in front of the entire Clan? Been there, done that. Forbid him from seeing Reedkit again? Even if Blackclaw tried something like that, Stormfur wouldn’t obey him.

Then, as if she can sense his resolve wavering, Dawnflower calls, “Blackclaw, come on a hunting patrol with me?”

Blackclaw scoffs. “Think you're the new deputy now that Mistyfoot is gone?”

“No, but I also don’t think the fish will take pity on us and jump onto our fresh-kill pile just because she’s missing. Do you want to continue eating, or not?”

Blackclaw bristles and Stormfur thinks he’s going to argue, but after a moment he rises and begrudgingly joins her patrol. As the patrol pads out of camp, Dawnflower shoots Stormfur a pointed look.

Be quick.

She’s gone before Stormfur can convey his gratitude, which might be for the best because now he’s feeling oddly emotional--

Focus. 

Stormfur collects his thoughts and then slips into the Nursery.

--

Emberdawn and her kits are playing behind the den; evidently, Reedkit declined to join them, instead a lump of black fur in a nest that’s far too big for just himself. The sight makes Stormfur’s heart twist, all too familiar with the feeling, and he has to remind himself that Reedkit is still so young; he can learn how to sleep peacefully in a nest by himself.

He shouldn’t be learning that now, though.

“Hey, squirt,” Stormfur calls softly. Reedkit raises his head and blinks; his eyes are no longer innocent, kitten blue, but a darker shade. Almost like Stonefur’s.

Focus.

“Stormfur?” Reedkit whispers. “Have they found my mama yet?”

Stormfur moves to lie down beside Reedkit, curling around the nest. “Not yet. Once the other Clans leave, Leopardstar will let me start looking for her.”

Anguish flashes across his face. “Why is she waiting so long?” Reedkit cries.

I wish I knew. Stormfur can’t explain to Reedkit that Leopardstar seems to give up on cats quickly; Stonefur, Feathertail, Sasha, and now Mistyfoot. If someone looks like a lost cause, Leopardstar does not fight against the odds.

“She’s got her reasons,” Stormfur finally says, hating his lame excuse. “Leopardstar has to think about the entire Clan, you know?”

“Mistyfoot is her deputy,” Reedkit hisses. There’s defiance blazing in his dark blue eyes, eyes that Stormfur swears he gazed into when he was only a few moons older than Reedkit--

“Hey, I’m on your side,” Stormfur says, shoving past old memories. “As soon as Leopardstar gives me the signal, I’m leading the first search patrol.”

“I’m coming with you,” Reedkit declares, lifting his chin. Something about it tugs a grin from Stormfur. 

“Once you’re an apprentice,” he says. “Those are the rules.”

Reedkit huffs and flops down in his nest. “Stupid rules,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna be stuck in the Nursery forever.”

Stormfurr purrs and licks the top of his head. “Not forever,” he corrects. “Probably not even for a whole moon.”

Reedkit tilts his head back to look at Stormfur and asks, “Are you going to be my mentor?”

“That’s up to Leopardstar. I would like to be, though.”

Reedkit sighs, sounding much older than he is. “Papa wants Heavystep to be my mentor.”

Heavystep wouldn’t be the worst choic-- Stormfur’s thoughts skid to a halt. “Wait, Heavystep?”

“Mhm. He was papa’s first apprentice.”

Vaguely, Stormfur recalls that Heavystep and Shadepelt are littermates, and Blackclaw and Stonefur trained them together. Heavystep has always been one of Blackclaw’s staunchest supports, backing up almost all of Blackclaw’s points just as loudly. It would make sense for Blackclaw to suggest Heavystep as Reedkit’s mentor, except--

He was so adamant that it should be Hawkfrost.

“Is Heavystep nice?” Reedkit asks, breaking Stormfur from his thoughts. “I only see him when he brings fresh-kill to Emberdawn.”

“Heavystep is a strong warrior. He collects pebbles for every cat he defeats in battle, and he lines them around his nest--”

“But is he nice?” Reedkit presses. “I want a nice mentor.”

Stormfur gets tongue-tied as he tries to answer. “I mean, I’ve never been his favorite cat, but he has no reason to dislike you.”

“What? What reason does anyone have to dislike you, Stormfur?”

The absurdity of that question smacks Stormfur upside his head. He genuinely wonders if Reedkit is mocking him, but no, Reedkit looks truly shocked to learn that there are cats who don’t like him.

He doesn’t know I’m half-ThunderClan, Stormfur startles. Does he know that Mistyfoot is half-ThunderClan, too? Does Reedkit know that one day his own blood will hum like a storm on the horizon?

Made uncertain by Stormfur’s silence, Reedkit bunts his head against Stormfur’s shoulder. “Mama talked a lot about you while you were gone,” he adds, his voice only a whisper. “Told me lots of stories about you, and Feathertail.”

At the mention of Feathertail, something in Stormfur’s chest constricts. “We gave Mistyfoot a lot of trouble when we were apprentices,” he finally says. “I’m sure she had plenty of stories to share with you.”

Reedkit nods. “She always told me I would meet you both someday because she knew you would come back to RiverClan.” He looks away, uncomfortable. “She was half-right, at least.”

Another unsuspecting strike. His chest constricts even tighter, making it difficult to breathe. She was half-right, at least. All that’s left of Feathertail in RiverClan is an old tuft of fur carefully tucked away in his nest.

Feathertail would have loved you, Stormfur wants to say. Feathertail did love you. She was so happy when Mistyfoot told us she was pregnant, she was so excited to have more kin--

“I wish I could’ve met Feathertail,” Reedkit adds, glum. “She sounded like fun.”

“She was the best,” Stormfur says, voice cracking. Reedkit looks up sharply, then, and Stormfur quickly blinks back his tears. “She was-- You would have liked her. Probably would’ve wanted her as a mentor over me, even.”

For some reason that makes Reedkit giggle, and Stormfur can force a smile back onto his face. Reedkit is alright, he tells himself, as he tucks the kit back into his nest and promises to visit him later. Reedkit is going to turn out fine.

Later that night, Stormfur lays awake in his nest and breathes through the tightness in his chest that refuses to loosen, acutely aware of the tuft of fur woven into his nest and the sweet scent that clings to it.

--

In three nights, ThunderClan, ShadowClan, and WindClan will leave the forest forever. Stormfur will never see his father again, or his friends. He will be left behind and alone in a Clan that once chanted for his death.

Nobody stays the same forever. Stormfur is scared to death that RiverClan hasn’t changed since the days of TigerClan. Maybe that’s straight paranoia whispering in his ear, but there’s only one way to find out…

Count the days until I end up at Bonehill again. This time without Stonefur and Feathertail.

Left behind and alone…

Unless, Stormfur quietly reminds himself, his gaze wandering to where he knows ThunderClan’s forest to be. The sun is starting to set, Graystripe is sending out the evening patrols, and Firestar is watching over his Clan with a kind eye.

Unless.

--

Mistyfoot is out there somewhere. Maybe Stormfur will find her.

Maybe Mistyfoot is dead, the newest addition to his collection of casualties, and Stormfur will never know.

--

Hawkfrost stretches out beside Stormfur and says, “I’m hungry.”

His eyes drift to the fresh-kill pile; it’s running low. “There’s still a trout left, and a couple minnows.”

“They’re old,” Hawkfrost dismisses. “I want something fresh. I want carp.”

Stormfur shoots Hawkfrost a look. “Why are you complaining to me about it?”

“Go catch me a carp.”

It’s so ridiculous that Stormfur actually laughs. “Yeah, no. Go catch it yourself, lazybones.”

“I’ve already worked my tail off today, it’s about time somebody does something nice for me.”

“Again, why me?”

“Because you’re in love with me,” Hawkfrost states, matter-of-factly. Self-satisfied and smug as he is, he doesn’t even lift a paw as Stormfur chokes on his own spit. “Don’t try to deny it, you told me yourself.”

“That-- is not what I said,” coughs Stormfur, glaring.

“That’s what you meant,” Hawkfrost refutes, all self-satisfied and smug.

Stormfur maintains his glare and asks, “If that were true,” (it was true), “what makes you think I would go fishing in the name of unrequited love?”

“The possibility of reviving my apprentice’s crush?”

Hawkfrost always calls it an “apprentices’s crush” and Stormfur is always tempted to remind Hawkfrost that, no, actually, he was very clearly smitten with Stormfur after they became warriors. Stormfur call pull several memories that would leave Hawkfrost tongue-tied, but…

Hawkfrost would just find a way to dismiss those too, and Stormfur doesn’t want to have those memories torn to tatters. When he was traveling across the earth on a quest not meant for him, bone-weary and pawsore, those memories are what kept him going.

“Go catch it yourself, or eat the trout,” Stormfur finally says. “But I’m not yours to toy around with whenever you’re feeling bored.”

Hawkfrost sprawls out in the fading sunlight, and their shoulders brush. “I’m not toying with you, Stormfur. Everything tastes better whenever you catch it.”

Everything you say sounds deliberate these days, Stormfur wishes he could say. I feel like you’re always toying with me. I’m scared that I can’t trust you.

Hawkpaw had been an irritable ball of piss most days, but at least he didn’t know how to sharpen his words like claws that left scars. Stormfur never wondered if Hawkpaw was twisting the truth to get specific reactions out of cats. Hawkpaw, despite his sour attitude and annoying confidence, had always been honest.

Hawkfrost tilts his head back and catches Stormfur’s eye. There’s a rare hesitation on his face, in his voice as he prompts, “Stormfur?”

Refusing to be disarmed by pretty blue eyes and a voice that might be coated in concern, Stormfur looks away and repeats, “Go catch it yourself, or eat the trout, Hawkfrost.”

As Stormfur stands and heads out of camp, he’s keenly aware of Hawkfrost’s gaze burning holes into the back of his head.

--

In two nights, RiverClan will be the only Clan left in the entire forest.

Dawnflower is not-so-subtly trying to coax Stormfur into a conversation. She’s a good friend, the kind of friend that Stormfur doesn’t have to worry about trusting. Absently he feels guilty for not being able to give her the attention she’s seeking, but he’s only got eyes for Reedkit.

Emberdawn is showing the kits a fishing crouch, and Reedkit is studying her position like he’s committing to memorize it. He has an amazing focus for a cat his age. When Emberdawn encourages the kits to try the crouch themselves, they obey, and Reedkit’s form is nearly perfect. Heavystep praises him as he approaches, and Reedkit preens, and there’s a look of approval on Blackclaw’s face as he watches quietly a few lengths away.

Reedkit will turn out fine, Stormfur thinks. Half-ThunderClan or not, Blackclaw will make sure he’s loyal, and the Clan will spoil him, and then they will respect him when he grows into a formidable warrior. 

RiverClan will cherish Reedkit the same way they cherished Willowbreeze and Graypool; the same way they’d wanted to cherish Stormkit and Featherkit. No one ever expected when ThunderClan surrendered the kits that Graystripe would be coming along as well to serve as a permanent reminder of Silverstream's most offensive mistake.

Maybe Crookedstar never even planned on telling them they were half-Clan; maybe he would’ve been Mistyfoot and Stonefur’s age when the truth finally came out; maybe it never would have. Maybe, even if it did, Stormfur still wouldn’t have been able to fathom a life where he isn’t undyingly loyal to RiverClan.

Stormfur’s gaze drifts past Reedkit to where the sun is setting beyond the forest.

--

Stormpaw counts the heartbeats between the rise and fall of Featherpaw’s chest until he’s sure she’s fallen back asleep. He continues grooming her shoulders a little while longer, hoping that it will help her fend against the nightmares if they should return.

“What if they take us back there?” Featherpaw had cried. “What if they-- what if they steal us in the middle of the night again, but this time Stonefur isn’t here to protect us, and Graystripe doesn’t know, and Mistyfoot, what if Mistyfoot--” She hadn’t been able to push through the fear clogging her throat.

“Mistyfoot isn’t going anywhere,” Stormpaw had comforted her. “You heard her, if anyone ever tries to lay another paw on us, Mistyfoot will skin them alive and use their coat to line our nest.”

Featherpaw had fallen asleep soon after; she was exhausted. They both were exhausted. Sleep, however, did not come easily to Stormpaw that night.

--

What if Mistyfoot…

Is alive?

Is dead?

Never finds her way home?

What if Stormfur leads patrol after patrol searching for her but it’s all for nothing?

What if they take us back there? What if they-- what if they steal us in the middle of the night again, but this time Stonefur isn’t here to protect us, and Graystripe doesn’t know, and Mistyfoot, what if Mistyfoot--

--

Nobody stays the same forever; Stormfur isn’t a frightened half-Clan apprentice anymore. No one has breathed the name TigerClan in moons. 

One day he could be happy in RiverClan. He could be so happy that he doesn’t miss his father, his friends; he could bask on Sunningrocks and not feel a drop of guilt. Hawkfrost could love him and there would be no strings attached. Mistyfoot could come home in time to watch Reedkit receive his warrior name.

Nobody stays the same forever. Stormpaw used to be a dreamer, but Stormfur followed a dream from StarClan and he watched his sister plunge to her death. Stormfur has seen too much of the world’s cruelty to blindly follow any more dreams.

--

“You don’t trust me anymore.” 

Hawkfrost looks at Stormfur with a pensive expression, ice-blue eyes soft for once. Stormfur wants to believe that he’s exactly how he presents himself, but there’s the uneasy stirring in his gut again. Hawkfrost is a good actor, he reminds himself.

Eventually Stormfur murmurs, “Don’t take it personally, Hawkfrost. I don’t trust anyone, anymore.”

--

Whether it’s a moment of weakness or a moment of strength, Stormfur may never know. He peers outside the den, up at the sky, and is relieved that most of the stars have vanished; he doesn’t want Stonefur to watch this.

Stormfur turns around and noses in his nest until he finds a feather-soft tuft of fur; he takes it gently in his mouth, careful not to leave much of his scent on it. He’s not going to be able to carry a tuft of fur with him on this journey, but he’s not going to let it be lost to the wind, either.

Don’t look back, Stormfur tells himself as he pads out of the den. Don’t look back, don’t--

He looks back at Hawkfrost’s nest and freezes.

Please don’t hate me, Stormfur silently begs, even though he knows Hawkfrost still hasn’t forgiven him for disappearing the first time; twice? Hawkfrost will curse Stormfur’s name until the end of time. And maybe Stormfur will deserve it. Maybe Stormfur will regret his decision to throw away the future he could’ve possibly had.

Or maybe Stormfur will stay behind in RiverClan and it’ll kill him. Too many cats have sacrificed their lives for him to take such a risk.

“Am I going to be allowed to say goodbye this time, or are you going to disappear in the middle of the night again?” 

It is a moment of weakness and cowardice when Stormfur turns around and runs into the dawn.

--

Halfway across the earth, Feathertail is buried at the base of a waterfall. To a Tribecat, that is one of the greatest honors.

Feathertail wasn’t a Tribeact. She wasn’t a RiverClan warrior at heart, either, and she might not care that her body wasn’t buried beside the river where a patch of lilies would someday grow, but Stormfur still thinks she deserves it. She deserves to be buried alongside Stonefur and Silverstream and Graypool and Oakheart and Shellheart. 

One stop, and then it’s on to ThunderClan, Stormfur promises himself. The tuft of fur in his mouth is feather-light but the closer he draws to the river, the heavier the burden becomes. She deserves this.

Feathertail could outfish any cat. She could swim, she could dive, she was graceful, she was quick, she was beautiful, and she earned a river burial. To a RiverClan warrior, it’s one of the greatest honors.

Tears distort his vision and Stormfur closes his eyes and breathes through his nose as he pushes through the last reedbed, the river on the other side. She earned a river burial, she deserves a river burial. She--

Stormfur opens his eyes and then freezes. The tuft of fur falls from his mouth and floats gently on the breeze, landing right in front of the river.

Right in front of where the river used to be.

“It’s dried up,” Stormfur whispers, shocked. “The river is dried up.” 

--

“The river is dried up!”

He burst into camp, panting. His Clanmates spin to stare at him in confusion. “What do you mean the river is dried up?” Leopardstar demands.

“It’s practically a puddle,” Stormfur gasps. “Mostly mud and dirty water. It’s-- it’s like it disappeared overnight.”

“That’s impossible,” growls Loudbelly.

“Come see it with your own eyes,” Stormfur fires back.

For a moment it seems that time is frozen. His Clanmates are stiff, too stiff to even whisper to one another in disbelief. They’re scared, and the thought makes Stormfur’s muzzle curl. It would be blasphemy, for a RiverClan warrior to hate their very source of divinity. Then again, Stormfur has never cared for divinity.

“Come see it with your own eyes,” he repeats, harder this time.

--

They see he isn’t wrong.

Warriors pace the length of the river as if searching for the missing water, but it’s pointless. Just mud and dirty water, nothing divine about it.

“Nothing divine about ‘em,” Grasswhisker had grumbled as TigerClan warriors threw the half-Clan cats into an old foxhole. “ Just mud and dirty blood in their veins.”

“How could this happen?” Mosspelt asks, green eyes wide. “Leopardstar, Mudfur, how…”

Leopardstar shakes her head and opens her mouth, but no words come out. It’s like she’s been stunned into silence. 

Mudfur turns to Mothwing and says, “You were collecting herbs here last night. You didn’t notice if the river was shallow?”

Stormfur notices how she won’t look her mentor in the eye. “I didn’t notice anything,” she replies. Stormfur’s gut stirs. 

Mothwing isn’t a liar, he tells himself. The look Hawkfrost sneaks at her makes Stormfur doubt himself. Then Hawkfrost turns his gaze on him and Stormfur swallows. Fox-dung.

Hawkfrost slides up beside Stormfur and murmurs, “Where did you go this morning? I woke up and you were already gone.”

“Uh, the river.” Stormfur hopes his tone makes Hawkfrost feel so ridiculous that he drops the topic.

He has no such luck, of course. “Why did you head to the river before the dawn patrols were even sent out?” Hawkfrost presses. 

Because I couldn’t tell you goodbye, Stormfur can’t bring himself to say. He looks anywhere but Hawkfrost’s piercing gaze until his eyes fall on a tuft of fur, forgotten in his haste. Quickly, he snatches it. 

Hawkfrost’s eyes narrow. “Is that--”

“Mind your own business,” Stormfur hisses under his breath.

“This is a sign from StarClan, isn’t it?” Reedtail speaks up. All heads turn to the elder, but he’s staring straight at Leopardstar. “It should be impossible for the river to dry up in leaf-fall, of all seasons. They’re unhappy with RiverClan’s decision to stay in the forest.”

Blackclaw snarls, “Clearly they’re unhappy with us over something. First Mistyfoot, now the river--”

“StarClan had nothing to do with Mistyfoot’s capture,” Sedgecreek rebukes. “If she isn’t with us now then it’s because your patrol failed to bring her back.”

“I did everything I could,” Blackclaw spits. “I don’t know if I can say that for the rest of my patrol.” When Blackclaw’s gaze lands on Hawkfrost, Stormfur’s breath catches in his throat. What is he implying?  

“Are you accusing me of something, Blackclaw?” Hawkfrost asks hotly. 

Blackclaw shrugs, tense. “Only that maybe some of the patrol’s priorities were divided.”

Loudbelly bristles. “On a rescue patrol?”

“Cut it out, Blackclaw,” Shadepelt snaps. “I led that patrol, we did everything we could. It’s not Hawkfrost’s fault we couldn’t save Mistyfoot.”

But why would Blackclaw think it was? Stormfur wonders, trying to keep from panicking. Why would Blackclaw of all cats blame Hawkfrost?

“Now is not the time to turn on each other,” Mudfur speaks up. “Our warrior ancestors are sending us a message. Leopardstar, I…” Mudfur trails off, his voice softening as he takes in his distressed daughter. “Leopardstar, we need to head back to camp. We need to talk.”

--

Stormfur stays behind and no one notices. No one but Hawkfrost.

Stormfur ignores Hawkfrost as he begins digging. The hole doesn’t have to be big, it’s not like Stormfur has a body to bury; just a tuft of silver fur with a little bit of Feathertail’s scent still clinging to it. If Stormfur wasn’t acutely aware of Hawkfrost’s eyes on him, he might cry.

“Do you want help?” Hawkfrost eventually asks. 

“No, I don’t need your help.”

Hawkfrost blows out a frustrated sigh. “Of course you don’t. You’ve never wanted my help; not when we were apprentices, not when you were receiving prophetic dreams--”

“I never received the dream,” Stormfur interrupts, still scraping out his little hole. “Only Feathertail did.”

“Oh. So you disappeared without saying goodbye to follow a dream that wasn’t even for you--”

“I went along to protect my sister,” Stormfur spits.

And how did that work out for you? Stormfur waits for Hawkfrost to ask because Hawkfrost always goes for the jugular, Hawkfrost breaks bones to win ambushes, Hawkfrost only cares about himself--

“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t have said goodbye.”

Refusing to turn around, Stormfur hisses, “Why are you so hung up on not getting a goodbye?”

Hawkfrost scoffs, incredulous. “You don’t think you would be hung up on that? If I disappeared in the middle of the night for moons, and the last conversation we had was an argument, and you asked me if I cared about you, and I told you more than anyone, Stormfur, I loved you--”

Hawkfrost stops, realizing his slip-up as soon as the words leave his mouth. For Stormfur time has slowed down, like it did when he told his Clanmates the river dried up. He slowly turns around to stare at Hawkfrost, horrified. 

I loved you, his mind replays as an insurmountable grief spreads throughout his body; the kind of grief he thought could only be brought on by death. He loved me, and I disappeared. Everything we could’ve had, everything we lost-- is my fault.

Hawkfrost couldn’t lie right now even if he put on the performance of his life. Mask removed and layers cut back until he’s nothing but flesh and bone, Hawkfrost sighs and mutters, “Forget it.”

“I’m sorry,” whispers Stormfur. They’re the only two cats around, but if he raises his voice any louder then it’ll crack and a dam will burst. “Hawkfrost, I didn’t know--”

“How could you not have known?” Hawkfrost interrupts. “Stormfur, everybody knew, Leopardstar knew, Feathertail knew, I--” He stops, squeezes his eyes shut, and grounds out, “I loved you when we were apprentices. For moons, all I wanted was your attention no matter how I got it, and just when I thought we could actually work out, you disappeared.”

Swallowing, Stormfur says, “You never would have forgiven me for not telling you about Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt.”

“Why? Because I ignored you for a few days?” Hawkfrost snorts. “Stormfur, if you gave me enough space I would have eventually forgiven you for anything.”

“You staged the ambush,” Stormfur argues because he cannot handle this, he cannot handle the knowledge that it’s his fault that Hawkfrost doesn’t love him anymore. “You put me in a position to fight ThunderClan, my father, for your own selfish reasons. What else was I supposed to do but run?”

“You could have said goodbye,” Hawkfrost presses. “You could have told me where you were going, or, or why, or even if you planned on coming back! I thought you were dead.”

Stormfur takes a step towards the other tom. “I didn’t know,” he repeats. “Hawkfrost, I was so angry at you for ignoring me, and the ambush, and not defending me… that night in the medicine den, I wanted to forgive you, but I wasn’t ready. I’m sorry.”

There’s still a whole divide between them. Stormfur stepped forward, tried to bridge that divide, but Hawkfrost has to do the rest. And the way Hawkfrost is staring at him now, with eyes the color of ice and just as sharp, Stormfur isn’t sure he’s going to move. 

Then Hawkfrost asks, “This morning, were you leaving to join ThunderClan?”

The unspoken half of that question is, Without saying goodbye again. 

Stormfur winces, and before he can even think about lying, Hawkfrost hisses in frustration. “Of course you were. You are so freaking predictable-- nevermind all that nonsense about Reedkit-- ”

“I came here,” Stormfur raises his voice, “to give Feathertail a river burial. I don’t know what I would’ve done after that.”

“Don’t start lying to me now, not when we’re finally being honest with each other,” Hawkfrost spits. Behind him, his tail lashes back and forth. “You don’t trust me anymore, Stormfur? That’s fine, because I don’t trust you either. Especially not now.”

The words sting, razor-thin wounds inflicted by razor-sharp claws, but it’s just another reminder that this-- this cavern between them, all this hurt and unforgiveness is Stormfur’s fault. Maybe the calculated, ruthless, cat that Hawkfrost turned into is Stormfur’s fault, too.

He inhales a deep breath, then says shakily, “I’m sorry, Hawkfrost. I don’t know what else to say. And if that’s not enough for you then I understand, but you’re going to have to take it out on me later. Right now I just want to honor what little I have left of Feathertail.”

He can tell that Hawkfrost isn’t ready to stop fighting, but Hawkfrost doesn’t know how to stop fighting, how to surrender. It used to be admirable, and maybe out on the battlefield it will be admirable again, but right now, Stormfur is exhausted. 

He turns his back on Hawkfrost and finishes scraping out his too-small-for-a-body grave. He tries not to dwell on the fact that Hawkfrost hasn’t stomped off yet, silently watching Stormfur work. 

When it’s finally time to nose the tuft of fur into the hole, Stormfur finally indulges and rubs his cheek against it, breathing her scent in deeply, committing it to memory. It’s the last trace he has of her, and he’s leaving it here, on RiverClan soil; he’s leaving her here in a way that shatters his heart all over again.

He noses the tuft into the grave and swallows thickly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I-- I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I tried to, I would have traded places with you in a heartbeat, I--” he stops, choked up. “I’ll never forget you, Feathertail,” he finally whispers. “Losing you feels like losing half of myself and like I’ll never be whole again.” He swallows again. “I’ll make you proud, Feathertail, I promise, I’ll never give up. In everything I do, I hope you see that it’s all for you.”

He licks his mouth, feeling like there’s so much more he needs to say, but every time he opens his mouth he has to fight the sob clawing up his throat, and if he unleashes now then he’ll never be able to pull himself back together. 

He startles when Hawkfrost’s shoulder brushes against his own, but when he looks at Hawkfrost, the other tom is staring down into the grave and there’s a wistful expression on his face. 

“Why did you keep her fur?” Stormfur asks.

Still staring, Hawkfrost says simply, “I missed her, too.”

Something takes Stormfur back to the night he and Feathertail made up on the quest. “I never told her that Tigerstar was your father, but she knew,” he blurts out. “She figured it out before I even did, and she-- she didn’t care.” She didn’t hold it against you like I did.

Hawkfrost doesn’t seem surprised by that. “She was a loyal friend and an even more loyal sister.” Hawkfrost looks up at him, then, and adds, “She threatened me one time, after… that night, and said I better not ever break your heart, or else she would have to hurt me.”

Stormfur swallows; tries to think of a way to say You’ve broken my heart at least three times now and spin it into a joke. Instead, he just feels miserable.

It’s my fault, he thinks again. My fault Feathertail is dead, my fault Hawkfrost doesn’t love me anymore.

“Well,” Stormfur finally responds, “maybe she’s been too busy lazing around StarClan to have been watching.”

“No,” Hawkfrost immediately disagrees. “As soon as I step into StarClan, she’s going to kill me. Again.”

The grave expression on Hawkfrost’s face pulls a watery smile from Stormfur. It’s funny, in a messed-up sort of way. If Feathertail is watching them right now then he hopes she shares his morbid amusement.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Stormfur says, “Alright, it won’t be long until cats come looking for us.”

And yet, he can’t bring himself to push the first pawful of dirt into the grave. His throat constricts just imagining it.

Either out of kindness or impatience, Hawkfrost does it for him. 

Stormfur forces himself to do the same, again and again, until the grave is full. He takes a paw and packs the dirt down, solid, so that it’s an unassuming mound. No one would ever look at it and think it a grave. Here lies Feathertail, one-half of Stormfur’s heart.

“Thanks for slipping it into my nest,” Stormfur murmurs. “The fur, I mean.”

Hawkfrost shrugs and says, “I kept a tuft of yours, too, but I figured it would be weird to put your own fur in your nest.”

“Oh.” Because he’s a glutton for feeling sorry for himself, Stormfur asks, “Did you toss it out once I came back?”

When Hawkfrost doesn’t respond, Stormfur glances at him; his expression is pinched like he’s about to say something that he regrets. "No,” he says slowly. “I… kept it.”

Stormfur blinks. “Like, it’s still in your nest?”

“It’s not like it has your scent anymore--”

“And you still have it?”

“Don’t read too deep into it,” Hawkfrost snaps. But it’s far too late for that.

Maybe… maybe Hawkfrost does still love him. Maybe he just doesn’t want to... Which is almost as equally depressing, and not something that Stormfur is foolish enough to rejoice in.

The walk back to camp is silent and the space between them is charged with words unsaid, words Hawkfrost will probably fire off once he’s finished feeling sorry for Stormfur, and they’ll be forced to confront the past all over again; Stormfur kept Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt a secret; Hawkfrost planned an ambush on ThunderClan; Hawkfrost didn’t defend Stormfur against Blackclaw; Stormfur disappeared without saying goodbye, and was prepared to do it a second time.

One of these days, they’re going to have to grow up and stop keeping score, or else they’re going to have to just give up on each other. They can’t carry on like this forever. Stormfur doesn’t want to do this forever. 

But as he glances at the warrior walking beside him, expression closed-off and gaze set ahead, Stormfur isn’t sure that anything with Hawkfrost will ever be easy.

Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Stonefur had told him, one of his first days as an apprentice. Stormfur wonders if, when Stonefur told him that, he ever meant this.

As if he can read Stormfur’s mind and decides to toy with him purely for the fun of it, Hawkfrost drifts closer until their shoulders are brushing, and then he bumps them in a way that can’t be accidental. But when Stormfur looks at him, Hawkfrost is still staring straight ahead.

“That must’ve been some apprentice crush,” Stormfur remarks, airly, “to have kept a tuft of fur in your nest even after it lost its scent.”

Hawkfrost is good at keeping that mask of his in place, but Stormfur sees when it cracks, sees when he’s caught Hawkfrost, and can’t help but purr.

One of these days they would have to grow up, but that day was not today.

--

Immediately, Stormfur can sense that he just walked in on a very tense meeting. Leopardstar sits on the Smooth Boulder, every cat gathered underneath her, and for a split second Stormfur wonders if Mistyfoot has come home.

“There you two are,” Leopardstar says in a strained voice. “It looks like you’ll be getting your way after all, Stormfur.”

Stormfur blinks up at Leopardstar, caught off guard. “Me?”

“RiverClan is nothing without the river,” Leopardstar continues, amber eyes sweeping across her Clan. “I have to assume that it has dried up because StarClan is sending us a message.” She takes a deep breath, then says, “When the Clans depart in search of a new home, we will be joining them.”

Leopardstar's declaration is met with a mixture of emotions, some are angry shouts and some are sighs of relief, and inside Stormfur's chest is much of the same. 

RiverClan is leaving the forest with the other Clans!

What if Mistyfoot's still out there somewhere? How will I find her now?

I have no reason to join ThunderClan now.

I can still join ThunderClan if I want to. I just need to want to.

Stormfur glances at Hawkfrost, trying to gauge his reaction, but Hawkfrost's expression is closed off again. "Well," he says, taking this unexpected twist into stride, "we can't make this journey on empty stomachs."

Hawkfrost joins their Clanmates around the Smooth Boulder and volunteers to lead a hunting patrol, and asks Skyheart and Swallowtail if they want to join him, and suggests that somebody should organize a water patrol as well, and--

And leaves Stormfur behind in a corner of camp, alone, with his wounds exposed to anybody willing to look close enough to see them. Stormfur swallows and pads over to Leopardstar's side, unsure of the words that are going to jump off his tongue, but there's a heavy weight sitting on his chest and--

When Leopardstar turns to face him, her amber eyes are dim with grief. The words die on Stormfur's tongue as suddenly he remembers, “Stormfur, my father is old. If we make this journey then he will not come with us." In the search for a new home, Leopardstar will be forced to leave behind everything she has sworn to protect with her life. All of his Clanmates will be forced to do the same.

Stormfur licks his mouth, then asks, "How can I help?"

Chapter Text

It all passes Stormfur by in a blur. One moment he’s standing in RiverClan’s camp and touching noses with those who will not make the journey; the next moment he’s arguing about when to settle down for the night.

“Now?” Crowstrike repeats, aghast. “We’ve still got plenty of sunlight left!”

“We’ve also got queens, kits, and elders,” Tawnypelt fires back. “We’re not going to be able to travel all day this time around so you need to go ahead and forget about that.”

“The first journey took nearly three moons,” Crowstrike retorts. “We were gone for most of leaf-fall. At the pace we’re setting, we’ll be lucky to find our new territories by next leaf-fall.”

“I do not want to be wandering around unknown land in leaf-bare,” Brambleclaw pipes up. “The sooner we find our homes, the better.”

“There’s no way we’re going to find our new territories before leaf-bare ends,” Tawnypelt says, stubbornly. “You can go ahead and accept that right now.”

Crowstrike bristles. “Well you can go ahead and shove your superior attitude right up your--”

“And you can take your new warrior name and shove it--”

Brambleclaw is tense to the point of bursting. Stormfur looks to his side, prepared to crack a light-hearted joke to Feathertail that will ease the tension in the group, but--

There’s no one beside him.

Sadness washes over Stormfur like a wave, but he’s not got time to wallow in it right now. Tawnypelt and Crowstrike are going to start exchanging blows at any moment, and the leaders are waiting for the four of them to come to a decision.

“I agree with Tawnypelt,” he speaks up, drawing their attention. “We should start looking for a place to camp out.”

Crowstrike glowers. “And waste all of the sunlight we have left?”

“It’s only our first day, Crowstrike,” reasons Stormfur. “Our bodies are used to this much traveling, but our Clanmates aren’t. Once they start adjusting then we can travel longer."

“By the time they’re adjusted then it’ll be leaf-bare and we’ll have even less sunlight,” Crowstrike says, his voice rising on the verge of hysteria. “Why do none of you understand that? We have to make the most of the time that we have now--”

“Quit talking to us like we’re all mouse-brained,” Brambleclaw growls.

“Quit acting like you’re all mouse-brained,” Crowstrike snaps.

Feathertail is so lucky she doesn’t have to listen to their stupid arguments anymore, Stormfur thinks, his anger brewing and ugly. He opens his mouth to say exactly that and watch the hurt flash across their faces, stunning them into silence, when--

“The leaders are getting impatient standing around. They want to know if you four have come to a decision yet.”

Frustrated, Stormfur gestures to his companions. “Does it sound like we’ve come to a decision yet?”

Hawkfrost has the nerve to look vaguely amused by their arguing. He asks, “Why don’t you four take a vote?”

We try to come to unanimous decisions, Stormfur goes to say, but it’s not worth the breath. They’re not all going to agree this time. Clearing his throat, Stormfur asks, “Why don’t we take a vote? Majority wins.”

Again, he draws their attention, and this time they seem surprised to see that Hawkfrost has joined them. So wrapped up in their bickering, Stormfur thinks, unimpressed. “All in favor of continuing while we still have sunlight?”

Brambleclaw and Crowstrike lift their tails. Tawnypelt groans. “Two and two. Brambleclaw, go get your best friend to be the tiebreaker.”

“Can you stop ordering everybody around for five minutes?” Brambleclaw demands.

Before another argument can break out, Hawkfrost raises his voice. “Good luck trying to pry her away from Shrewpaw. She won’t let anyone get within a fox-length of him without raising her hackles. I can be your tiebreaker vote if you want?”

“Fine,” Tawnypelt sighs, in unison with Crowstrike’s “whatever” and Brambleclaw’s silent glower.

“I vote we make camp for the day,” Hawkfrost says, to Stormfur’s relief. “I swear, every single cat in all the Clans is complaining about their sore paws.”

“Well, at least they can all agree on something,” Stormfur says, choosing to be an optimist. 

Crowstrike doesn’t share Stormfur’s optimism, instead giving Hawkfrost a dirty look and mumbling, “Who invited pretty tom to our private meeting, anyway?”

Hawkfrost responds with “Leopardstar did” in the same instant Brambleclaw gives Crowstrike an odd look and asks, “Why wouldn’t Stormfur be invited to the meeting?”

Silence. Dead silence. Speaking of dead, Stormfur wishes he was dead.

“Oh,” Brambleclaw says lamely. “You meant Hawkfrost, not Stormfur.”

“Why would he mean Stormfur?” Tawnypelt demands. “Stars above, you toms are a bunch of lizard-brains! I’m going to give the leaders our decision.”

No, don’t leave me alone with them, Stormfur wants to protest, but it’s too late. Tawnypelt practically sprints away, unable to handle the embarrassment rolling off of her brother. Or maybe she was shaken by the icicles that seem to practically hang off of Hawkfrost now.

Crowstrike looks from Brambleclaw to Stormfur to Hawkfrost, then says, “Yeah, I want no part of whatever you three have going on.” Like the traitor he is, he follows Tawnypelt.

Hawkfrost watches him leave. “I didn’t thank him for the compliment.” Pretty tom.

“I don’t think he meant it as a compliment,” Brambleclaw mutters. Hawkfrost’s gaze narrows.

“He means because Crowstrike is incapable of complimenting others,” Stormfur fills in, feeling very much like he did on the night when he first introduced Hawkfrost to Brambleclaw; caught in the middle of two cats he truly cares about. “Well, we should probably get back to our Clans, now…”

Hawkfrost hums, nonchalantly. Brambleclaw doesn’t say a word but Stormfur can tell by the stomp in his step that he isn’t happy.

Stormfur breathes in, breathes out. Of all the trouble he tried to anticipate before the journey started, Hawkfrost and Brambleclaw not getting along, because of him, was not something he saw coming.

--

They set up camp right then and there. Trees are sparse but they do provide some sort of comfort, and there’s enough open space that the WindClan cats can easily settle.  

There’s a very clear divide between the four Clans. RiverClan cats settle with each other, same with ThunderClan, ShadowClan, WindClan. It’s to be expected, absolutely, but Stormfur hopes that in the coming days the tension between the Clans will dissipate. Otherwise these next few moons are going to be the longest of his entire life.

Leopardstar is set apart from her Clan, but keeps a close eye on them as they share tongues and wait for the hunting patrols to return with fresh-kill. Stormfur approaches her slowly.

“Are there rivers or streams nearby?” She asks him when he gets close enough, not wasting time with a pleasant, hello, how was your day?

“I remember a stream not too far from here, but it’s mostly minnows.”

Leopardstar scoffs. “Minnows to feed an entire Clan.”

He thinks about commenting that he learned to like the taste of forest-prey while he was gone, but that would likely result in a retort about how I’m sure it wasn’t a hard lesson for you to learn. Half-Clan and all. He isn’t looking for a fight right now, and judging by the expression on Leopardstar’s face, it’s the last thing she needs.

“I’m sorry about Mudfur,” Stormfur murmurs. Bringing Mudfur up might start a fight anyway, but he can’t get the image of Leopardstar touching noses with her father for the final time out of his head.

“And Mistyfoot, Sedgecreek, Reedtail and Loudbelly,” Leopardstar adds, bitterly. “RiverClan has lost its senior medicine cat, its deputy, and all of its elders. How can we possibly expect to rebuild and reclaim our former glory?”

Stormfur can’t say what he wants to say, that RiverClan has not been glorious for as long as he’s been alive (and isn’t that a curious coincidence?). He isn’t looking to reclaim that former glory, he’s hoping to enter into something better.

Finally he says, “We don’t have much of a choice.”

“No, we don’t. Except,” Leopardstar takes a deep breath, “I can appoint a new deputy.”

It has to be done eventually, Stormfur isn’t fish-brained. Mistyfoot may find them someday but that’s not a promise, and every Clan needs their deputy. Leopardstar has waited too long to replace her as it is.

And yet, the very thought of anybody replacing Mistyfoot prods at the gaping cavern inside his chest. He closes his eyes and repeats, “We don’t have much of a choice.”

“No, we don’t,” Leopardstar agrees quietly. “I wish we did.”

--

That night underneath the moon, the very first night of the Clans' journey, Leopardstar appoints a new deputy.

He wishes they didn’t have to ever replace Mistyfoot, but if they must, then Shadepelt is the best that he could ask for.

--

“I think two of us should take turns leading every day,” Brambleclaw suggests the next morning. “That way the rest of us can walk with the pack and take it easy.”

Tawnypelt flicks her ears. “Yesterday was kind of a disaster.”

“Because some of us have decided that they’re leading this entire journey,” Crowstrike says, pointedly.

“Or maybe because some of us got their warrior name and now they expect everyone else to lick their paws.”

“That’s not true,” Crowstrike starts, and stars, not this again.

“I’ll lead today,” Stormfur speaks up before another argument can break out. “And whoever leads with me better be in a bright and cheery mood, or else I’m going to clobber them!”

- -

Apparently Brambleclaw, Tawnypelt, and Crowstrike are incapable of leaving their bad attitudes behind because they nominate Squirrelpaw.

Scratch that. Squirrelflight.

They hadn’t had a moment alone since Squirrelflight first told him her warrior name. “I requested it,” she’d told him. “Because it will always feel like Feathertail named me, now.”

Stormfur steals a fond look at Squirrelflight; she’s been uncharacteristically quiet since they started walking, glancing backward at the sea of cats following them like she’s searching for someone. If he considers her guard-dog behavior from yesterday, then it’s not difficult to guess who she’s searching for. “Shrewpaw?”

“Where?” Squirrelflight asks, glancing backward again.

“No, I’m asking if that’s who you’re searching for. But I guess you’ve answered my question.”

Squirrelflight flicks her ears, embarrassed. “I’m just worried about him,” she mutters. “Cinderpelt and Leafpaw both say that his broken bone is mending nicely, but his leg was also dislocated during the ambush, so even though it’s mending, he’s still in a lot of pain. He should be resting right now, not embarking on an unknown journey.”

It’s odd to hear so much worry in the she-cat’s voice. No matter what they faced during their quest, Squirrelpaw’s confidence never wavered. Now, looking at her, Stormfur feels like Squirrelflight is a new cat.

“You really care about him,” Stormfur realizes out loud.

“Well yeah, duh. He’s my best friend besides Leafpaw, but Leafpaw is so busy with her training now that she’s almost finished with it. It’s been just me and Shrewpaw causing trouble together, lately.”

“Was he excited when you received your warrior name?”

Squirrelflight shrugs. “I guess. He congratulated me, but it’s bittersweet for him; he should have gotten his warrior name too, with me and Whitewing and Spiderleg, his littermate. But he couldn’t even pass his warrior assessment.”

Stormfur frowns, sympathetic. “I guess that would be hard for him.”

“He would’ve passed if his leg hadn’t been broken and dislocated during an ambush.”

There’s venom in her voice now, and Stormfur isn’t a fool. He grows stiff as Squirrelflight says, “Hawkfrost should’ve been punished for what he did.”

“Yeah, he should have been. But Leopardstar isn’t going to punish the warrior who won her back Sunningrocks, no matter how they did it.”

“Then maybe Leopardstar isn’t fit to rule a Clan,” Squirrelflight says scornfully, and even though Stormfur believed that same thing for his entire apprenticeship, for some reason hearing it now makes him defensive. He’s not sure if it’s on behalf of Leopardstar, or because it all ties back to Hawkfrost, or if he’s simply feeding into Squirrelflight’s own anger, but all the same, he clenches his jaw and refuses to agree with her.

His reaction must catch Squirrelflight by surprise because she doesn’t say anything for a while after that. Then she murmurs, “I remember the night Feathertail first mentioned Hawkfrost and his feelings for you, and anyone with eyes could see that you feel the same way about him. I just wish you would’ve fallen in love with a more respectable cat, is all.”

Stormfur snaps, “Well that’s none of your business, is it?”

They lead the Clans in silence for the rest of the day.

--

“Already?” Crowstrike squawks when Stormfur suggests they make camp for the night. “But we still--”

Stormfur cuts Crowstrike a glare so icy that the other tom shuts his mouth and doesn’t complain anymore that night.

--

After speaking with Emberdawn about how Reedkit is doing (“worried about Mistyfoot but the other kits are a good distraction for him”) Stormfur is free to spend the dusklight hours with whoever he wishes.

Not really, though, because the cat he wants to spend his time with is Hawkfrost, and after his conversation with Squirrelflight, after rehashing Shrewpaw’s injuries, he doesn’t think anything good would come from talking to Hawkfrost right now.

So he decides to find Shadepelt and properly congratulate her on her new position, ask her if she needs any help setting up for the night, except Hawkfrost has already beat him to it. Of course he has.

He can’t find Dawnflower or Graystripe or Mothwing in the sea of cats and slowly, Stormfur becomes self-conscious of the fact that every cat seems to be paired up with somebody. Everybody already has a best friend or a mate or close kin. I used to have that, too, Stormfur thinks, the familiar tendrils of grief spreading across his entire body--

“I said, don’t you have better ways to spend your time, Rowanclaw?”

Startled, Stormfur finds Tawnypelt standing nose to nose with a large ginger tom. Tawnypelt is coiled tight, close to snapping, but Rowanclaw looks almost bored by her.

“Typical Tawnypelt,” Rowanclaw sighs. “All I did was offer to help you build your nest, for StarClan’s sake.”

“Why? Because your daddy told you to?” Tawnypelt spits. That triggers something in Rowanclaw; he hardens, opens his mouth to return her venom, only for his name to be called by Blackstar.

Rowanclaw turns to face Blackstar, clearly torn. Tawnypelt mutters, “Better not keep him waiting long.” Then she turns her back on him and resumes building her nest. Rowanclaw stands there a moment longer before finally walking away.

And despite everything that just went down, Tawnypelt seems annoyed by Rowanclaw’s decision to leave. Well, Stormfur has always been nosy.

“Will you tear me to shreds if I offer to help you with your nest?” He asks, approaching the she-cat. Tawnypelt gives him a sharp look.

“You can stay, as long as you don’t ask any questions about what you just saw.”

That defeats the purpose of approaching Tawnypelt, but it’s not like he had anything better to do. Stormfur gathers some long strands of grass and begins weaving.

“How did it go with Squirrelflight?” Tawnypelt asks. 

“If I can’t ask you questions then you can’t ask me questions, either.”

Tawnypelt blinks up at him, surprised. “It didn’t go well?”

“You and Rowanclaw aren’t friends?”

Tawnypelt snorts. “Fine, I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

Stormfur is tempted to deny her offer because he doesn’t want to delve into his feelings right now, as a matter of fact he’s tired of thinking about them, but. It’s always been surprisingly easy to confide in Tawnypelt.

“No,” Stormfur answers. “It didn’t go very well. We hardly talked at all today.”

“You and Squirrelflight hardly talked? Forget it, I’m not answering any of your questions about Rowanclaw if you’re going to make stuff up.”

“We didn’t,” Stormfur presses. “We started off on the wrong foot and it never got better.”

His gaze wanders until it falls on Hawkfrost. He’s still following Shadepelt around and making sure that RiverClan is settled down for the night, too busy to feel Stormfur’s eyes on him.

“Oh.” Then, “Is it true that he broke Shrewpaw’s leg in an ambush?”

“And dislocated it, apparently.”

Tawnypelt hums. “Well that’s the fast way to get on Squirrelflight’s bad side. She’s got a right to dislike Hawkfrost, then.”

“I never said she didn’t,” Stormfur says, feeling defensive again.

Tawnypelt stares at him strangely. “I never said that you did. You’re not responsible for Hawkfrost’s actions, Stormfur.”

Stormfur swallows, frustrated, and looks away. “No, but I am responsible for falling in love with him.”

It’s the first time he’s admitted to another cat that he’s in love with Hawkfrost; he hasn’t even said it to Hawkfrost yet, although there’s no way Hawkfrost doesn’t already know. Tawnypelt doesn’t seem surprised by this revelation.

“No, you’re not responsible for that either, Stormfur. Do you think we simply choose who we fall for? Do you think your parents chose each other, or that mine chose each other? It’s all just,” she shrugs, “chemistry and hormones, or something like that.”

Tawnypelt talks about falling in love like she knows something about it, but on their quest Stormfur asked her if she had anyone waiting for her in ShadowClan, and she was quick to shut him down.

“It’s not fair that you’re the one asking all the questions,” says Stormfur. “My turn. What’s the deal with Rowanclaw?”

Tawnypelt sighs, long and hard. “When we were apprentices he made my life miserable and we hated each other. When we became warriors he made my life a little less miserable, and he also got weirdly attractive. Then he became weirdly nice, and we became friends, and I started to fall for him, only to find out the reason why he stopped making my life miserable in the first place is that his father told him to ‘get close to her to make sure she isn't like her father’. Now everything is awkward and miserable again. The end.”

Stormfur tries to keep up, but his head is spinning. “Okay, so… wait, who’s his father?”

“Blackstar,” Tawnypelt says like it’s obvious. “You haven’t heard the rumors?”

Now his head is spinning backward. “I try to avoid any conversations about Blackstar; sorry, he’s one of my least favorite cats. But maybe that sounds familiar… with Russetfur?”

“Yep. In ShadowClan it’s less of a rumor and more of an open secret that no one is allowed to talk about.”

Stormfur turns and searches for Rowanclaw, and there he is right beside Blackstar, deep in a conversation. Their pelts are complete opposites, but Stormfur bets that if Rowanclaw was standing beside Russetfur, they would be identical. He’s got Blackstar’s broad build and massive paws, though. Got his arrogance too, from what little Stormfur does know about Rowanclaw.

“Why wouldn’t Blackstar claim him?” Nosey Stormfur asks, being nosey.

Tawnypelt levels a look at him and says, “If Blackstar is your least favorite cat, don’t you think there are others that feel the same way? Cats with that many enemies don’t usually put targets on their kits’ back.”

It’s a morbid thought, that somebody would harm a kit to harm their parent. It’s not a thought that Stormfur is unfamiliar with, though; he’s often thought that was Tigerstar’s true motive for torturing Featherpaw and himself. It was never a secret that Tigerstar’s hatred towards Graystripe was second only to his hatred for Firestar.

He wonders if it’s something Tawnypelt has ever worried about; that someday, somebody would come after her or Brambleclaw looking to avenge her father’s crimes.

Suddenly nauseous, Stormfur tries to steer the conversation back on track. “So you’re in love with Rowanclaw.”

She makes a face. “You don’t have to be so blunt about it. But I also can’t stand to look at his handsome face without wanting to rip it off for leading me on, so it doesn’t matter either way.”

“Just because Blackstar ordered him to get close to you doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel the same way about you.”

“I said, it doesn’t matter either way,” Tawnypelt presses. “Before I left on the quest, we…we argued. We both said things that we can never take back. So there’s no point in dwelling on what could’ve been.”

Strangely, Stormfur understands exactly what she’s talking about all too well. The explosive argument, the shattered trust, the awkward aftermath. Unlike Tawnypelt, though, Stormfur isn’t capable of bottling up his feelings and throwing them away. He tried and he failed. No matter the crimes Hawkfrost commits, the venom he spits, Stormfur thinks he’ll always love him even if all he gets in return is heartbreak.

“Wow,” Tawnypelt snorts, breaking Stormfur from his stupor. “You’ve got it bad.”

Only then does Stormfur realize his gaze has strayed back to Hawkfrost. He yanks his gaze away quickly, face flushing. “Shut up,” he grumbles.

Tawnypelt’s whiskers twitch, amused, but mercifully she doesn’t press him. Instead she looks down at the nest they’ve been building and remarks, “I see you still haven’t learned how to build a nest for one.”

Stormfur looks down and curses. “No, I haven’t. Sorry, we can start over---”

“You don’t want to share it?”

Stormfur shuts his mouth. He’s not shared a nest with anyone since the quest ended, and coincidentally, that’s the last time he got a full night of undisturbed sleep. He’s so, so tempted to take Tawnypelt up on her offer, but. “You aren’t worried it would upset our Clans?”

She shrugs. “Probably, but we’ve got moons of travel ahead of us so the sooner they can learn to play nice and forget about borders, the better.”

Stormfur doesn’t think the Clans will ever forget about their borders. Especially with the way that ThunderClan eyes Hawkfrost like they’re waiting for him to jeopardize another apprentice’s career.

But the prospect of actually getting a full night’s sleep is too tempting to turn down. He helps Tawnypelt finish the nest.

--

The night air around them feels stifling. Even in the dark, Stormfur can feel eyes on them. Nobody calls them out or throws a fit over two rival warriors openly sharing a nest, but Stormfur is sure that Blackstar will make his offense known somehow.

“Let him,” Tawnypelt replies quietly. “I’ve made it clear that I want to be deputy someday, and Blackstar has made it clear that only Rowanclaw will succeed him. I’ve not got much to lose.” She shifts underneath him. “Are you worried about getting in trouble with Leopardstar?”

“No,” Stormfur says instantly. “Of all the headaches I’ve given her, this one isn’t even at the top of the list.”

Tawnypelt snorts. “It’s funny to think that you and Feathertail were such troublemakers when you were apprentices. I never would have guessed.”

“It’s because we looked so respectable, right?”

“It’s because you looked so innocent. The night Feathertail told us all that you snuck out of camp to get your bones jumped by Hawkfrost, I was scandalized.”

In the dark, somebody whispers, “Wait, what happened?”

Another voice says, “You owe me a carp, Heavystep.”

“Hold on, whose bones did Hawkfrost jump?”

Somewhere in the crowd, Hawkfrost snaps, “Stormfur!”

“Hawkfrost jumped Stormfur’s bones?” Asks the voice.

“No way, Rainwhisker told me that he saw Stormfur and Brambleclaw sneak off at the last Gathering--”

“Another ThunderClan and RiverClan forbidden romance? Boring! Give me something spicy, like RiverClan and WindClan!”

“Well can you blame Stormfur? His mother fell in love with a ThunderClan warrior, so it runs in his blood.”

Stormfur bolts up, demanding, “Who said that?!”

“Hold on, if Stormfur and Brambleclaw are together, then why are Stormfur and Tawnypelt sharing a nest?”

“Ooh, maybe Brambleclaw is just a cover-up and Stormfur is secretly jumping Tawnypelt’s bones!”

Tawnypelt bolts up, spitting, “Show yourself!"

“Be serious, Lavenderhaze, if any cat is the cover-up then it would be Hawkfrost because they’re from the same Clan!”

“Ooh, that’s true! Okay, Hawkfrost is the cover-up, so is Stormfur with Brambleclaw or Tawnypelt?”

“I vote Tawnypelt!” Shouts one voice.

“I’ll rip your throat out,” comes a voice that sounds suspiciously like Rowanclaw.

“Brambleclaw it is,” the voice meekly amends.

A new voice whisper-exclaims, “They aren’t denying it!”

“Brambleclaw,” comes a voice Stormfur knows belongs to Firestar, “will you please deny the rumor that you are in any forbidden, romantic relationships?”

“Obviously I’m not in any forbidden relationships, Firestar!” Brambleclaw snaps.

Ashfur speaks up and says, “Yeah Firestar, Brambleclaw doesn’t have that kind of game.”

Across the clearing, Crowstrike cackles.

“That’s a rude thing to say, Sootfur. This is why you don’t have any friends.”

“No, I don’t have any friends because our mother sacrificed her life for mine and left me traumatized and with survivor’s guilt, Rainwhisker.”

Stormfur winces. Somebody says, “Wow, that got dark quick. Can we get back to figuring out whose jumping Stormfur’s bones?”

“Nobody!” Stormfur snarls.

“Of course Stormfur would say that. Hey, Squirrelflight, did Stormfur fall in love with any of the loners you met on your quest?”

Stormfur doesn’t deny the question because an image of Brooke flashes across his eyes and knocks the air out of him. He isn’t sure why Squirrelflight doesn’t deny it for him, though. Petty.

“Stormfur?” Presses Hawkfrost, icily.

“Ooh, Hawkfrost sounds jealous! Maybe he did jump Stormfur’s bones!”

Suddenly a voice demands, “If you all don’t stop talking about my son getting his bones jumped then I am going to personally hunt each of you down tomorrow and make you regret it!”

There have been many moments throughout Stormfur’s life when he’s prayed to StarClan to open up a hole in the earth and swallow him whole. Never in his life has he ever prayed for it this hard.

Somebody coughs. “Sorry, Graystripe. I forgot he was your son.”

“I’ll make your death swift, Cederheart,” Graystripe promises.

“You can’t threaten my warriors, Graystripe,” growls Blackstar.

“But your warriors can gossip about my son?” Graystripe demands.

Shrewpaw cheers, “You tell 'em, Graystripe!”

“Enough!” Tallstar bellows, silencing the entire clearing. “Some of us are old and need our rest, and don’t care whose jumping whose bones! Just keep it to yourselves like we did in the old days, for StarClan’s sake!”

And that’s the end of that.

--

When Stormfur wakes up the next morning, he does his best not to make eye contact with literally anyone.

“Who’s leading today?” Asks Squirrelflight. “Crowstrike? Brambleclaw?” 

“Why, so that the Clans can gossip about me stealing Brambleclaw away from Stormfur tonight?” Crowstrike scoffs. “Pass. You’re with me, Tawnypelt.”

Tawnypelt frowns. “What? They gossiped about me and Stormfur last night too--”

“Can we not talk about last night, please?” Stormfur asks. “Like ever again, I am so serious.”

--

Hawkfrost makes a point to openly ignore Stormfur that day. Even when Stormfur says, “Wait, you’re ignoring me?” Hawkfrost still refuses to grace him with an answer. Although, technically, it does answer his question.

“Did you see that?” Thistleheart of WindClan whispers to Cedarheart of ShadowClan. “Hawkfrost is definitely jealous.”

Stormfur stops to glare at the two warriors, silencing them. “I’m reporting both of you to my father,” he says, just to be mean.

“Whatever you say, loverboy.”

Stormfur doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he stomps ahead and pretends he can’t hear everyone gossiping about him.

--

At some point he ends up walking beside Leopardstar, and he can’t help but ask, “Are you going to punish me for sharing a nest with a rival warrior?”

Leopardstar snorts. “Punish you? Stormfur, what happened last night is far worse than any punishment I could give you right now.”

Face blazing with embarrassment, Stormfur says, “I agree. Thank you, Leopardstar.”

“Besides,” Leopardstar remarks, “I’ve never seen all four Clans coexist so peacefully before. It seems you’ve given them something to bond over: your love life.”

--

Stormfur knows from personal experience that Hawkfrost is terrible at ignoring cats because can’t keep his mouth shut for long. A few hours later, Hawkfrost drops back to Stormfur and says, “You’re unbelievable.”

Sighing, Stormfur asks, “What have I done now, Hawkfrost?”

“Not only is my half-brother in love with you but so is my half-sister. You’ve seduced both of my half-siblings and now neither of them are open to getting to know me because they’re both so protective of you.”

“Firstly, I didn’t seduce anyone. Secondly, Tawnypelt isn’t in love with me, she’s in love with Rowanclaw. We were just sharing a nest.”

Hawkfrost scoffs. “What kind of fish-brain do you take me for? Who shares a nest with another cat if they aren’t romantically involved?”

“Feathertail and I shared a nest for most of our lives.”

“Please don’t tell me that you think sharing a nest with Tawnypelt is the same thing as sharing a nest with Feathertail.”

Stormfur rolls his eyes. “It is the same thing because it’s for the same reason. It’s… sharing a nest with someone helps with the nightmares.” Then he adds, “We all shared a nest after Feathertail died. Every night on the journey home. It helped me.”

Hawkfrost’s jaw ticks. “So you were sharing a nest with four cats--”

“Sweet StarClan, Hawkfrost, it’s not like that! And it’s not like you and I were together, either.”

“So if it wasn’t a romantic thing then why didn’t you ask me to share your nest when you returned to RiverClan?”

That throws Stormfur for a loop. His brain stutters to a stop, wondering if Hawkfrost is teasing him again, but Hawkfrost looks serious. 

“Because that’s-- that’s not the same thing,” he manages. I don’t want it to be the same thing.

“Oh, so that’s not the same thing? Feathertail, Tawnypelt, Brambleclaw, Squirrelflight, Crowstrike; it’s okay to share a nest with them but not with me?”

“I couldn’t tell if you even liked me when I returned from the quest,” Stormfur tries to defend himself. “You made me a nest but then you avoided me like I had some horrible disease. Would you have wanted to share a nest with me?”

“If I had known about your nightmares? Absolutely.” Hawkfrost retorts. “Do you think I wanted you to just suffer through the night? Stars, no wonder you started passing out from exhaustion! You weren’t resting--”

Just then an excited whisper floats past them. “Shh, they’re having a lover's spat!”

Stormfur and Hawkfrost both turn around and at least this time the eavesdropping warriors have the decency to look sheepish; still, he adds Lavenderhaze of ShadowClan and Brackenfur of ThunderClan to his list of names to give Graystripe. 

“Lovers,” Hawkfrost scoffs, and there’s a rare layer of hurt to his voice. Heart clenching, Stormfur moves to block his path, Stop running away from me, but Hawkfrost shoves right past him. Stormfur watches him go, throat tightening.

Brackenfur clears his throat and begins, “Stormfur, please don’t tell your father--”

“Brackenfur, I’ve always liked you,” Stormfur interrupts. “But I’m definitely going to tell my father.”

--

They don’t say anything to each other after that. Still, as the Clans make camp for the night, Stormfur can’t help but hope that Hawkfrost will push his way into Stormfur’s nest, if only out of sheer stubbornness.

“I’m with Squirrelflight on this one,” Tawnypelt declares, as she flops down into Stormfur’s nest. “You have horrible taste, Stormfur.”

Stormfur only sighs, not bothering to hide the way he’s staring at Hawkfrost and Rowanclaw. It’s not as if they’re hiding their staring, either. Hawkfrost mutters something to Rowanclaw and the other tom snorts, tossing Tawnypelt a particularly judgemental look. Stormfur has never seen Hawkfrost speak to Rowanclaw before tonight, so it’s likely that he sought out the ShadowClan warrior solely to complain about the nest sharing.

“Yeah,” Stormfur agrees, dryly. “Hawkfrost sucks.”

--

If they’re being fair about whose turn it is to lead the Clans, then technically Stormfur and Brambleclaw are up next. The problem with that is that Stormfur and Brambleclaw can’t even hold eye contact before some gossip-obsessed warriors start whispering excitedly to each other.

So, in an attempt to be diplomatic, Stormfur offers, “Why don’t I lead by myself today? This stretch of the quest wasn’t very difficult, anyway.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Tawnypelt agrees. Crowstrike shrugs, unbothered, and Squirrelflight is still giving him the cold shoulder so she doesn’t say anything at all.

Brambleclaw, however. “You don’t want to lead with me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I just-- I think it might be best if we don’t.” Stormfur gestures to the Clans behind them. “You know, what with all the rumors going around.”

“The rumors about me and you in a forbidden relationship, with either my sister or Hawkfrost as a cover-up,” Brambleclaw deadpans. “Those are the rumors that you’re seriously concerned about?”

Stormfur expels a sigh. “I’m not taking them seriously of course, but, you know, it’s probably best not to encourage them, either.”

“If we’re following that logic then we shouldn’t even be seen having this conversation, Stormfur. What, you’re just going to avoid me now?”

“I never said that,” Stormfur fires back.

Squirrelflight groans, then, and says, “Brambleclaw, isn’t it obvious? Hawkfrost is jealous of you and is taking it out on Stormfur. Which is something only a total fox-heart would do, by the way.”

Stormfur bites his tongue. “Thanks for making that real clear, Squirrelflight.”

“She’s not wrong,” Brambleclaw mutters, glaring off to the side. “But fine, if you’re so worried about pretty tom’s feelings, then don’t worry about leading with me. But I’m the only one who hasn’t led yet, so I’ll do it today.”

Before Stormfur can protest, Crowstrike asks, “Isn’t it kinda vain for Brambleclaw to call Hawkfrost ‘pretty tom’ when he looks just like him?”

“Alright, Brambleclaw, if you’re sure you want to lead by yourself,” Stormfur is quick to agree and get as far away from this conversation as possible.

--

With Brambleclaw so far removed from Stormfur’s general area of existence, he thought maybe Hawkfrost would drift over to his side. Wishful thinking.  

Instead Hawkfrost, whose nickname in ThunderClan is literally, Hawkfrost the Breaker of Apprentice Legs and Ruiner of Dreams, is quickly becoming one of the most popular cats in the Clans.

Realistically it was bound to happen. Hawkfrost is handsome and charming and a good conversationalist and a strong warrior with skill that supersedes his age, and there are a lot of warriors who won’t admit it, but they admire his determination to win a battle no matter the cost. 

“It’s not like he killed Shrewpaw,” Stormfur overhears one WindClan warrior, Nightcloud, whisper. “His medicine cats say he ought to make a full recovery, anyway.”

As Hawkfrost weaves throughout the sea of cats, checking in on elders and offering to carry kits for tired queens, ThunderClan’s silly nickname is pushed further and further away from memory. Stormfur isn’t fish-brained, he knows that’s exactly Hawkfrost’s goal; Hawkfrost, who has never hidden his ambition and who has always shown interest in leadership. Hawkfrost, who has always known how to get what he wants out of cats.

Always known exactly what to say to make you think he feels the same way, Stormfur thinks, his chest tightening.

All that talk of “I loved you since we were apprentices” and “eventually I would have forgiven you for anything” and “If I had known about your nightmares? Absolutely.” If Hawkfrost seriously wants to be deputy someday then he’s going to need the support of his Clanmates, and he’s practically guaranteed Stormfur’s vote, for whatever that’s worth.

Then again, who needs Stormfur’s vote if he has the approval of all the Clans?

“Stormfur, are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

As Stormfur comes back to reality, he’s at the back of the pack and Rainwhisker is eyeing him with genuine concern. “Want me to get you a medicine cat?” Rainwhisker offers. “Cinderpelt lingers in back, usually.”

“No, I’m fine,” Stormfur replies, shaking his head to clear it. “Just… lost in thought.”

Rainwhisker hums, not fully convinced, but nice enough to not pry. “Well, we better catch up to the Clans then.”

--

Rainwhisker walks with Stormfur after that, maybe to keep an eye on him just in case he was lying about needing a medicine cat. Ordinarily, Stormfur would find a way to excuse himself and find one of his friends but he’s always liked Rainwhisker. Sandstorm introduced Stormfur and Feathertail to Rainwhisker, Sootfur, and Sorreltail as apprentices, and he was always happy to see the littermates at Gatherings.

“I was sorry to hear about Feathertail,” Rainwhisker says, finally. “I always enjoyed catching up with her at Gatherings.”

Holding back a sigh, Stormfur says, “Thanks.”

“I know you’re probably tired of everybody’s condolences. Sorreltail has been dying to talk to you but she doesn’t want to add to your grief.” Rainwhisker nods to where Sorreltail and Sootfur are walking up ahead. “When our mother died, we heard it all the time. It doesn’t actually help you to feel any better, but it’s like nobody knows how to talk to you about anything else.”

Stormfur looks at Rainwhisker; the other tom is still keeping an eye on his littermates. He adds, “Squirrelflight told us a little bit about how Feathertail died… it’s difficult to live with the knowledge that somebody sacrificed their life for yours. Sootfur still hasn’t made peace with the fact that our mother sacrificed herself to save him. I can’t imagine how it would feel if either of my littermates did that for me. I don’t think I would ever truly move on from that moment.”

“No,” Stormfur immediately responds. “You wouldn’t. I go back to that moment all the time, replaying it in my mind again and again. Sometimes I,” he swallows, “sometimes I don’t remember it clearly. She says things she never did, she blames me for it. Sometimes she doesn’t say anything at all and I never get a goodbye.”

Rainwhisker winces, sympathetic. “That’s terrible, Stormfur. I’m sorry, really I am.”

“It’s,” fine, “not your fault. Feathertail made her choice.”

“Yeah, that’s what we tell Sootfur, too. Maybe one day he’ll believe us.” It’s clear by Rainwhisker’s tone that he isn’t sure. “Well, if you ever want to talk about it, which you probably won’t, I’m here, and so is Sorreltail. Maybe not Sootfur yet, but we at least have a lot of experience comforting survivor's guilt.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He means it. He probably won’t take Rainwhisker up on his offer but it’s nice to have it extended. It’s nice to be reminded that he has friends outside of Dawnflower and Mothwing and his fellow quest cats. 

“You’re welcome. I appreciate you opening up to me about how it’s affected you.” Rainwhisker sighs. “Sorreltail says I’m too hard on Sootfur. So much time has passed since our mother’s death, and I’ve become calloused to it. I forget, sometimes, that he saw things we didn’t.”

“I loved Feathertail more than anyone, and there were still days when we were at each other's throats,” Stormfur remarks. “Littermates are hard, sometimes.”

Rainwhisker snorts. “You can say that again. I would die for either of them, but also, there are days when I want to strangle them both.”

Stormfur smiles a little. “Brambleclaw and I basically had this same conversation on our quest. Maybe we should start an emotional support group.”

That draws a chuckle from Rainwhisker, and then they lapse into silence. Stormfur has a feeling that Rainwhisker wants to say something else, but he doesn’t push. Eventually, Rainwhisker starts, “Can I… can I ask you a question about Brambleclaw?”

Stormfur is keenly aware of the fact that Brambleclaw is a polarizing figure in the Clans. There are a lot of cats who still don’t trust the son of Tigerstar and probably never will, but he didn't think Rainwhisker was one of those cats. Stormfur prepares himself, then nods.

“Okay. Not trying to pry into your private business or anything, but those rumors about you and Brambleclaw going around… those are just rumors, right?”

Nothing could have prepared Stormfur for that. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, they’re just rumors, Brambleclaw and I have never-- we’ve never-- I mean we shared a nest on the quest but we all shared a nest so it didn’t mean anything--”

“Okay, that’s all I wanted to know. Thank you.” Rainwhisker clears his throat. “Sorry, I have a lot of nerve asking you about the rumors when I’m responsible for them. I only told Ferncloud that I saw you and Brambleclaw sneaking off at that Gathering because I, well, you know, everybody keeps tabs on their crush.”

Stormfur blinks, stupified. “You have a crush on me, too?”

Rainwhisker barks in laughter. “Not you, mouse-brain. Brambleclaw.”

Oh. “That would make more sense,” Stormfur admits, sheepish. There’s no way to say I’m used to finding out that cats have feelings for me and still sound humble.

Rainwhisker purrs in amusement. “Sorry, you’re nice and all, but I am not competing with Hawkfrost for you. After what he did to Shrewpaw over Sunningrocks, I’m staying far away from him.”

“Fair,” Stormfur sighs.

“I’m surprised Brambleclaw is still alive, honestly,” Rainwhisker adds.

Realizing that Rainwhisker means because Brambleclaw has a really big, obvious crush on him makes Stormfur feel guilty. “Like I said, those are just rumors--”

“Oh please Stormfur, if he didn’t want cats to know he has a crush on you then he should learn how to hide his feelings.” Rainwhisker shoulders him. “Don’t feel bad. At least I know he already has a thing for gray toms!”

“Well, there’s that,” Stormfur agrees, realizing that for the first time he’s met a cat who’s as hopeless an optimist as he is. 

But Rainwhisker is such a genuinely nice cat, Stormfur thinks, as Rainwhisker launches into a story about a time he and Brambleclaw were still apprentices. Brambleclaw needs somebody like Rainwhisker in his life.  

He makes up his mind to put in a good word for Rainwhisker once Brambleclaw isn’t upset with him anymore.

--

That night is not tonight.

“Brambleclaw, listen,” Stormfur begins.

“Don’t worry about it, Stormfur,” Brambleclaw retorts, breezing by. “I would hate to stir up rumors.”

Ears flat, Stormfur sighs and heads to his nest.

--

“I do not understand,” Tawnypelt bemoans. “When did this happen?”

“Hawkfrost is charismatic. He makes friends quickly.”

“Hawkfrost, the Breaker of Apprentice Legs and Ruiner of Dreams, makes friends quickly?”

Stormfur shrugs. “I heard someone call him “stupidly handsome” today. He works with the tools he has.”

“You think he’s seduced Rowanclaw?!”

“I think if anybody could it would be Hawkfrost, unfortunately.” 

Tawnypelt shakes her head in disbelief, as Hawkfrost and Rowanclaw exchange stories with a few other warriors. “I do not understand,” she repeats. “Your tom stole my tom.”

“I thought you said that it would never work out with you and Rowanclaw anyway?”

"That's not the point, Stormfur."

--

The Clans have paused their traveling to drink from a stream. When it's Stormfur's turn, though, he laps for only a moment before drawing away in confusion; the stream looks refreshing but it does nothing to quench his thirst. He looks around to see if anyone else has noticed, but they all lap away like they can't get enough.

"Even after Midnight's warning, I still never thought I would see cats from every Clan drinking from a stream side by side like this."

I know that voice. Stormfur spins around and there stands Feathertail, whole and beautiful, the way she was before she tackled the Sharptooth and traded her life for his.

"Feathertail," he croaks, tears welling in his eyes. "But you're-- I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

Feathertail gives him a sad smile. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long. I had to travel across strange skies, and you were in such turmoil when you slept that trying to find you was like walking through a dark fog." She touches her nose to his. "But I've finally found you."

"I miss you," he whispers. "You don't understand how much I-- what I would give to trade places with you--"

"Don't," Feathertail interrupts. "Don't think like that, Stormfur. You can't think like that. I knew exactly what I was doing when I jumped onto the Sharptooth's back."

The words feel like sand in his mouth, but he manages, "Your life isn't worth mine."

"Then make my sacrifice mean something," Feathertail presses; her cackles like thunder before a storm and just as fierce. "Live such a life that nobody, not even you, can doubt my sacrifice." She looks back to the cats drinking from the stream. "Stormfur, for the first time there is true peace between all four Clans. It's possible. It could be like this forever."

"It never lasts," Stormfur protests.

"Then make it last," Feathertail argues. 

"How?" Stormfur asks, helpless. "I'm just one cat, Feathertail."

Feathertail looks at him like she's hiding a particularly juicy secret. "The Clan leader is just one cat, Stormfur."

When Stormfur realizes what she's implying, he barks in laughter. "You're kidding. RiverClan would rather have a trout for a leader than me!"

"But would a trout understand the importance the peace?" Feathertail challenges.

Still chucking, Stormfur shakes his head. "I'm not-- I'm not fit to lead anyone, Feathertail, much less an entire Clan. You've always had too much faith in me."

"I disagree." Feathertail looks at him with stardust shining in her eyes, and he knows that she means every word when she says, "I think there is no one else more fit for the position. Our blood has dealt us cruelty after cruelty, and yet here you stand, as compassionate and brave as ever. Your heart is pure, Stormfur, and so are your motives. You understand why peace between the Clans is so important because you've seen what happens to the weakest of us when there is no peace; they are the first to be discarded and no one will lift a paw to help them. Not until their leader helps them first."

Feathertail gazes at him the same way she used to gaze up at Graystripe; with such absurd faith that it's difficult to look her in the eye. "I know you the same way that I know my own heartbeat, Stormfur. I know that if you set aside your own insecurities and your own fears, you will be the greatest leader RiverClan has ever seen; the kind of leader who does not look down on half-Clan kits, but instead honors their unique strengths. The kind of leader who will choose the good of the Clan over your own desires. The kind of leader that warriors will be proud to sacrifice themselves for." 

Stormfur huffs out a laugh, his vision blurry. "I'll do my best," he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. "No promises that it'll be enough, though."

"It will be," Feathertail says, the strength of lions in those three words. "And I, for one, can't wait to watch you make us all proud."

Stormfur smiles, then pauses. "All?"

Feathertail purrs. "You still have seasons before you join our ranks, but there are so many cats who are ready to be reunited with you; and a few who are excited to formally meet you for the first time."

"Feathertail!" A voice is carried on the breeze, coming from somewhere far away. Feathertail looks behind her at a cat off in the distance and Stormfur follows her gaze until it lands on a silver tabby she-cat, with eyes so blue that even from afar they are piercing. He doesn't recognize her but something about her is hauntingly familiar. 

"Who is that?" Stormfur asks. 

Feathertail grins. "Keep your head up, Stormfur," she says. "I'll be watching you."

Then she turns around and starts walking towards the cat off in the distance. Stormfur squints trying to get a better look at her, but then stars start to swirl, blinding him with their brightness, a hurricane of brilliance until the world around him goes dark--

And then he wakes up.

Chapter Text

The days are shorter. Cats remark about the chill on the wind. 

Leaf-fall is shifting swiftly into leaf-bare. Nobody says it aloud but Stormfur is good at reading cats; this doesn’t bode well for the Clans. Leaf-bare brings nothing but misfortune. It’s called the cruel season for a reason.

The sooner we find our new homes, the better, Stormfur knows. Even so, when the mountain tops loom in the distance, he wishes they were further away.

-- 

Tawnypelt and Squirrelflight are grooming their pelts before it’s time to start traveling when Rowanclaw approaches them. Stormfur can’t quite overhear what’s being said but he can read Tawnypelt’s expression; in an instant, she goes from closed-off to blinking in surprise. 

She nods. 

Rowanclaw dips his head, then leaves. 

Squirrelflight squeals in excitement, bumping their shoulders together.

“Is Rowanclaw interested in my sister?” Brambleclaw realizes aloud.

“I hate to break it to you, Brambleclaw, but if Tawnypelt didn’t cuff him over the head then she’s probably interested in him, too,” Crowstrike remarks.

Stormfur clears his throat. “Speaking of being interested in cats, I had a nice conversation with Rainwhisker yesterday--”

“Oh, great, why don’t you go and talk to him, then?” Brambleclaw interrupts, standing up and leaving with a lash of his tail. 

“Great StarClan, drama just follows you around, doesn’t it?” Crowstrike says.

“It’s not my fault,” Stormfur grumbles. Then, an idea. “Hey, Crowstrike. I have a favor for you.”

--

They take a break for hunting around sun-high. Stormfur is helping Shadepelt organize hunting patrols when Tawnypelt steals him for a talk.

“Hawkfrost is dangerous,” she declares. Stormfur’s heart sinks.

“What happened?”

“Rowanclaw happened. That tom has never taken accountability for anything in his life, but this morning he came up to me and apologized for our argument a few nights ago. He said it was all his fault and he should have given me the space I asked for. Then he said, if I’m comfortable with it, he would like to talk to me tonight about the things we said before I went on my quest.” Tawnypelt’s eyes are wide. “Stormfur, this is unheard of behavior for Rowanclaw. Hawkfrost has brainwashed him.”

Stormfur laughs, even though he doesn’t doubt it. Hawkfrost has a brainwashing effect on cats, and it makes him feel better knowing that it’s not just hopeless optimists like Stormfur; it’s stubborn, arrogant warriors, too.

“Well, are you going to talk to him tonight?”

“I told him I would.” Tawnypelt bites her lip. “I don’t have high hopes for the conversation, honestly, but if we could even get some closure, then that would be good enough. I’m tired of fighting with him all the time. We used to be friends.”

Stormfur smiles and says, “You never know. Maybe he’ll surprise you again.”

“Maybe,” Tawnypelt agrees. “I’ll hear him out, but I won’t rush into anything. Better safe than starry-eyed.” She gives him a pointed look. “That goes for you, too, by the way.”

”Me?” Stormfur asks innocently.

Tawnypelt hums. “Mhm. Double for you.”

--

It’s not even dusk when Stormfur finishes building their nest, but he can’t wait for Tawnypelt to return and tell him about her conversation with Rowanclaw. The truth is that he’s never been a fan of Rowanclaw; as apprentices, they rarely spoke at Gatherings, and Rowanclaw has always radiated arrogance in waves. Thinking about it now, it’s not a surprise that he’s suspected to be Blackstar’s son, and that just adds to the list of reasons for Stormfur to keep his distance. 

But Tawnypelt really liked him. Likes him, no matter what she claims. And at the end of the day, Stormfur just wants his friends to be happy. If they have questionable taste in toms, then who is he to judge?

When the moon is nearly at its peak and Tawnypelt still hasn’t returned, Brambleclaw starts pacing. Rainwhisker jokes that if he doesn’t stop then he’s going to end up in a hole.

Stormfur gives Crowstrike a pointed look… and then a good shove when Crowstrike ignores his look. Crowstrike pushes Stormfur off of him, sighs then says, “Hey Brambleclaw, have you ever noticed that Rainwhisker and Stormfur look similar?”

The comparison draws a few stares. Brambleclaw looks between Rainwhisker and Stormfur, and then squints at Crowstrike. “Not… really?”

“We’re both gray,” Stormfur points out helpfully.

“Yeah, but not the same shade of gray,” Dawnflower speaks up.

“Different colored eyes, too,” chimes in Swallowtail. “Rainwhisker has blue eyes, Stormfur has amber eyes.”

“I’m not blind.”

Heavystep snorts. “They have similar builds. Broad shoulders, bulky paws--”

“Spit it out, Heavystep,” Graystripe says in an uncharacteristically murderous tone. Heavystep shuts his mouth.

“Not all gray cats look the same, Crowstrike,” chides Ashfoot. 

Crowstrike bristles. “I know that, mother! I’m a gray cat!”

At that, Sorreltail tips her head to the side and squints at him. “You know, Crowstrike, you actually look more like Stormfur than Rainwhisker does.”

The discussion comes to a halt. Suddenly everybody is looking between Stormfur and Crowstrike. 

Brambleclaw stops pacing and studies Crowstrike. Really studies him. “Huh,” he finally says. 

Oh, no.

“Absolutely not,” Crowstrike snaps, standing up. “I want no part of your, your gray cat collection, Brambleclaw!”

“Gray cat collection?” Brambleclaw repeats, bewildered.

Rainwhisker slides up beside Stormfur and whispers, “Hey, I really appreciate the effort, but next time… maybe there shouldn’t be a next time.”

“Yep,” Stormfur agrees. “Totally understand. I’ll mind my own business.”

--

He manages to mind his own business until Tawnypelt returns at moon-high. Brambleclaw opens his mouth to lecture his sister, but one sharp look from her shuts him down.

“Do not start with me,” she says evenly.

Brambleclaw mopes back to his nest, kicking a pebble along the way.

“He’s just worried about you,” Stormfur reasons, as Tawnypelt falls into their nest. “I felt the same way when Feathertail and Crowstrike would wander off together.”

“And you were wrong for that, too, as we’ve previously discussed. Speaking of Crowstrike though, why is he rambling to Thistleheart and Gorsetail about a collection of gray cats? That sounds sketchy.”

“That’s about your brother, actually.”

Tawnypelt mulls that over. “You know what, he has always crushed on gray cats. I always thought he liked Ashfur when we were apprentices.”

“So, how did it go with Rowanclaw?”

“Good, actually,” Tawnypelt replies, in a tone that suggests it went very good.

“Closure, or something?”

Tawnypelt hums. “Or something.” She’s playing coy, and Stormfur can tell by her secretive smile that he isn’t going to get any juicy details out of her tonight. But at least she’s happy. That’s all I care about.

“Well, good for you,” Stormfur says, resting his head on his paws. His eyelids feel heavy; it’s been a long day.

“It’s about time something goes my way,” Tawnypelt teases. “Hey, why do you think Hawkfrost did it?”

“Did what?”

“Convinced Rowanclaw to talk to me.”

Is it vain for Stormfur to assume that Hawkfrost did it so that Tawnypelt would share a nest with Rowanclaw, thus freeing up his own nest? Is it vain to assume that Hawkfrost’s world spins around Stormfur the same way that Stormfur’s spins around Hawkfrost?

“I wouldn’t know,” Stormfur finally answers. “But he’s always got his reasons.”

“Funny, that’s what Squirrelflight said.”

Blinking, Stormfur lifts his head to look at Tawnypelt. “Squirrelflight said that?”

“Basically. When I told her I thought Hawkfrost must have convinced Rowanclaw to talk to me, she told me to be careful; that Hawkfrost is the type of cat who doesn’t do anything for free.”

He’s starting to feel hot again, but this time it’s from anger. “Squirrelflight doesn’t even know him.”

“Yeah, I said that, but then she said… well, she said some pretty unsavory things. You were right; after what he did to Shrewpaw, she really, really doesn’t like him.”

Stormfur swallows his anger and forces his fur to lay flat. Squirrelflight has every right to hold a grudge against Hawkfrost, sure. That doesn’t give her the right to run her mouth whenever his name comes up.

“Hawkfrost is just… dedicated to the cause.”

Tawnypelt snorts. “That’s one way of looking at it. So how do I fit into that cause?”

You’re his half-sister. “What makes you think it has anything to do with you? Maybe he’s trying to get on Rowanclaw’s good side. You know, heir to ShadowClan and all.”

Tawnypelt hums, maybe not fully convinced but tired enough not to press any further. Resting her chin on her paws and closing her eyes, she murmurs, “I guess time will tell.”

For a moment, Stormfur is tempted to pull her aside and tell her the truth about Hawkfrost and Mothwing. She and Brambleclaw deserve to know they have half-siblings. But then he remembers their quest, and how he’d wanted to tell Tawnypelt the truth then, too, but when he tried, she chose ignorance. He won’t rob her of that choice.

“Yeah,” Stormfur quietly agrees, eyes on Hawkfrost as he spins a story to a captivated audience. “Time will tell.”

--

The new rumor floating around the Clans is that Brambleclaw has a thing for gray tom cats. Stormfur is comforted by the fact that at least there’s truth to it.

Brambleclaw, however, can’t so much as look at a gray cat without setting off another round of excited whispers.

“No,” Ashfur says when Brambleclaw accidentally makes eye contact with him. “I’m not interested.”

Brambleclaw bristles. “Nobody said I was interested in you either, Ashfur!”

I heard otherwise, Stormfur would like to tease, get some payback for all the times he was teased for his crush on Hawkfrost, but he’s already in enough trouble with Brambleclaw. Best to sit this one out.

--

It’s his turn to lead again, and he finds himself looking back every so often, anxious that the sea of cats will have shrunk behind his back. The idea of leaving cats behind, forgotten in foreign territory, keeps him awake at night. 

Traveling with six cats was different. Any absence was immediately noticed. But four Clans combined? It would be easy to lose sight of an adventurous apprentice or a curious kit and not notice until it was too late.

The thought has him searching for Reedkit. His chest feels tight until he finally spots Reedkit walking with Tallpoppy’s litter: Applekit, Marshkit, and Toadkit. Ferncloud’s lone kit, Birchkit, is with them too. The queens are walking behind them, a careful eye on the kits while they talk amongst themselves.

They look so natural with each other, Stormfur thinks. Like there aren’t any borders dividing their Clans anymore. I wish it could stay this way forever.

Why can’t it?

That last thought sounds a lot like Feathertail, and despite the ache in his heart, it still pulls a smile from him. Feathertail would have loved to see the Clans come together like this. She would have loved getting to know new friends without the weight of our Clanmates' eyes on us. She would have loved getting to spend every day with Graystripe and Sandstorm.

Why can’t it stay like this forever? He hears again.

Because it would never work. The Clans will never merge as one, and after what he witnessed with TigerClan, maybe it isn’t a good idea for there to be one Clan.

But there can always be peace, as long as cats are always willing to choose peace. 

Stormfur and Crowstrike slow down as they climb the top of a steep hill, waiting for everybody to catch up. Stormfur’s eyes find Leopardstar first, then Tallstar, then Blackstar, and finally Firestar.

Stormfur has seen them press borders, steal fresh-kill, instigate battles. He watched as Leopardstar and Blackstar stood back, content to let the world burn all around them. Firestar has done his best to maintain peace but it seems that trouble follows him like a shadow. Tallstar is not a violent or deceitful leader, but WindClan has always been used to send a message to the other, stronger Clans, and Tallstar is old and frail. It won’t be long until Mudclaw succeeds him, and Mudclaw…

Stormfur doesn’t know him well, except that he’s a skilled warrior and was Crowstrike’s mentor.

They resume moving again. Stormfur looks at Crowstrike and asks, “Do you think Mudclaw will be a good leader?”

Crowstrike thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “He won’t let WindClan be pushed around.”

“That won’t necessarily make him a good leader.”

“In your opinion. But Tallstar has allowed the other Clans to use WindClan whenever they need us, and then discard us again when they’re finished. He’s been a good, faithful leader, but I’m not the only one looking forward to a new reign.”

It sounds borderline blasphemous to be waiting for a leader’s reign to end. But then Stormfur thinks about Leopardstar and even though they’ve come a long way from Bonehill, there’s always going to be a piece of him that’s holding his breath, waiting for her to make one wrong decision that will send RiverClan back to that dark place, will send Stormfur back into a terrible den.

Stormfur doesn’t know what crimes Tallstar has committed but he can understand Crowstrike’s perspective. 

Still, Mudclaw reminds Stormfur of too many cats for comfort. 

“I don’t know if he’s WindClan’s best choice to be leader,” Crowstrike says suddenly. “He pushed me to always be faster, stronger, more clever, but his training methods…” he trails off. “I always had more cuts than the other apprentices. I remember one time, Robinwing, Thistleheart’s mentor, pulled him aside to talk to him about it.”

“He hurt you?” Stormfur asks, shocked.

“No, he never hurt me. But during sparing lessons I realized why our enemies avoided him in battle, and when I wasn’t fast enough he would tell me stories about Gorsepaw, the apprentice that Tigerstar mauled, and how if Gorsepaw had been just a little bit quicker than maybe he would still be alive…” Crowstrike trails off again.

Unexpected, Stormfur is hit with a memory of Stonefur. He remembers when Stonefur showed him the gorge during a territory tour and warned him never to go too close to the edge, especially during a border skirmish. Stormpaw had asked him if anyone had ever gone over the edge before, and Stonefur told him about Whiteclaw.

Graystripe had been the one to send Whiteclaw over the edge. Stormpaw knew that Stonefur loved him like kin and would never hurt him, but that was the first moment Stormfur saw his muzzle curl, and he realized why Graystripe always spent more time around Mistyfoot.

“Angry,” Stormfur finishes. 

“Yeah,” Crowstrike quietly agrees. “And maybe his anger is justified, but it was intense. I’d rather fight with him than against him, for sure.”

I’ll have to fight against him someday, Stormfur thinks. Once somebody disturbs the peace. Maybe it’ll be Mudclaw himself.

“You ever think about becoming leader?” Stormfur asks, opting for a lighter subject. Crowstrike snorts.

“And deal with the politics? Definitely not. What about you?”

No, is on the tip of his tongue until he remembers Feathertail.

I know you the same way that I know my own heartbeat, Stormfur. I know that if you set aside your insecurities and your fears, you will be the greatest leader RiverClan has ever seen.

“Oh?” Crowstrike asks, raising a brow.

Stormfur shakes his head. “No, not really.”

Crowstrike hums. “Shame. You’d make an alright leader.”

“Thanks, I think?”

“Don’t get a big head and start bossing everybody around, though,” Crowstrike warns. “I get enough of that from Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt.”

“I won’t let your high praise go to my head,” Stormfur promises. He can tell that Crowstrike is fighting a grin. 

After a moment Crowstrike adds, “Feathertail thought you would make a good leader.”

I know, she told me.

--

The sun descends behind the horizon, painting the sky with broad strokes of pink and gold and lilac. Dawnflower remarks on the pretty sunset, but Stormfur has a hard time hearing her; the mountains are getting closer. They’ll reach the rocky terrain within the next day or two.

The Tribe is there, Brook is there, Feathertail is there. Stormfur pushes his nerves down and says, “Yeah, pretty sunset.”

“Why don’t you share tongues with us tonight?” Dawnflower asks. “I feel like I haven’t spent time with you since we left the forest.”

Blinking, Stormfur echoes, “Us?”

Dawnflower nods to where a group of cats have started settling down: Sootfur and Whitewing of ThunderClan, Thistleheart of WindClan, and Lavenderhaze of ShadowClan. “We’ve all been walking together during the day. They’re good cats.”

It’s amazing what happens when you remove borders, Stormfur can’t help but think.

“Sure, why not.”

--

They are good cats. Stormfur already knew Sootfur and Whitewing from his time in ThunderClan, Thistleheart is funny and sweet, and Lavenderhaze is up to date on all the best gossip (which, mercifully, does not revolve around Stormfur and his love life tonight).

“Tawnypelt and Rowanclaw were walking with each other a lot today,” Lavenderhaze hums, slyly. “I think they might end up together after all.”

“Did they have a falling out, or something?” Whitewing asks.

“Oh yeah, big time. One moment they’re curled up in camp together and the next moment they can’t even get through a border patrol without hissing at each other.” Lavenderhaze rolls her eyes. “It was probably Rowanclaw’s fault, honestly. I love my brothers but they’re both lizard-brains when it comes to romance.”

“Rowanclaw is your brother?” Stormfur asks, confused, as Thistleheart mumbles under her breath that Cedarheart isn’t that bad. “But I thought… I mean, there’s that rumor…”

“Adopted brother,” Lavenderhaze clarifies. “Kinda silly to try and pass off a ginger kit as the legitimate littermate of two gray kits, but we were the only litter at the time. I guess Russetfur and Blackstar didn’t have many options.”

Thistleheart frowns. “You know, they didn’t do a very good job of keeping that secret. Literally everyone knows that they’re Rowanclaw’s parents.”

Lavenderhaze flattens her ears. “Yeah, that’s kind of my fault. I had a pretty big mouth as an apprentice.”

Whitewing laughs. “You’re the one who started the rumor?”

“It’s not funny! For the rest of my apprenticeship, Russetfur assigned me to dirt tunnel duty!” 

That makes Whitewing laugh even harder, and then Thistleheart laughs, and Stormfur politely looks away to hide his grin--

And stops. When did Dawnflower and Sootfur get so close?

The two warriors are in their own little world. Dawnflower mumbles something to Sootfur and he purrs, pushing her with a paw. She nips at his paw playfully. They’re completely tuned out of Lavenderhaze’s story.

Stormfur doesn’t know Sootfur well, but he knows him well enough to know that he’s a reserved cat, and he doesn’t get along with cats from the other Clans, especially not from RiverClan. 

And suddenly, Stormfur realizes that this is also what happens when you remove borders.

Dread drips down his spine as he watches Dawnflower and Sootfur flirt back and forth. No one else seems to notice them, but Stormfur can’t look away from the smile on Dawnflower’s face or the gleam in Sootfur’s eyes. He starts to scan the area for Rainwhisker or Sorreltail, maybe they can intervene here, but then Hawkfrost breezes by.

Where is he off to? Stormfur wonders. Hawkfrost stops right in front of Brambleclaw, and alarms go off in Stormfur’s head. Hawkfrost, don’t--

“Can I help you?” Brambleclaw asks, in a voice that suggests the answer is no.

“I heard you’re good for a spar,” Hawkfrost says. 

What?

“What?” Brambleclaw echoes. 

Hawkfrost gestures to Stormfur, who does not appreciate being dragged into this conversation. “I heard you would spar with each other on your quest. I’ve beat Stormfur so many times it’s not fun anymore.”

“Excuse me?” Stormfur demands, offended.

“So you’re the next best thing,” Hawkfrost finishes. “What do you say? Friendly spar between river and thunder?”

Only then does Stormfur realize that Hawkfrost has drawn quite a bit of attention to himself. A couple of senior warriors exchange concerned looks, but more cats start whispering excitedly to each other.

“I’ve got two mice on Brambleclaw,” Whitewing whispers. “Almost nobody beats him in a spar.”

“I did, on our quest,” Stormfur speaks up, but nobody pays him a lick of attention. Typical.

Brambleclaw eyes Hawkfrost like he’s waiting for the punchline to a joke. Then he shrugs and says, “Pass.”

Disappointed sighs are breathed into the air. Hawkfrost doesn’t let up. “Scared I’ll win?”

“Oooh,” one of the ShadowClan apprentices, Smokepaw, sings. “Those are fighting words!”

“You’re gonna let him get away with that, Brambleclaw?” Cloudtail teases.

“I don’t have anything to prove,” Brambleclaw says loudly. “If you’ve heard I’m good then my reputation speaks for itself.”

“Boo,” Spiderleg calls. “Lame.”

“Scardy-cat,” Blackclaw jeers.

“We need to raise the stakes!” Lavenderhaze says. “How about, the winner gets to court Stormfur?”

“Absolutely not,” Stormfur snaps.

“I’m in a different Clan,” Brambleclaw says, exasperated. “It would literally go against the warrior code.”

At the mention of the warrior code, Stormfur is reminded of Dawnflower and Sootfur. He checks, and-- yep, still completely absorbed in each other’s eyes. Seriously, does no one else see this?

“It wouldn’t matter if they were in the same Clan, anyway,” Hawkfrost says suddenly, grabbing Stormfur's attention. “Brambleclaw isn’t Stormfur’s type.”

There’s a low chorus of ‘ooo’s. Brambleclaw’s eyes narrow and Stormfur hopes that he won’t take the bait, but…

Stormfur understands better than anyone else that sometimes Hawkfrost is so cocky and so annoying that you have to pummel him. Most of that desire faded away after Stormfur caught feelings, but still, he can’t hold it against Brambleclaw when he finally stands up and says, “Remember, you asked for this.”

Cheers erupt. Hawkfrost, all arrogant and attractive, smirks and says, “I don’t think I’ll regret it.”

“Ugh, I wish I had two hot toms fighting over me,” Gorsetail sighs, as the two begin to circle each other.

“For real, Stormfur,” Swallowtail agrees. “Can you, like, teach a class or something?”

“This isn’t over me!” Protests Stormfur, flushing.

“Oh, shut up and accept your blame, kid,” Nightcloud says. Stormfur sighs, loudly.

Brambleclaw takes a swipe at Hawkfrost, but Hawkfrost slides to the side. Brambleclaw takes another swipe, and then another, and this time it connects with Hawkfrost's jaw. Stormfur winces but Hawkfrost uses their close proximity to his advantage and wraps a foreleg around the other tom's neck, dragging him forward, intent on wrestling him into submission--

Suddenly Squirrelflight bursts into the clearing, snarling, and forces her way between Hawkfrost and Brambleclaw. “Stop!”

Hawkfrost skirts backward, caught off guard. “What are you doing?” He demands. “I was just about to win!”

“I don’t care!” Squirrelflight snaps. “Don’t you lay another paw on him! Don’t you ever lay a paw on any ThunderClan cat again!”

Finally recovered from his shock, Brambleclaw nudges Squirrelflight. “We were just sparring,” he tells her. “It wasn’t real.”

“You shouldn’t be sparring with him anyway,” Squirrelflight snarls. “After what he did to Shrewpaw, why would you ever give him the chance to hurt you?!”

“My claws were sheathed,” Hawkfrost spits. “This was for fun, not for Sunningrocks!”

Bristling until she’s twice her size, Squirrelflight walks up to Hawkfrost until they’re nose to nose. “I don’t trust you.” Then, quieter, she adds, “I know exactly who you are, Hawkfrost.”

Stormfur watches as a realization dawns on Hawkfrost’s face. And then, an emotion Stormfur isn’t used to finding there: fear.

“And ShadowClan gets a bad rep for being paranoid,” Hawkfrost spits. He turns around and storms out of the clearing, and Stormfur is counting down the heartbeats until it’s not suspicious for him to chase Hawkfrost because something is very wrong. 

“You know who he is?” Brambleclaw repeats, confused. “What does that mean?”

“I mean I know his type,” Squirrelflight answers, still bristling like a porcupine. “Ruthless. You should keep your distance from him, Brambleclaw.”

“It was just a spar,” Brambleclaw says again, his confusion turning into anger.

“And it was just getting good, too,” Dustpelt says, loudly. “Firestar, come get your daughter! She’s ruining the fun!”

Thornclaw snorts. “You mentored her.”

“Ashfur, too,” Mousefur adds. “Dustpelt trains all the killjoys.”

Ashfur looks up at that. “Excuse me, Mousefur?”

“Ignore her, Ashfur,” Dustpelt dismisses. “Mousefur mentored Thornclaw, and he’s the biggest killjoy there is.”

“Not a drop of joy in me,” Thornclaw agrees.

It’s been long enough. Stormfur excuses himself and follows Hawkfrost’s scent.

--

The fact that he’s surprised to find Hawkfrost off to the side with Mothwing is when Stormfur realizes that he doesn’t see the littermates together very often these days. He decides not to interrupt them.

“You can’t know that for sure,” Mothwing is saying in a firm voice.

“But you did tell her, didn’t you?” Hawkfrost asks. “The one thing, the one thing that Sasha told us to never tell anybody, and you went and told your-- your stupid pet!”

Mothwing’s eyes widen, furious. “Don’t insult her like that!” She spits. “Leafpaw is intelligent, and kind, and--”

“And she follows you around like a pet,” Hawkfrost finishes. “A loyal pet, granted, but clearly her loyalty to Squirrelflight runs deeper than her loyalty to you. Did you really think that you would tell her that Tigerstar is our father, and she would never tell her sister? You trusted the daughters of Firestar to keep that to themselves?!”

“You have no proof that’s what Squirrelflight even meant!” Mothwing snaps. “Maybe she meant that she knows a warrior who would ruin an apprentice’s future shouldn’t be trusted to keep a spar friendly!”

Hawkfrost scoffs. “After everything I’ve done for you,” he starts.

“I’ve never asked you for anything!” Mothwing interrupts. “The only thing I’ve ever asked of you is that you don’t jeopardize our lives here with your, your grand ambition or your stupid schemes!”

Hawkfrost narrows his eyes. “And yet here you are, doing exactly that. I hope your forbidden fling will be worth the outrage unleashed upon us when Squirrelflight decides to open her big mouth and tell the entire forest exactly who we are.”

“Stay out of my business, Hawkfrost,” Mothwing spits, shoving past him. Stormfur watches her head off in the direction of the other medicine cats; of Leafpaw. 

At least no half-Clan kits will come from that, Stormfur thinks, dry. It’s a problem that can be pushed off until another day. On the flip side, Hawkfrost looks ready to explode and that needs to be dealt with as soon as possible.

He brushes up against the other tom. “That didn’t look like it went well.”

Hawkfrost huffs. “It never goes well with Mothwing anymore. How much of that did you hear?” 

“Most of it, I think. She’s right, Hawkfrost, there’s no way to know what exactly Squirrelflight meant."

“So I’m just supposed to wait around until Squirrelflight gets bored and announces it to everyone?” Hawkfrost demands. “Like a mouse too dumb to fear for its life?”

“Squirrelflight isn’t like that,” Stormfur starts.

“Yes, she is,” Hawkfrost interrupts. “She’s the spoiled rotten daughter of Firestar. She’s untouchable, she has influence that reaches outside of ThunderClan, and she knows it. If she stands up and says that Mothwing and I can’t be trusted, then we’re going to be lucky to run for our lives.”

There’s a faraway look in his ice-blue eyes. Stormfur knows that look; he’s plotting.

Stormfur moves to stand in front of Hawkfrost, demanding his gaze. “That’s not true,” he argues. “Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt are proof of it.”

“There’s more mystery surrounding me and Mothwing. We were kept a secret for our entire apprenticeships and then we were introduced as full-fledged warriors at a Gathering. Everyone has always known that Tigerstar is Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt’s father. Besides,” he adds, drly, “neither of them are nicknamed, Breaker of Apprentice Legs and Ruiner of Dreams, either.”

And whose fault is that, Stormfur wants to say. Instead, he pushes down his frustration and steps closer to Hawkfrost, until he can brush their muzzles together. “Want me to talk to Squirrelflight?” He offers. “See what exactly she knows?”

Hawkfrost turns his head to the side, and for a moment Stormfur grieves his touch until he buries his face in Stormfur’s scruff instead. “No,” he says, voice muffled. “I’ll just be the dumb mouse, for now.”

For now, until when? Stormfur should ask, but he’s stuck on the fact that this is the first time Hawkfrost has leaned into him since that night in the medicine cat den. Stormfur nearly ruined their entire relationship that night. He’s not about to do it again, not while Hawkfrost’s scent is suffocating him in the best way.

“Maybe just keep a low profile for a while,” Stormfur suggests, so Hawkfrost doesn’t think he’s suddenly gone mute. “No more spars. Actually, what was the point of that? What were you trying to accomplish?”

For a moment Hawkfrost doesn’t respond. Then, in a muffled voice, he says, “I just want to know him. If it takes a spar to get him to acknowledge me then so be it.”

It draws a bitter smile from Stormfur. Despite all of his skill and his bravado, there’s still a piece of Hawkfrost that can’t stand to be ignored, that can’t handle rejection. Stormfur wonders how much of it has to do with Sasha disappearing in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye.

Without so much as a goodbye, Stormfur’s mind repeats, and he feels guilty all over again. 

“Is that why you convinced Rowanclaw to patch things up with Tawnypelt?” He asks. “Trying to win her favor, too?”

“Well, that’s political too,” Hawkfrost replies, pulling away from Stormfur, and instantly Stormfur misses his warmth. “Blackstar intends for Rowanclaw to become deputy once Russetfur retires. He’s a good cat to have on my side.”

Playing dumb, Stormfur asks, “Your side?”

“The more respect I gain from the other Clans, the more likely I am to become deputy someday, and then leader.”

There’s a knot twisting in Stormfur’s stomach. He’s always suspected that leadership was Hawkfrost’s goal, but hearing it confirmed…

Stormfur has never tried to imagine what sort of leader Hawkfrost would be. He doesn’t know if he would like the answer. His thoughts must be spilled across his face, because Hawkfrost asks, “What about you? Ever think about becoming deputy?”

“Oh, please. RiverClan would sooner give a trout nine lives before me.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t think about it.”

Carefully schooling his expression, Stormfur says, “No, I don’t think about it. The politics aren’t for me.”

“Good.” Hawkfrost shoulders him and says, “I’d hate to have to kill you.”

Stormfur tries to laugh but it gets lodged in his throat. His expression slips. Hawkfrost looks back at him with that stupidly handsome smirk, and his face falls. “Stormfur, it’s a joke.” 

He tries to play it off. “Whatever, like you could ever kill me.”

Hawkfrost’s eyes narrow slightly. “You still don’t trust me.”

Not this again. “Do you trust me?”

“To not run off again? No. But do I think you would ever kill me?”

“I know you wouldn’t kill me, Hawkfrost.”

“Do you think I would ever kill anyone?”

The words get lodged in his throat again. I don’t know.

Understanding dawns on Hawkfrost’s face. “There it is.”

“Hawkfrost, I--”

“Is it because of my father?”

“No!”

“Then why?” Hawkfrost challenges. “I’ve told you why I don’t trust you, but you’ve never told me why you don’t trust me. What else could it be, other than I remind you of Tigerstar?”

Stormfur sputters, “You’re just so--” Ruthless, he hears Squirrelflight say, “You’re so calculated. Sometimes I don’t know if you’re telling me the truth or if you’re telling me what I want to hear.”

Hawkfrost stares at him. “They called Tigerstar calculated, too.”

You’re the most like him. Of his four kits, I find the most of him in you.

Taking in a breath, Stormfur says, “Hawkfrost, Tigerstar had a lot of great traits that he twisted to his own advantage. Being calculated isn’t a bad thing; it depends on how you use those traits.”

Hawkfrost doesn’t look convinced. “Are you scared of me?”

“I’m scared of what you could do to me,” Stormfur admits. “I’ve kind of got a thing for you if you couldn’t tell.”

Hawkfrost snorts. “I had no idea.”

“You could ruin me,” Stormfur says, honestly. “You could ruin me so thoroughly that I would just be the shell of a cat.”

Against his own will, Hawkfrost’s guard comes down. Stormfur watches it happen, watches Hawkfrost soften. “You’re such a sap,” he says.

Stormfur shrugs in response. It’s true, there’s no point in denying it.

And besides, isn’t there something poetic about it all? About the son of Tigerstar ruining the son of Graystripe, but in a completely different way than they tried to ruin each other? Their fathers were enemies, but despite everything that came against them, their sons were able to fall in love.

Sappier than a maple tree, Stormfur thinks. You’re not even mates, far from it. This is just one of those moments where he’s telling you what you want to hear.

Leading you on.

He’s ruthless.

He’s calculated.

What if he puts his ambition above you?

He is the son of Tigerstar in ways that Brambleclaw isn’t.

But when Stormfur looks at Hawkfrost, painted warm amber in the last rays of sunlight, he’s still reminded of the cat he first fell in love with. The cat he worked with to save Dawnflower from drowning, the cat he was so excited to introduce to his father, the cat he would do anything to be close to, even if that meant another petty argument. To love Hawkfrost without concern, without paranoia, without conflict, is a sweet dream.

Better safe than starry-eyed, Tawnypelt’s voice rings in his ears.

Stormfur can’t afford to be a dreamer right now. Maybe someday. Right now he’s in survival mode, searching for the Clans’ new home, watching over his friends, keeping an eye on Reedkit, and he still gets the feeling that Hawkfrost isn’t totally honest with him.

But maybe someday, he thinks again. Once we’ve found our new homes, my friends are safe, Reedkit is apprenticed, and I can bring myself to trust you fully.

The thought of someday fishing beside Hawkfrost, tails entertwined, old and retired, laughing about when they were young and stubborn and in love, pulls a soft smile from Stormfur. It truly would be a sweet dream. 

Noticing his smile, Hawkfrost gives him a weird look. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Hawkfrost looks at him a moment longer before scoffing. “Sap,” he mutters again as if he doesn’t even need Stormfur to tell him what he’s thinking about. And despite his condescending tone, Hawkfrost doesn’t pull away when their shoulders brush.

 --

“The terrain will be our greatest obstacle until we get a little higher,” Brambleclaw remarks. “Crowstrike, you had the easiest time navigating the mountainside the first time around. Do you think you could lead by yourself today?”

“Only Crowstrike?” Tawnypelt asks, confused.

“We’re the only cats familiar with the terrain,” Brambleclaw replies. “I think the Clans will benefit more with us walking amongst them.”

“Who died and made you leader?” Squirrelflight asks, but there’s no venom behind it; just exhaustion. The journey is taking longer with so many cats to account for. By this point on their quest, they were almost to the sun-drown-place.

This is the worst time to be losing steam, Stormfur worries, taking in his weary friends. We have to stay sharp now more than ever.

“With one leader at a time, the rest of us will be able to take it a little easier,” Stormfur says. “It sounds like a good move to me.”

“Wasn’t tomorrow supposed to be your day to lead with Brambleclaw?” Crowstrike asks, innocently.

Brambleclaw refuses to acknowledge Stormfur’s support of his idea.

Stormfur frowns, irked, and says, “Crowstrike, I hope you get a pebble stuck between your pads and you can’t slow down to remove it.”

“A minor yet annoying inconvenience: the worst kind,” Tawnypelt remarks, sagely. “I didn’t know you played dirty like that, Stormfur.”

“Speaking of playing dirty,” Crowstrike speaks up, “you and Hawkfrost were missing for an awful long time the other night--”

“Stars above,” Brambleclaw snaps before storming off, grumbling something about immature apprentices.

Stormfur glares at Crowstrike. “That was low.”

“Not as low as you playing dirty with Hawkfrost after he sparred with Brambleclaw over you,” Squirrelflight chimes in.

“For the love of-- all we did was talk!”

--

Stormfur doesn’t know how his love life became this thing that everyone feels comfortable teasing him over, but even though the teasing is good-natured (mostly; Squirrelflight is still upset with him), Stormfur needs a break from it.

He decides to walk close to Leopardstar and keeps an eye on the group of trio of apprentices nearby. Smokepaw, Talonpaw, and Owlpaw are behaving themselves for now, but the toms have quickly developed a rowdy reputation, and one wrong step can mean death from these heights.

Stay sharp, Stormfur reminds himself, even as his paws feel like weights and his stomach growls. You can’t afford to start slipping now.

He doesn’t let his gaze stray from the apprentices.

--

No one will blame Stormfur, not when they’re all so exhausted that no warrior would have been quick enough to grab Leopardstar’s scruff and pull her onto steady land as the ground beneath her crumbled to dust.

But Stormfur will always blame himself, the memory of Leopardstar plummeting to her death seared into his eyelids, her screech echoing in his ears forever.

Chapter Text

Although they’re wasting daylight, not even Crowstrike complains when the leaders decide to stop and make camp. It’s dangerous to be toeing the cliffside with so many cats dizzy with shock; no one wants to risk two deaths in one day.

Shadepelt disappears quickly after her Clan has started to settle down, even though she made it clear that no RiverClan cat was to wander off alone. Stormfur is torn between following orders or following Shadepelt.

Leopardstar’s screech echoes around the mountain range and inside of his head. He closes his eyes and he watches Leopardstar plummet to her death again and again. 

Stormfur goes after Shadepelt.

--

He finds the new leader of RiverClan facing the overcast sky. He considers hanging back and watching over her from afar, but then she remarks, “You can’t enjoy much of the sunset from all the way back there.”

Stormfur flushes, but he moves to join her side. “You can’t enjoy the sunset from anywhere on these mountains. It’s always this cloudy.”

“Really? I thought, when we first started crossing them, that at least we would get a nice view of the sunset.”

“Maybe I’m biased,” Stormfur says with a tight shrug. “I hate the mountains.”

Shadepelt gives him a sidelong glance. “We never did talk about your time here. All I know is that you stayed with a group of cats, and Feathertail sacrificed herself here.”

“Then you already know everything worth talking about.” 

He can see Shadepelt’s expression in his peripheral vision; she isn’t convinced. But she’s always been good about knowing when to give him his space. She turns her attention back towards the sky, and neither says anything for a while. Then Stormfur remembers why he followed her out here in the first place. 

“How are you holding up?”

“You shouldn’t be worried about me, Stormfur. I should be asking you that question.” 

Stormfur bumps his shoulder against hers. “You were my mentor. I’m allowed to worry about you a little bit.”

Blessedly, Shadepelt has never been a very stubborn cat. She sighs and it sounds like she’s trying to expel all the emotions that have built up inside. “When Leopardstar made me her deputy I knew there was a chance that I would succeed her, but I didn’t think it would be this soon. And I didn’t…” She trails off. “I know how she wanted to go to StarClan; in a blaze of glory. She thought she had tarnished her reign beyond repair, but maybe she could redeem herself in death. That maybe she wouldn’t always be known as the leader who aligned with Tigerstar.” 

Shadepelt’s blue eyes are focused on something far away. “But the ground crumbled beneath her and she fell; such an unceremonious way for a leader to die. And now her legacy is what it is.”

When Stormfur was an apprentice, this is the kind of death he would have wished for Leopardstar; for her to just be gone. No blaze of glory, no redeemed reputation. 

The lump in his throat catches him off guard. He swallows it down and says in a thick voice, “It almost doesn’t feel real.”

“No, it doesn’t. Did you… I mean, I know your relationship could never be fully repaired, but do you at least feel like you had every conversation that you needed to? You got everything off your chest?”

Instantly, Stormfur is transported back in time: the world is cloaked in darkness with only a claw-moon for light, and even the stars are dim. A throne of bones at his back, Hawkpaw right in front of him, and Leopardstar in between them. 

“Stormpaw, let’s go home.”

“No, not everything,” Stormfur says. “But there was still closure. Enough that I can be satisfied with where we ended up.”

“Good. That’s a relief to me.”

Silence blankets them once again. Shadepelt is staring off into the distance, worrying her bottom lip. She looks stressed; Stormfur can’t blame her. He can’t imagine finding himself in her position.

And yet he braves asking, “What are you going to do about a deputy?”

“Are you volunteering for the position?”

Stormfur is quiet for a long moment. Then he asks, tentatively, “Are you offering it?”

Shadepelt turns to him, blue eyes bright with interest. “If I was, would you accept it?”

He should say No. Half of RiverClan would never accept him as their deputy, much less leader, and he would have a revolt on his paws. Sorting patrols, giving orders, overseeing daily tasks -- he would face resistance at every turn. Cats like Blackclaw, Heavystep, and Skyheart would disobey him out of spite, and that’s without taking into consideration the Hawkfrost of it all.

He should say No. Why can’t he bring himself to say No? Why is he seriously entertaining any of this?

Shadepelt must be able to read the conflict on his face. She turns away from him and says, “It doesn’t really matter what your answer is. StarClan hasn’t given me their blessing yet, and until we find a replacement for the Moonstone, it’s going to stay that way. I’m still just Shadepelt, and I don’t have the authority to make anyone deputy.”

It’s a strange position for a cat to be in. Stormfur can’t recall the last time anything like this has ever happened. He says, “I guess I wouldn’t be eligible, regardless. I’ve never mentored an apprentice before.”

“Actually, I can do something about that. Just a few days ago, Leopardstar told me that the kits are ready to be made apprentices, and we discussed who she wants to mentor each of them.”

He blinks. “So you can perform apprentice ceremonies?”

“I don’t see why not. Technically I’m just carrying out her wishes.”

He wants to ask her if Leopardstar wanted him to mentor Reedkit, but he isn’t sure he’s ready to know her answer. The thought of denial makes his throat close up. Instead he asks, “When do you think you’ll have the ceremony, then?”

A thoughtful look crosses Shadepelt’s face. 

--

It happens quickly. Perched atop a smooth stone, Shadepelt calls all four Clans together. Stormfur knows from experience that the weight of so many eyes is nerve-wracking, but Shadepelt doesn’t waver underneath the weight. She stands tall in the silver moonlight and begins, “I’ve called this meeting because life is precious. If we’ve ever taken it for granted, then let today serve as a reminder: Clan leaders will rise, Clan leaders will die. Kits become apprentices and then warriors, and then sometimes deputies and medicine cats and even leaders.”

Her voice is level as she says, “It was an honor to serve as Leopardstar’s deputy even for such a short time. Her spirit hunts in StarClan now, but there is one last order that I must carry out for her: the making of four new apprentices.”

Emberdawn ushers the four kits to the front of the crowd. “Splashkit,” Shadepelt calls. “Come forward.”

Splashkit, a white-and-ginger she-cat, moves from Emberdawn’s side. Her eyes glow as she stands in front of Leopardstar. 

“Splashkit, you have reached the age of six moons and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Splashpaw. Your mentor will be Swallowtail. I hope Swallowtail will pass down all she knows on to you.”

Realizing that Swallowtail has never witnessed an apprentice ceremony before, Stormfur gently pushes her forward. “Swallowtail, you are ready to take on an apprentice. Although you are not Clan-borne, you quickly learned our ways and you have shown yourself to be dependable and a skilled hunter. Leopardstar expects you to pass on all you know to Splashpaw.”

Swallowtail shoots Stormfur a questioning look. Stormfur mouths, Touch noses. Swallowtail’s face lights up, and she bends her neck to touch noses with Splashpaw. Then the pair move off to the side, and Shadepelt calls Timberkit forward.

“Your mentor will be Dawnflower. I hope Dawnflower will pass down all she knows on to you.”

Stormfur smiles proudly as he watches his friend receive her first apprentice. Dawnflower whispers something to Timberpaw as Shadepelt continues, and he relaxes. They touch noses and step to the side. 

Reedkit and Volekit sit in front of Emberdawn’s paws, both kits nearly vibrating with excitement. Stormfur stares at Reedkit, hoping against hope. To mentor any apprentice is one the greatest honors for a warrior, but to mentor Mistyfoot’s only kit would mean something that Stormfur can’t put into words. 

“Volekit,” Shadepelt begins, “you have reached the age of six moons and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Volepaw. Your mentor will be Hawkfrost.”

The rest of the traditional speech goes in one ear and out the other. Reedkit finds Stormfur’s eye and flashes him the widest smile Stormfur has ever seen. By the time Hawkfrost and Volepaw touch noses, Reedkit is already moving to take his place.

“Reedkit, you have reached the age of six moons. From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Reedpaw. Your mentor will be Stormfur. Stormfur, you have endured more than any cat your age should have, and it has turned you into a loyal and resilient warrior. Leopardstar expects you to pass on all you know to Reedpaw.”

If Stormfur looks back then he’ll see tears in Shadepelt’s eyes, so he keeps his sights set on Reedkit as they touch noses. “I knew it would be you,” Reedpaw whispers.

“I know you’re going to make us all proud,” Stormfur whispers back. Then they join the other pairs off to the side, and without prompt, all four Clans take up the cheer.

“Splashpaw! Timberpaw! Volepaw! Reedpaw!”

All four Clans chanting in unity steals the breath from Stormfur, and Reedpaw purrs loudly, and Dawnflower shoulders him happily, and for the first time since they departed the forest, Stormfur feels the weight of the world lift from his shoulders for just a little while.

--

“All of us apprentices usually sleep together,” Shrewpaw explains to the RiverClan apprentices as he leads them away. “You won’t be able to sit vigil tonight since you’ll need your strength for traveling tomorrow, so you can go ahead and start making your nests for the night.” 

“I feel like I just watched him grow up right in front of my eyes.”

Stormfur looks at Blackclaw, but Blackclaw has his gaze set on Reedpaw. “I guess you technically did. From kit to apprentice.”

“It feels different this time.”

Stormfur almost asks, You mean different from your first litter, but that’s the kind of question he would only ask Mistyfoot. He isn’t friends with Blackclaw. Then again, there’s a vulnerability to Blackclaw right now that makes Stormfur curious.

“You mean different from your first litter.”

“Yeah. The first time around I was just proud. Now I feel scared out of my mind. I wish he would stay a kit forever.”

It’s strange to be able to hear that fear in Blackclaw’s voice now; Stormfur has known him since he was born, and he’s seen him on battle patrols, he’s watched him go nose-to-nose with Leopardstar and Mistyfoot and rival warriors. Blackclaw has never sounded scared before.

It pushes Stormfur to promise, “I’ll take care of him, Blackclaw. I’ll train him into the kind of warrior that you and Mistyfoot would be proud of.”

Only then does Blackclaw give Stormfur his full attention, and for the first time in his entire, Stormfur feels like Blackclaw is really seeing him. “I know how much you love him. All I ask is that you make sure he’s loyal and proud to be RiverClan.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will. Any doubts I had about your loyalty have been put to rest since we started this quest.” Blackclaw looks away again, but this time Stormfur gets the sense that it’s because he’s having a hard time meeting Stormfur’s eye. “I wish I would have told Leopardstar that I wanted you on my patrol that day instead of Hawkfrost. Maybe then we would have brought Mistyfoot home.”

Any glow Stormfur feels at Blackclaw’s words is washed away. “What?” He asks in disbelief, even as an old memory resurfaces in his mind; the day the river dried up and Blackclaw implied that Hawkfrost might’ve had divided priorities on the rescue patrol.

“Maybe I’m wrong. But we found Mistyfoot and some others in the back of a twoleg monster. We freed Leafpaw and the others, but then the monster took off and we had to follow it. Hawkfrost got to it first and he jumped onto it, and he freed the only other cat we’d missed. The monster hit the Thunderpath and Hawkfrost fell off; said he lost his balance.” There’s a harsh edge to Blackclaw’s words, telling Stormfur exactly what he thinks of Hawkfrost’s excuse. “Mistyfoot was the one cat we didn’t rescue.”

“Who… who did he choose to free over Mistyfoot?”

Finally, Blackclaw meets his eye again as he says, “Graystripe.”

Stormfur’s head is spinning. “But Graystripe was supposed to lead the ThunderClan patrol. How did he--?”

“Twolegs grabbed him after he freed Leafpaw. Threw him in her cage instead.” Blackclaw blows out a sigh. “Like I said, maybe I’m wrong. But you had just returned from your quest and you and Hawkfrost weren’t getting along, and I had the thought, that he chose to save Graystripe over Mistyfoot for you.”

--

Twilight falls swiftly upon the Clans. Tawnypelt finishes their nest and is already settling down, but Stormfur feels too antsy to join her. He weaves through the sea of cats, making sure that nobody is going to sleep hungry. He checks in with Shadepelt and Mothwing. He checks in twice with Reedpaw. He intentionally avoids Hawkfrost but his eyes somehow always land on him anyway.

“I had the thought, that he chose to save Graystripe over Mistyfoot for you.”

Is that the same choice I would have made? Stormfur wonders to himself. Who would I have freed first?

The more pressing question, though, the one that Stormfur hates to even give a mental voice to, is, Did he deliberately choose to leave Mistyfoot behind?

-- 

“Do you want me to lead today?”

Stormfur’s gaze is drawn from the mountains to Brambleclaw. “But you led yesterday.”

“Yeah, but we’re going to reach the Tribe today. You’re probably not in the best headspace to lead.”

Stormfur looks back at the mountains. “I can do it.”

“I don’t mind, Stormfur. There’s no need to be stubborn.”

Brambleclaw scolding anybody for being stubborn is laughable. Stormfur almost says as much but he doesn’t know how to talk to Brambleclaw anymore. That, combined with his mixed emotions about the Tribe, makes his chest feel tight.

Brambleclaw blows out a sigh. “Stormfur, listen. I never wanted our relationship to become so strained. You’re one of my best friends. I want us to be normal again.”

“That’s all I want, too.” 

“Then let me start making up for my sour attitude and let me lead today.”

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Well, when you put it like that.”

--

It’s for the best that Brambleclaw takes over leading that day. It allows Stormfur to keep an eye on Reedpaw.

“I can’t believe there’s a Clan that lives in the mountains,” Reedpaw says, jumping from rock to rock, full of boundless energy. 

“Tribe, not Clan,” Stormfur corrects. “The Tribe of Rushing Water.”

“Do you think they’ll be expecting us?” Volepaw asks, speeding up to catch up with Reedpaw, Splashpaw right behind him. Hawkfrost after trails the apprentices.

“They should be. When we passed through the Tribe on our quest, I explained to Brook that we were returning to the forest to bring our Clans to their new homes.”

“Who’s Brook?” Hawkfrost asks, beating the apprentices to the question. Stormfur watches Reedpaw balance on a particularly jagged rock. 

“She’s one of the Tribe cats.”

“New friend of yours?” Hawkfrost asks, not bothering to hide his suspicion. 

Stormfur remembers how Feathertail teased him for his infatuation with Brook; she said she would tell Hawkfrost all about it. Now it occurs to Stormfur that nobody would’ve told Hawkfrost anything about Brook. 

“Something like that,” Stormfur finally says.

“Stormfur, look!” Reedpaw cries, pointing with his muzzle to the cliffside. Stormfur follows his gaze until his eyes land on a brown tabby cat, and a dark gray cat. Talon and Crag. Stormfur’s stomach flips itself inside out. 

Ahead of the pack, Brambleclaw calls over his shoulder, “We’re here!”

--

It’s quickly decided that a few cats will run ahead to greet the Tribecats and explain their situation. Stormfur volunteers to hang back with Tawnypelt. Crowstrike, Squirrelflight, and Brambleclaw run on.

His friends return with a familiar face in tow.

“Stormfur,” Brook greets, her voice bright. She leans forward to touch noses, and after a moment’s hesitation, Stormfur leans forward as well. “It is good to see you again!”

Stormfur musters a smile and says, “We’ve brought a few extra cats with us this time.”

Brook’s gaze sweeps across the Clans. “I see that. The caves will be tight, but we can fit you all.”

“You don’t think the Stoneteller will mind?”

Brook shoots him a sly smile. “I know the Stoneteller won’t mind.”

“Brook is the Stoneteller, now,” Talon says, joining them. “Our father stepped down after you all left.”

Stormfur looks back at Brook, shocked. “Really? That’s-- That’s great, Brook! I mean, Stoneteller.”

“You can still call me Brook,” she says, a playful sparkle in her amber eyes. “I’ll allow it.”

She holds his eye for several long moments; Stormfur can’t find it in himself to look away from her. Brook is still as captivating today as she was when he first laid eyes on her. A familiar knot begins to twist inside his chest.

Several fox-lengths away, Hawkfrost’s fur starts to bristle.

--

Brook introduces herself to the leaders and reiterates that the Clans are welcome to stay with the Tribe for as long as they need. Stormfur watches on a few lengths away, tail swishing.

“I much prefer Brook as the Stoneteller,” Squirrelflight murmurs.

“Absolutely,” Brambleclaw agrees. “She looks like a natural, too. Look at how charmed the leaders are; even Blackstar."

“An accomplishment, for sure,” Tawnypelt says. She side-eyes Stormfur and adds, “Although, we already knew Brook was charming, didn’t we, Stormfur?”

Stormfur shoots Tawnypelt a look. “Please don’t start that right now.”

“I’m just saying, it looks like you two picked up where you left off pretty easily.”

“I also prefer Brook to Hawkfrost, for what it’s worth,” Squirrelflight says. 

“Squirrelflight is speaking facts today,” Brambleclaw says.

Stormfur winces. It’s not a question of whether or not Hawkfrost saw their exchange earlier; Hawkfrost sees everything. And it’s not really a question of if it annoyed him, either; Hawkfrost practically leaps at the opportunity to be upset with Stormfur. 

So, no questions, then. Hawkfrost is definitely planning how to make Stormfur’s death look like an accident right now, wherever he is. 

“It would be poetic to die in the same place as Feathertail,” Stormfur mutters. “I wouldn’t mind that.” Brambleclaw snorts.

Crowstrike appears then. “Sorry not sorry to interrupt Stormfur’s suicidal longings, but they’re ready for us.”

--

Stormfur considers hanging back with the rest of the Clans, but Talon insists he walks up ahead with him, Brook, and the other quest cats.

“So, your father stepped down?” Tawnypelt asks Brook.

Brook nods. “It wasn’t a decision he made lightly, but now he is one of our elders. He goes by his old name again, Lightning That Scorches Ground, or Lightning.” She looks back at Squirrelflight, eyes twinkling. “I heard that you finally received your warrior name. I think it is very cool.”

Squirrelflight purrs. “Way cooler than Crowstrike’s name, right?”

“What is wrong with you?” Crowstrike huffs.

Stormfur looks back at the sea of cats following them. They’ve done their best to form a line as they navigate the mountainside; his eyes are drawn to Reedpaw’s black pelt, close behind Hawkfrost and Volepaw. 

He hears the waterfall long before he sees it, and the sound of rushing water makes his heart begin to race. He swallows and sets his expression carefully in place. My Clan needs me right now. I can’t break down in front of them. 

Still, nothing can quite prepare him for the moment the waterfall comes into view, and with it, the ledge that Crag voted to name Sacrifice of Falling Feather. The ledge that Feathertail leapt from as she traded her life for his.

Without thinking, Stormfur stops. He stares at the ledge as the memory threatens to play itself before his eyes.

Brambleclaw drops back to stand beside him. “Shove it to the back of your mind,” he hisses quietly. “You don’t want to deal with that right now.”

“I don’t want to deal with it ever,” Stormfur replies, but he gives his pelt a shake and forces his legs to move again. He nudges Brambleclaw. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He’s staring determinedly ahead. “None of us have been looking forward to stopping here, you know. We all miss her, and it’s going to hurt no matter what. But you know that you can lean on us as much as you need to.”

Despite the windstorm of emotions that have been swirling in Stormfur’s chest, Brambleclaw’s words drag a smile out of him. “Thanks, Brambleclaw.”

“I said don’t mention it.” But he nudges Stormfur in return. They slip behind the waterfall.

--

Brook gives orders like she’s been doing it her entire life. She has her Tribemates reorganizing their nests and making new ones as the Clan cats dip behind the waterfall and into the cave. Stormfur hears their awed whispers as they take in the wide-open cave and the tunnels that branch off from it, but his gaze is riveted to Brook.

She’s prettier than I remember, he thinks, which is unfair because he already remembered her as the prettiest she-cat he had ever laid eyes on. And being made the Stoneteller seems to give her an extra shot of confidence that he's really digging. He could have stood there all evening and simply listened to her tell Bird and Mist and Rock where to move nests. 

Until Hawkfrost passed into the cave, that is. Stormfur perks his ears and moves to walk beside him. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Hawkfrost copies, not looking at him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“How are the apprentices handling everything?”

“They’re excited, obviously. Splashpaw hasn’t stopped chatting since she woke up this morning, I swear.”

“This would be exciting to me if I was an apprentice, too,” Stormfur admits. He laughs a little. “They’re going to have a very different apprenticeship than we did, huh?”

Hawkfrost stops and finally turns his icy stare to Stormfur. “You didn’t mention your friend was so pretty.”

“I didn’t mention her at all, to be fair.” That was the wrong thing to say. 

Hawkfrost’s eyes spark. “Good point. Why is that, Stormfur?”

He sighs. “What was I supposed to say, Hawkfrost? I met a pretty she-cat while I was gone? What good would that have done?”

Hawkfrost shrugs. “I just think the secretary is interesting.” His voice is cold. 

Scanning the cave to ensure that nobody is watching them, Stormfur brushes up against the other tom. “Hawkfrost,” he murmurs, “nothing happened between Brook and I. She’s just a friend.”

“A secret, very pretty friend.”

“Still just a friend.”

Hawkfrost pulls away from him, then, his eyes hard. “Does she know that?” He finally asks. “Because from where I was standing, that didn’t look like a reunion between two cats who are strictly friends.”

“Of course she knows--”

“You told her?” Hawkfrost interrupts. “About me?”

Stormfur stops. He’s sure of the answer, but as he racks his memory he can’t remember… can’t remember Hawkfrost ever coming up. Not even in passing. Not once. Guilt begins to gnaw at his stomach.

Understanding dawns on Hawkfrost’s face. “Interesting. So I was a secret friend, too.”

“We weren’t mates, Hawkfrost,” Stormfur snaps, feeling defensive. “We aren’t mates. I told you I love you, and you told me ‘I can’t do this right now’. So I don’t know where you get off acting like I’ve done something wrong by not telling you I happened to meet a pretty she-cat while I was gone. What would it have mattered, anyway? All you would have done is continued to act like a fox-heart.”

Hawkfrost’s tail lashes like a snake. “I’ll continue to watch over Reedpaw while you and Brook keep making mooney-eyes at each other like a couple of lovesick apprentices,” he growls, shoving past Stormfur and after their Clanmates. Stormfur spins around and watches him walk off with half a mind to raise his voice and cause a scene, just to piss Hawkfrost off even further.

--

Instead, Stormfur finds Shadepelt and helps her get their Clan settled down for the night.

“This is the perfect time for a few days rest,” she remarks to him, as they weave a nest together. “Even without Leopardstar’s death, it feels like we’ve been walking for moons. My paws will appreciate the break.”

“So will your stomach,” Stormfur adds. It was difficult to even find the time to hunt, much less the prey to feed so many cats. He felt guilty that they would be eating so much of the Tribe’s prey during their stay, especially when it already seemed like hunting wasn’t plentiful on the mountainside, but again, Brook had reassured them that it would be fine.

Shadepelt moans quietly. “I don’t even remember what it’s like to go to sleep with a full belly anymore. What kind of prey runs here?”

“Rabbits, squirrels, and mice mostly. There’s a stream with some fish a little further down the mountain.” He recalls a memory. “Eagles, too.”

Shadepelt jolts. “Eagles?”

“The prey-hunters - those are the cats that hunt for the entire Tribe - will sometimes find a small animal and will wait for an eagle to swoop. Once it does they attack the eagle and bring it down, so it’s two pieces of prey for one catch. They have a special technique for it.”

“Have you ever brought down an eagle?”

He thinks of leaping into the sky and hooking his claws into an eagle, bringing it down with his friends, Brook shouldering him, her amber eyes shining with victory as she exclaims, “We’ll make a prey-hunter out of you yet!”

His eyes find her now, speaking with Crag and Bird. “Yeah,” he says, his voice coming out in a whisper. “It’s exhilarating.”

Shadepelt follows his gaze. “The Stoneteller is a very impressive she-cat.”

“She is.”

“I wish I could recruit her to RiverClan.”

The idea makes Stormfur snort, unamused. If Brook joined RiverClan, Hawkfrost would find a way to turn the entire Clan against me. 

As if reading his thoughts, Shadepelt says, “I noticed Hawkfrost is in a mood tonight.”

“Hawkfrost is always in a mood.”

“Well, more so tonight than usual.”

Stormfur shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do about him. Everything I do just makes him angry. I feel like I can’t win with him.”

“Hawkfrost has always been a challenging cat,” Shadepelt admits. “But you’ve always seemed up to the challenge.”

Stormfur shrugs, his eyes straying back to Brook. “Sometimes I wish it could be easy, though.”

Shadepelt spreads out the last bit of moss in the new nest. “To be fair, Stormfur, you’ve never made things easy on him, either. Maybe he’s not entirely to blame.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m the leader now, I can’t choose sides,” she replies, a tired smile pulling at her face. “Anyway, you and Hawkfrost are both warriors that I’m happy to have in my camp. Even after we find our new homes, the journey ahead of us is a long one, and cats like Blackclaw, Skyheart, and Mosspelt aren’t getting any younger. It won’t be long until your generation - you, Hawkfrost, Dawnflower, and Swallowtail - is the one carrying RiverClan on your shoulders.”

It occurs to Stormfur, then, that those are the four cats who were just given their first apprentices. He looks at her and says, “Not to talk about deputies again, but I assume I’m not your only candidate.”

“Honestly, I don’t have my mind set on anyone yet.” Her blue gaze skips around the cats gathered in front of them. “Emberdawn might be my top candidate, but I know she wouldn’t want to be leader someday. Blackclaw would accept it, and he would be a strong deputy, but I don’t know that I trust RiverClan with him; same with Heavystep. And the more I think about it, the more I think I might want a younger deputy.”

“I’m flattered.”

She snorts, good-naturedly. “That doesn’t narrow it down as much as you might think. Hawkfrost and Dawnflower are good candidates, too.”

Stormfur studies the nest they made. It looks fine. “Dawnflower would be a good deputy.”

“Don’t try to kid yourself, Stormfur; for all of his flaws, Hawkfrost would be an amazing deputy.”

Amazing. “And you would trust him to succeed you?”

“I think I would,” Shadepelt answers. “He’s really impressed me on this journey. No matter how long we walk, he’s the first to volunteer to hunt; he makes sure everyone is accounted for at night; he even keeps an eye on the elders in other Clans. I think he’s matured a lot.”

All of those things are true. So then why does a pit gather in Stormfur’s stomach whenever he thinks about Hawkfrost becoming deputy?

“Thanks for your help,” Shadepelt says, nosing the nest. “Take it easy tonight, Stormfur. You’ve earned it.”

--

He could spend the evening making up with Hawkfrost, or checking in with Reedpaw, or sharing tongues with any of his friends, but instead he finds himself outside of the cave, in front of the waterfall.

He stares up at the ledge and tries to piece together everything that’s happened since he was here last. Somehow, it feels like both yesterday and like a lifetime ago. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed where Stormfur hasn’t felt the hole in his heart that Feathertail left him with.

But then he remembers his dream, and she had been there, and she had felt so real. If he closes his eyes he can still catch her scent on the breeze, and the way her blue eyes sparkled, and the pride in her voice as she says, “I, for one, can't wait to watch you make us all proud."

He opens his eyes and looks up at the ledge again. This time, it doesn’t tug as painfully at his heart. 

“I miss you,” he says aloud. He doesn’t know if Feathertail can hear him here better than she can anywhere else, but it feels right to talk to her now. 

“I’m doing alright,” he continues, feeling a bit foolish, but nonetheless. “Shadepelt apprenticed Reedpaw to me-- oh, Leopardstar died. But I guess you probably know that by now.” He pauses. “Wow. I bet that was an awkward reunion. Or maybe you’re ignoring her even in StarClan.”

He doesn’t think so, though. In his dream, there was a peace to Feathertail that he had never seen before, not even during their quest. Maybe in StarClan, Feathertail can find it in herself to finally forgive Leopardstar. The thought makes him feel a little lighter.

“Anyway, Shadepelt apprenticed Reedpaw to me. Hawkfrost, Dawnflower, and Swallowtail got Emberdawn’s kits. Wait, you never met Swallowtail. She’s nice. They found her starving on the border, no kin to speak of. Mistyfoot told me--” he stops. Does Feathertail know about Mistyfoot? Is Mistyfoot already in StarClan with her?

Stormfur cringes. “I guess I should talk to you more often. Mistyfoot is missing. Maybe you already knew that; maybe you know more about what happened than I do.” He thinks about what Blackclaw told him about the rescue mission. He thinks about Hawkfrost. The longer he sits there and thinks, a sense of darkness begins to creep into his thoughts. 

Finally he whispers, “I love Hawkfrost more than anything, but he's always angry at me. I feel like-- like once we move past one hurdle, we trip over another. And as much as I love him, I don’t fully trust him, but I don’t know why. It’s just a feeling. And maybe I’m wrong about him, maybe I’m just paranoid, or maybe it’s because of Tigerstar, but I…” he trails off. “I want us to be happy together, but I’m scared that’s not possible. I’m scared that someday he’s going to do something, or say something, and I won’t be able to look past it. I’m going to have to side against him, and he’s never going to forgive me for it. Maybe I’ll never be able to forgive him.”

Feathertail doesn’t have an answer for him, but voices drift out of the cave, bits of conversation caught on the wind. Stormfur overhears Brook ask someone to fetch Tallpoppy a piece of fresh-kill.

“That’s another thing,” he mutters. “Brook-- I don’t--.” He stops, frustrated. “She’s perfect. She’s beautiful, strong, intelligent, fierce. I couldn’t dream of a more perfect she-cat even if I tried. But she’s a Tribecat -- no, the Stoneteller -- and I’m a RiverClan warrior. How could that ever work out? She can’t leave her Tribe behind for me, and I--” He stops again.

I could leave RiverClan, he realizes for the first time. I could stay behind and join the Tribe, for Brook.

His eyes stray back up to the ledge, where once stood a silver she-cat. The sight doesn’t make his heart twist painfully, but the ache is still everpresent. 

He remembers being thrown into a dank, dark cave. Brook had visited him, told him he didn’t deserve his fate, but she didn’t try to help him escape it, either. He remembers her expression as he sat on that very ledge, bait for the Sharptooth, her expression pinched with regret but she did not speak in defense of him.

A cold wind blows off of the waterfall, chilling him to the bone. “I don’t know what to do, Feathertail,” he whispers. “I don’t even know what I want. All I know is that I want to be happy.”

He points his muzzle up at the stars and asks, “Any advice?”

The stars remain silent. They do glow brightly here, though, threaded throughout Silverpelt’s hairs. It occurs to Stormfur that StarClan is not all powerful, all knowing; if they were, then why would they send four cats on a quest across the earth to receive a message from a badger. Maybe Feathertail is watching over him from StarClan, just as clueless as he is, but at least she’s enjoying the drama.

The thought pulls a smile out of him. “Goodnight, Feathertail,” he whispers before slipping back behind the waterfall, his voice caught on the wind and carried up, up, up.

-- 

Crag asks for volunteers to go hunting. Squirrelflight is the first to jump to her paws, exclaiming that she’s been waiting forever to finally take down an eagle; Hawkfrost, Mudclaw, Onewhisker, Ashfoot, and Sootfur also volunteer.

“Not interested in showing off your eagle hunting skills for your fans?” Lavenderhaze teases him. 

“It’s probably for the best,” Rainwhisker remarks. “Stormfur’s fans scare me.”

“They scare me, too,” Stormfur says, circling his nest twice before laying down. “I’ll sit this one out, thanks.”

--

A wail jolts Stormfur from his nap.

“Mudclaw is dead!”

--

The hunting group returns, dazed and confused. Brook ushers them all down a tunnel, to her healing cave, so that she can make examine them. Cinderpelt and Mothwing go with her. 

“I can’t believe this,” Crowstrike says, his expression blank with shock. “Mudclaw… he was so powerful…”

“I can’t believe an eagle could kill him,” whispers Sorreltail.

“Eagles are never to be underestimated,” Tornear says, eyes dim. “Every WindClan warrior knows that. Mudclaw… should have known better.”

“We don’t know exactly what happened yet,” Cedarheart points out. “Maybe once the hunting group recovers enough to tell us, it will make more sense.”

Nightcloud whirls on him. “And that still won’t bring Mudclaw back,” she snarls.

Thistleheart bristles. “Cedarheart didn’t say that, Nightcloud,” she growls. “Don’t take your anger out on him.”

“My anger?” Nightcloud repeats. “You think I’m angry?” She shakes her head, before turning around and running down one of the tunnels. Mist Where Sunlight Shimmers follows after her, promising to not let her get lost. 

Thistleheart sighs. “Sorry about that,” she says to Cedarheart. “Nightcloud… was close to Mudclaw. She’s expecting his kits.”

Stormfur winces. Cedarheart is lucky she didn’t take a swipe at him, in that case.

Just then, Cinderpelt limps out of the tunnel. “Firestar, Shadepelt,” she calls. “Can you both come here? It’s…” she trails off, uncertain. “It’s Squirrelflight.”

In a flash of ginger, Firestar is darting down the tunnel, Shadepelt hot on his heels. Stormfur stares down the tunnel, wondering, Why would Cinderpelt call for both Firestar and Shadepelt over Squirrelflight? There wasn’t even a RiverClan warrior in the group, except for--

His blood runs cold. Hawkfrost.

--

He manages to break away from everyone else and slip down the tunnel. He follows the cat scent all the way to a pair of smaller caves; he can hear the medicine cats in one cave, and in the other cave, Firestar, Shadepelt, and Squirrelflight.

Stormfur hesitates. Hawkfrost isn’t with them, then. He should turn around and rejoin his Clan, but something in him compels him to tiptoe closer to the second cave. 

He stops just outside of it, his ear pressed to the cave wall. 

“--almost grabbed me,” Squirrelflight is sobbing. “Mudclaw shoved me out of the way, and that’s, that’s when the eagle hooked into him. He, he fought with it, but he slipped, and fell over the cliff!”

In a soothing voice, Firestar says, “It’s not your fault, Squirrelflight.”

“I, I know it’s not my fault,” she cries. “It’s Hawkfrost’s fault!”

Stormfur bristles.

“How can you say that?” Shadepelt asks, her voice made of steel. “It sounds like it was an accident.”

“Bird, Bird told Hawkfrost to keep watch. He was supposed to alert us once he saw an eagle. He didn’t say anything . He was silent. He just watched as the eagle swooped towards me--”

“Squirrelflight, you can’t just accuse someone of murder,” Firestar says. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten what Hawkfrost did to Shrewpaw, but that’s no excuse to--”

“Oh, it’s in his blood, dad! Hawkfrost’s father is Tigerstar!”

The air suddenly turns suffocating. Stormfur stands there, frozen, unable to breathe as panic seeps into his veins. Squirrelflight no, no no no no--

“What?” Demands Shadepelt. “That’s-- that’s preposterous! Hawkfrost and Mothwing are rogue-borns!”

“Their mother was a rogue, but their father is Tigerstar! Mothwing-- Mothwing told Leafpaw, and Leafpaw told me. Their mother knew Tigerstar was their father, but she told them to never tell anyone else. That’s why their mother ran away from RiverClan, because Leopardstar found out!”

For a moment, there is dead silence. 

“If that’s true then Leopardstar never breathed a word about it to anyone. Sasha disappeared suddenly one night. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone, not even her kits. We’ve always assumed that Clan life simply wasn’t for her.”

“Did she ever say who the father of her kits was?”

“No, but you know just as well as I do that a queen has the right to keep that information to herself.”

Just then, Brook emerges from the other cave and spots him. “Stormfur?” She says, confused. “Are you injured as well?”

The conversation in the cave halts. Then, in a tone he hasn’t heard since he was an unruly apprentice, Shadepelt says, “Stormfur. Come here.”

Stormfur cringes. He pads miserably into the cave. Shadepelt, Firestar, and Squirrelflight are waiting for him; Squirrelflight’s eyes are red-rimmed and wide. Shadepelt fixes him with a hard stare and asks, “Stormfur, is Tigerstar the father of Hawkfrost and Mothwing?”

There is a corner of Stormfur’s mind that laments the fact that he is the one who is going to break this news. It isn’t fair. He’s kept this secret since he was an apprentice, and it was never supposed to be his burden to bear in the first place, and he can’t help but feel like he is about to violate Hawkfrost and Mothwing to an unforgivable degree.

But there’s no point in lying about it now. It’s the truth, and it’s going to come out one way or another.

Still, Stormfur can’t meet Shadepelt’s eye as he says, “It’s true.”

He hears Shadepelt suck in a breath. He closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable fallout, for Shadepelt to declare that the kits of Tigerstar have no place in RiverClan, that Stormfur should have told her as soon as he learned the truth--

“This doesn’t change anything.” Stormfur blinks. He looks up, but Shadepelt is facing Firestar. “Hawkfrost is one of my strongest warriors, and Mothwing is my medicine cat. Neither of them have ever stepped a paw out of place.”

“Would you say that to Shrewpaw’s face?” Squirrelflight demands.

“Every cat understands the risks that come with battle,” Shadepelt retorts. “I’m sorry about Shrewpaw, and Firestar, if you would like for Hawkfrost to pay ThunderClan reparations then we can work something out. I am not Leopardstar. But I will not punish two cats for the crimes of their father.”

“But crimes against Shrewpaw? Against Mudclaw?”

“Squirrelflight, that is enough,” Firestar says, in a tone Stormfur has rarely heard the ThunderClan leader use. Squirrelflight clamps her mouth shut.

Shadepelt says, “Honestly, I’m surprised to see such a strong reaction from one of your own, Firestar. Do you not think Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt are credits to their Clans?”

“They are,” Firestar agrees. “But it’s never been a secret who their father is. Every cat has always been allowed to judge them for themselves. While I don’t think they should be punished, I do think every cat has the right to know.”

Shadepelt’s brow furrows. “You want me to announce to the four Clans that Tigerstar is their father? Why, so that the next time a cat dies in an unfortunate accident, my cats can be accused of murder based on paranoia alone?”

“I know what I saw out there,” Squirrelflight snaps.

Firmly, Shadepelt says, “Firestar, with all due respect, I will not continue to have this conversation in front of your daughter.” She cuts Stormfur an icy look. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think anyone else needs to be included at all.”

“I agree,” Firestar says, and it’s clear that his patience is running thin. “Squirrelflight, stay here until the Stoneteller or Cinderpelt has cleared you.” He gives her a look that leaves no room for arguments. Squirrelflight glares at her paws. Firestar pads out of the den, Shadepelt on his tail.

Stormfur is immediately tempted to follow them. Shadepelt might kill him if she caught him eavesdropping a second time, but honestly, she should’ve known that Stormfur eavesdropping on leaders comes with the territory at this point--

“I can’t believe you knew.”

He looks back at Squirrelflight. Her eyes are still red-rimmed with tears, but now there’s confusion there as well. “I’ve wanted to tell you since Leafpaw told me, but I didn’t want to break your heart. I thought… how long have you known?”

He can tell that she’s still in shock over Mudclaw’s death, and apparently, it was almost her in his place. Now is not the time to have this sort of conversation. But there’s an accusation in her voice, and Stormfur can’t help but rise against it. 

“I’ve known since we were apprentices.”

Squirrelflight recoils. “What? You’ve known-- all this time? Since, since even before you loved him?”

Stormfur scowls at her. “How can you stand there and judge me when Brambleclaw is one of your closest friends?”

“Because unlike Hawkfrost, Brambleclaw isn’t ruthless! He would never jeopardize an apprentice’s warrior career over an ambush, and neither would Tawnypelt. And-- the things Hawkfrost has said, the look he gets in his eye sometimes-- you have to acknowledge that Hawkfrost isn’t the same as them. He’s, it’s like he’s the son of Tigerstar in ways that they aren’t.”

Stormfur stiffens. Didn’t I think the exact same thing just a few nights ago?  

But it’s different, because, “You don’t know Hawkfrost, or Mothwing. You can’t make a judgment like that.”

“I can call it like I see it.”

Stormfur glares. “I understand you’re angry over Shrewpaw, and you’re in shock over Mudclaw, but Squirrelflight, you should have never repeated what Leafpaw told you. You are so, so wrong for that.”

“If it was up to me, then I would call a meeting and announce it to the Clans,” Squirrelflight says, and the fact that she’s doubling down on what she’s just done - she’s possibly ruined Hawkfrost and Mothwing’s lives - stuns him. “Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt live with that kind of scrutiny. How is it fair that they’re the only ones who do?”

“So I’m just supposed to wait around until Squirrelflight gets bored and announces it to everyone? Like a mouse too dumb to fear for its life?”

“Squirrelflight isn’t like that.”

Stormfur shakes his head, at a loss. He says, “Hawkfrost was right about you.”

Squirrelflight looks like he’s just raked his claws her across her face. Stormfur doesn’t care. 

He turns around and flees the cave.

--

The apprentices are pressed close to Dawnflower and Swallowtail. When Stormfur emerges from the tunnel, their ears prick forward.

“Any word on the others?” Swallowtail asks.

Stormfur pauses, feeling a pang of guilt that he didn’t think to check in on the rest of the hunting group before he darted. “No news is good news,” he says instead, sitting down.

“Why did they need you?” Reedpaw asks. 

“They didn’t. I was… doing something I shouldn’t have been.”

“Eavesdropping again?” Dawnflower guesses. She tsk’s , shaking her head. “Timberpaw, if I ever catch you eavesdropping on cats, I’ll shred your ears.”

“If Shadepelt had that rule then I wouldn’t have had ears by the time I got my warrior name.”

“And it would have served you right,” Dawnflower retorts, but she’s grinning. It helps to loosen the knot in his stomach just a little.

Reedpaw brushes against him; his head comes up to Stormfur’s shoulder, now. “What have you all been doing?” He asks him.

“Waiting,” Reedpaw awsners. “Tallstar is going to have to announce WindClan’s new deputy soon. It’s almost moon-high.”

It is? Stormfur thinks with a jolt. He hadn’t realized. Time seems to fly by in the caves.

“I wonder who he’ll choose,” Splashpaw murmurs.

“Tornear,” Volepaw says. “I overheard some cats talking about it. They say he’s WindClan’s strongest warrior, now.”

“Strength isn’t everything,” Swallowtail says. “I’ve spoken to Morningflower at Gatherings, and she has a lot of wisdom. Ashfoot and Onewhisker are good cats, too.”

“I like Webfoot a lot,” Dawnflower adds. “Whitetail, too. Tallstar has options.”

Reedpaw looks at Stormfur. “Who do you think Shadepelt will pick as her deputy?”

Isn’t that the question. Stormfur shrugs. “I don’t know. But she really can’t pick a deputy until StarClan has given her their blessing, and her nine lives.”

Swallowtail tilts her head. “I’ve been thinking about that. What would happen if -- stars forbid -- something were to happen to Shadepelt? Who would succeed her then?”

The apprentices turn to face Stormfur, eyes wide. He gives them a reassuring look and says, “According to tradition, StarClan would choose the next leader. They would send Mothwing a sign, and she would have to interpret it.”

“What if she interprets it wrong?” Splashpaw asks, in a small voice.

Dawnflower gives the apprentice a nudge. “Don’t worry about stuff like that right now. Shadepelt is perfectly healthy, and Mothwing is a good medicine cat. I’m sure if she ever needs to interrupt a sign, she’ll get it right.”

Just then, a black-and-white pelt catches Stormfur’s eye. Others notice it the same instant that he does; all eyes are on Tallstar as he walks to the front of the cave.

I haven’t seen much of him during our journey, Stormfur realizes. Mudclaw has been speaking on WindClan’s behalf, mostly. He can understand why, now. Standing in front of all four Clans, Tallstar is a far cry from the leader he used to be. Still, there’s something intangible about him, something that all four leaders carry with them; the blessing from StarClan.

“Cats of all Clans,” Tallstar begins, in a raspy voice. “What has happened today is a tragedy. Mudclaw was a fine warrior, and he would have been a fine leader, I have no doubt. But his spirit hunts among the stars now. I am now faced the the difficult task of choosing his successor.”

And Tallstar’s successor, Stormfur can’t help but think. This next cat will almost certainly be WindClan’s next leader. It feels like every cat is leaning forward, eager to hear Tallstar’s decision. 

He clears his throat. “I trust in StarClan more than I trust in anything else. They have never steered me wrong. That is why I would like for Crowstrike, StarClan’s chosen WindClan warrior, to choose Mudclaw’s successor.”

Wait, what?!

--

He finds Crowstrike pacing in front of the waterfall; Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt have already beaten him there.

“Me?!” Crowstrike exclaims. “He wants me to pick the next deputy! I can’t do that! It’s not proper!”

“It doesn’t go against the Warrior Code,” Tawnypelt points out. “Refusing to obey Tallstar would, though.”

“You’re not helping, Tawnypelt,” Crowstrike snaps.

“She just means, you don’t have long to make a decision,” Brambleclaw says. He looks up. “It’s moon-high now.”

“Neither of you are helping me. Why did you follow me out here if you weren’t going to help me?”

Stormfur steps in. “This isn’t a decision anyone can make for you, Crowstrike.”

“It isn’t a decision I should have to make, either,” he retorts. Panic is making him sound frantic. “‘StarClan’s chosen WindClan warrior’. What a load of rabbit-dung! StarClan could have chosen any cat to make that quest! I’m not special!”

“That’s not true, Crowstrike. You were only an apprentice and they still thought you were the best fit for the quest.” Stormfur moves to brush his pelt against the other tom’s. “They chose you because you are intelligent, honest, dependable, and more than anything else, you are fiercely devoted to WindClan. You have your Clan’s best interest at heart. And Tallstar knows that, too.” He forces Crowstrike to look him in the eye as he says, “That’s why Tallstar trusts you to make this decision. Because even StarClan trusts you. Whoever you choose will be because you believe in them to make WindClan a strong and noble Clan.”

Crowstrike looks at him with watery dark blue eyes. “Okay,” he breathes. “If-- If you think so, Stormfur.”

Stormfur nudges his shoulder. “We’ll go back inside the cave and let you think. If you need us, just call.”

“Okay. I will.” Crowstrike resumes his pacing, but he doesn’t look frantic anymore. His features are contorted in thought.

“Wow,” Tawnypelt mutters, as he herds them into the cave. “Even I’m feeling inspired right now.”

Brambleclaw nods in agreeance. “Next time I’m down on myself, I’m coming to you for a motivational speech, Stormfur.”

Stormfur snorts. “You’re both ridiculous.” 

--

Surprisingly, it isn’t long after that Crowstrike returns to the cave. He still looks a bit overwhelmed, but there’s a clarity about him. He looks at Tallstar, who gestures for him to stand before the Clans. Crowstrike takes his place. 

“I know this is unconventional,” Crowstrike begins, in a voice that trembles only slightly with nerves. “But to be fair, the last few moons of my life haven’t been very conventional, either. And our future -- all of our futures -- are clouded right now. I don’t know what our new homes look like. I don’t know what new threats will rise against us. But I know that I want a leader who will face those challenges bravely, and with wisdom, and will keep WindClan’s best interest at heart.”

He swallows, then says clearly, “That is why I believe Ashfoot should be WindClan’s deputy.”

Murmurs are breathed into the air. Stormfur waits for chaos to inevitably follow, but it never does. All heads turn to Ashfoot, the speckled gray she-cat sitting in the middle of WindClan’s group. Her eyes -- dark blue like her son’s -- are wide with surprise. 

“Crowstrike,” she whispers.

“Wait,” a voice calls out, and Stormfur recognizes Oakfur of ShadowClan. “No offense to Ashfoot, but she’s Crowstrike’s mother. How do we know he didn’t just pick her because of that?”

“It’s a fair question,” Gorsetail, a WindClan warrior, speaks up.

“Maybe Crowstrike is using this opportunity to his own benefit,” Cloudtail mutters.

Those sorts of musings begin to fill the cave. Crowstrike bristles and Stormfur stiffens, well aware of the venom that mouth can spew. But then he watches as Crowstrike closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “My mother was pregnant during the battle with BloodClan,” he begins, and the mention of BloodClan silences the cave. “My father, Deadfoot, was killed in that battle. And before we even turned six moons old, all three of my littermates were killed. And yet, despite being plagued by the deaths of her loved ones, I have never seen my mother’s devotion to WindClan, or her faith in StarClan, ever waver. She has always taught me that we aren’t promised a new dawn, so we must view every day as a gift, and we must serve our Clan as if it were our last day to do so. There has never been a challenge she ran away from. There has never been a task too daunting for her. She fought in the battle with BloodClan, pregnant, because she loves WindClan more than she loves her own life.”

Crowstrike’s gaze finds his mother’s again. “WindClan would be lucky to call Ashfoot their deputy.”

Suddenly Tornear stands up. “Here here!” He calls. “Ashfoot! Ashfoot!”

Rapidly, the rest of WindClan take up the chant. “Ashfoot! Ashfoot! Ashfoot!”

Tallstar moves to stand beside Crowstrike. “Well, Ashfoot?” He asks. “Do you accept?”

The gray she-cat rises to her paws, her eyes bright. “It would be my honor,” she says.

Cheers explode in the cave, bouncing off the stone walls and magnifying until the ground shakes beneath their paws. Stormfur joins in as Ashfoot moves to touch noses first with Tallstar, and then with Crowstrike. A rare smile spreads across Crowstrike’s face. Stormfur can’t contain his own smile. 

Then somebody nudges him from behind. He turns around and comes face to face with Shadepelt. He opens his mouth, but she raises her tail to stop him. “Come with me,” she says.

--

Shadepelt leads him out of the cave, past the waterfall. Stormfur walks beside her, itching to break the silence, but he doesn’t want to push his luck.

After a while, Shadepelt says, “I can’t say I’m very happy with you right now, Stormfur. But I think you should be here in case anything were to go wrong.”

Panic bursts in his chest. “What did you and Firestar decide about Hawkfrost and Mothwing?”

“That this secret is theirs to keep. There is no reason to force them to share it now, especially not while one of them is being accused of intentionally letting a cat die. But we did speak to them both, and I asked them what they wanted to do.”

Stormfur eyes her wearily. “And?”

“And they wanted the opportunity to tell Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt in private.”

Stormfur’s eyes widen. “Right now?”

Shadepelt stops walking, then. They’re standing on a hill, frost dusting every blade of grass as far as the eye can see. From where they’re standing, Stormfur can just make out four figures underneath the moonlight.

Hawkfrost and Mothwing stand side-by-side as they face Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he sees the moment that Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt both stiffen.

Stormfur has thought about this scenario a dozen times before. He never knows how it’s going to play out; if Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt will be angry they didn’t know the truth sooner, or if they’ll be relieved to have more kin; cats who understand the burden that comes with knowing the most hated warrior to ever walk the forest is your father.

It’s selfish to be thinking about himself right now, but he can’t help but agonize over what Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt will think of him. Hawkfrost and Mothwing had been angry, hurt, over the fact that Stormfur didn’t tell them about their half-siblings. Now he’s spent moons traveling with Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt; they’re two of his closest friends. Things are finally not weird with Brambleclaw. Will they resent him for keeping it to himself?

I tried to tell Tawnypelt, he despairs, as he watches the scene unfold before him. Brambleclaw is speaking now, looking from the RiverClan cats and then back to Tawnypelt, again and again. Tawnypelt’s tail lashes. During the quest, I told her I had a secret about her kin, and I asked her if she wanted to know, and she said no.

He wishes he would have just told her then. He wishes he wouldn’t have asked. 

Suddenly Brambleclaw spins around and stomps off. He hears Tawnypelt call after him, but he ignores her. She lingers with the RiverClan cats for a long moment; he can’t hear what she’s saying. Then she’s chasing after Brambleclaw. 

Hawkfrost and Mothwing are rooted where they stand.

Shadepelt curses. “I’ll go tell Firestar to keep an eye on Brambleclaw, and I’ll tell Blackstar about Tawnypelt. Stay here, and make sure Hawkfrost and Mothwing don’t do anything fish-brained, got it?”

“Me?” Stormfur cries, panic pulling into his chest again. “I doubt either of them wants to speak to me right now.”

“Well then, you shouldn’t have involved yourself by eavesdropping on a conversation between leaders,” Shadepelt retorts, making Stormfur wince. “Now you’re involved, so be useful.” She turns around and sprints in the direction of the waterfall.

Stormfur inhales a deep breath of cold air, then begins his descent down the hill.

The wind is blowing against him, not betraying his scent. Hawkfrost and Mothwing are arguing with each other, so consumed that they don’t notice him approaching. 

“How could you ask me that?” Hawkfrost is snarling.

“Why won’t you just answer me?” Mothwing demands. “It’s a yes or a no. Did you kill Mudclaw?”

Stormfur freezes. Mudclaw?

“I never laid a paw on him!”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t let him die!”

“Why would I do something like that, Mothwing?!”

“I don’t know!” Mothwing cries. “But you’ve been acting strange for moons! I can’t pretend to understand the logic behind half of the things you do! Maybe Mudclaw didn’t like you--”

“And so you think I would watch him die?”

Mothwing shakes her head like she’s got bees in her brain. “You’re always going on about allegiances, and how it’s important to maintain relationships with the other Clans--”

“That’s just politics, Mothwing! So I want to be popular. That’s not a crime!”

Mothwing fixes him with a hard look. “What about Squirrelflight?”

Hawkfrost’s lip curls. “What about her?”

“She said Mudclaw shoved her out of the way of the eagle. It was aiming for her. Were you hoping it would kill her?”

Hawkfrost’s fur bristles until he looks twice his size. “My own sister,” he fumes. “My own sister would turn against me over the word of an enemy warrior.”

“I’m not turning against you, but you still won’t just answer me!”

“Why would I dignify that question with an answer?! I don’t like Squirrelflight, that’s not a secret, but to assume that means I would watch her die?”

Mothwing shakes her head again. “Just a few days ago, you were so angry when you thought Leafpaw might’ve told her our secret--”

“And I was right, wasn’t it?” Hawkfrost cuts in, vicious. “I was right about Leafpaw, I was right about Squirrelflight, I said I hoped your forbidden fling would still be worth it after Squirrelflight opened her mouth--”

“You heard Shadepelt and Firestar. They aren’t going to tell anyone.”

“What’s stopping Squirrelflight from standing up in front of the Clans and announcing it herself?” He demands. “I have ambitions too, you know! Do you really think anyone would ever stand for the son of Tigerstar to be made deputy?”

Mothwing says something inaudible. Hawkfrost stiffens. 

“Say that again,” he dares.

Mothwing looks him dead in the eye and says, clearly, “Maybe they shouldn’t.”

Stormfur notices when Hawkfrost’s claws unsheathe. Time to intervene. 

“Hey!” He calls, drawing both of their attention. He immediately regrets it; their faces are full of fury towards each other, but now it’s pointed at him. “Shadepelt sent me to make sure you two were alright.”

“Because she doesn’t trust us anymore,” Hawkfrost spits, glaring at Mothwing. “Because she knows about Tigerstar.”

“Or because one of us was just accused of murder,” Mothwing fires back.

“Or because you’re standing in a wide-open clearing and there are eagles,” Stormfur chimes in. “How about we return to the cave now--”

“Why?” Hawkfrost asks, cutting Stormfur a sharp look. “Because you miss your pretty mate?”

Stormfur groans. “Hawkfrost, not this again--”

“Brook is an impressive cat,” Mothwing speaks up. “If Stormfur’s caught her eye then he should thank the stars.”

“Gee, I’ll tell Leafpaw you said so,” Hawkfrost sneers. 

He starts back in the direction of the cave, making sure to shove past Stormfur as he does so. Stormfur glares after him, his anger taking the sting out of the biting wind. “Volepaw is more mature than you!” He calls after him, just because. Hawkfrost’s tail lashes in response.

Stormfur watches him leave until he can’t anymore. He knows he should follow Hawkfrost, between the two of them Mothwing is less likely to do something fish-brained, but he turns around and asks her, “Do you really think he let Mudclaw die?”

Mothwing sighs, so heavy it sounds like it’s been building all night. “I don’t know,” she bemoans. “He said he never saw the eagle, but you know Hawkfrost; nothing escapes him.”

Stormfur frowns. “I’ve hunted with the Tribe before; sometimes you don’t know the eagle is there until it’s too late.”

“Then maybe he’s telling the truth and I’m the worst sister ever. But Hawkfrost has some of the sharpest senses in RiverClan. I just can’t imagine he didn’t see it swooping.”

Stormfur thinks about that for a moment. Then he asks, “What about Squirrelflight? You think he would let her die?”

Mothwing shrugs, helpless. “Maybe that one is more paranoia than anything. I… moons ago, I had a weird dream…” She trails off. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But the other medicine cats were talking about dreams a few days ago, and now this has happened, and I don’t know what to think about it anymore.”

Stormfur narrows his eyes. “What was the dream like?”

“It wasn’t anything special. I was out gathering herbs, in a clearing a lot like this, actually, when a squirrel darted across my path. Before I could even think about pouncing, a hawk swooped from out of nowhere and snatched it and flew away.” Mothwing scuffs the grass with a paw. “I sound ridiculous. It was just a dream.”

Stormfur swallows. “Except StarClan will send medicine cats dreams to warn them of dangers up ahead.”

Mothwing looks away from him and mutters, “You have to believe in StarClan to be able to receive from them, Stormfur.”

That catches him off guard. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t believe in StarClan.” Mothwing sighs. “I haven’t, ever since Hawkfrost and I visited the Moonstone with Leopardstar. You all told us what to expect, but nothing happened when I touched my nose to it. I didn’t even dream.”

Stormfur’s thoughts are running wild like a hare. I’ve never heard of a medicine cat who doesn’t believe in StarClan. They can’t-- they can’t communicate with her. Unbidden, Swallowtail’s question from earlier comes to mind: what happens if Shadepelt dies before she can appoint a new deputy?

His blood feels like it’s freezing in his veins, or maybe it’s just the wind. The mountains were already chilly the first time he traveled through them at the tail-end of green-leaf. Now they’re unforgivingly cold.

Mothwing still has her face hidden from him, but he can read her body language well enough to know that she’s miserable. As much as he wants to question her until she says something he latch onto, it isn’t fair to her.

“Let’s go back to the cave,” he says instead. She looks up at him. 

“Are you going to tell Shadepelt what I told you?” She asks.

He pauses. “Does Shadepelt know you don’t believe in StarClan?”

She shakes her head. “Only you, Hawkfrost, and Leafpaw know.”

“Then you should tell Shadepelt yourself. I won’t do it for you, but she needs to know.”

Mothwing sighs. “Alright. And, about my dream?”

He hesitates. “I don’t know what to make of it. It sounds so fitting after what happened today, but StarClan can’t send you visions or dreams, so…” he trails off.

Mothwing still looks miserable. “Right.”

They begin heading back to the waterfall together. Stormfur’s thoughts are still running wild, but he’s exhausted. He tries to shut them down the best that he can, but abruptly, he recalls something. “Hey. During your warrior ceremony, Sedgecreek said that if StarClan approved of you then they would send Mudfur a sign--”

“Hawkfrost.”

“What?”

Mothwing’s eyes are glued to the ground as they walk. “After you left on your quest, it had been so long since my warrior ceremony, the elders decided StarClan must not have approved of me. Hawkfrost faked a sign for Mudfur the next day.”

Stormfur inhales such a deep breath, it almost hurts. “Of course. Hawkfrost strikes again.”

“Isn’t it funny how somehow, everything always comes back to him?”

“Funny isn’t the word I would use,” grumbles Stormfur.

“He told me the truth after Mudfur accepted me,” Mothwing goes on. “I was furious at him, but I didn’t want to tell Mudfur or Leopardstar and get Hawkfrost punished, so I kept my mouth shut. But that’s when our relationship started to fracture. We haven’t been the same since.”

“That makes a lot of sense now, looking back. Mistyfoot had told me that you two had been at each other’s throats since you became a medicine cat.”

Mothwing’s ears droop. “We used to be so close,” she mutters. “He was my best friend, even if he was a fuzzball. I miss the way things used to be, but it feels like too much has happened to ever go back to that. He’ll always be my brother, but I just…” She sighs. “I just don’t know.”

I don’t know, either, Stormfur thinks. Not about Hawkfrost, not about anything, really.

In a show of solidarity, Stormfur presses his pelt to Mothwing’s, sharing his warmth. Mothwing leans her weight on him, grateful, and if Stormfur can help her shoulder this burden even for just a little while, then he will.

“Thanks, Stormfur,” she whispers.

“Don’t mention it.” 

-- 

Despite Mudclaw’s death, the Clans seem to be in good spirits when Stormfur returns to the cave. Ashfoot is certainly popular, surrounded by warriors from every Clan offering her their congratulations. She dips her head modestly, but pride shines clearly in her eyes.

Crowstrike made the right choice, Stormfur thinks to himself. He didn’t know Ashfoot well, but from what he did know, she was a good and fair cat.

Crowstrike had called Mudclaw an angry cat. But Ashfoot, despite having suffered so much heartbreak and loss, still seemed compassionate and kind. The sort of leader who would choose peace whenever possible. 

Feeling a little bit lighter, Stormfur goes to his nest. Habitually, he expects to find Tawnypelt already waiting for him.

She isn’t.

Stormfur stops and scans the cave, but he can’t pick out her tortoiseshell-and-white pelt among the many others. After a second scan, he realizes that Brambleclaw is still missing, too.

I didn’t get the chance to ask Mothwing about their reactions, he realizes. As soon as that weight lifted, it was back again. If I had any doubt that they were upset…

With a sigh, he circles his too-large nest before settling into it. His gaze drifts across the cave.

Crowstrike is laying with his Clanmates, laughing at some story that Thistleheart is telling. Onewhisker and Whitetail are there, too, and Stormfur remembers when Crowstrike was anxious to face his Clanmates after the quest, saying that he wasn’t popular, that he had no friends; Stormfur had encouraged him to open up to his Clanmates and try and be friendly. He’s happy that Crowstrike seems to have taken his advice, at least.

The apprentices travel in a pack, borders a forgotten thing, and they seem to have welcomed RiverClan’s newest apprentices into their ranks. Reedpaw, Volepaw, Timberpaw and Splashpaw are listening with wide eyes as Smokepaw and Talonpaw recount the time ShadowClan had a dog loose on their territory; Weaselpaw and Owlpaw of WindClan are there, too, trying to fake indifference but clearly captivated by the brothers’ story.

The ghost of a smile touches his face. “Stormfur, for the first time there is true peace between all four Clans. It's possible. It could be like this forever."

Stormfur is starting to believe Feathertail. Nothing lasts forever, not even peace, but with leaders like Ashfoot and Shadepelt, and apprentices and kits who grow up without borders, it can last a long time.

But they still have a long way to go. He’s reminded of this when Squirrelflight emerges from a tunnel. Like a magnet their eyes meet, and Squirrelflight, usually so brazen, drops his gaze almost immediately. Head low, she heads to where Shrewpaw is sharing tongues with Ashfur and Whitewing.

It’s petty of him, but Stormfur still doesn’t feel sorry for anything he said to her. He doubts she feels sorry for what she said, either. They’re even. Usually Stormfur cares more about being friends than being even, but this time is the exception. 

It does leave him alone in his too-big nest, though. He considers asking Dawnflower to share it, but when he spots her, she’s in a quiet corner with Sootfur. With a jolt, Stormfur realizes that they’re sharing their own nest.

The other side of peace and forgotten borders. Maybe there’s a future where cats can take a mate from rival Clans, but that doesn’t seem realistic. At least, not to the product of a ThunderClan and RiverClan romance who has spent so much of his life paying for it.

He resolves to talk to Dawnflower about her friendship with Sootfur soon, but it’s a conversation for another night. Today has gone on long enough. 

He closes his eyes and tries to find sleep.

--

Talon asks him to go hunting the next day. 

“After what happened yesterday, I’m not so sure I want to,” Stormfur says reluctantly.

Talon winces. “I understand. But you have a talent for our way of hunting, Stormfur. You’re built for it. And we have many mouths to feed.”

It really isn’t fair to ask the Tribe’s prey-hunters to feed their own as well as four Clans. Stormfur agrees to go for that reason, but inwardly, there’s still a young apprentice who glows at the fact that his build is finally something to be proud of.

--

Their group is made up of himself, Brook, Skyheart, Ashfur, Russetfur, and a few Tribe cats.

“I thought the Stoneteller didn’t leave the cave unless they had to,” Stormfur says to Brook, conversationally.

“Before I was the Stoneteller, I was the best prey-hunter in the Tribe. Who is going to tell me I can’t join a hunt?” Brook challenges. Well, she’s got him there. “Besides, I don’t do it often. Only on special occasions.”

The pointed look she gives him makes it very clear that Stormfur is the special occasion. Heat rises to his face, and he forces himself to look ahead so that he doesn’t trip over his own paws. Mudclaw died literally yesterday. He can’t afford to be distracted. 

--

The group returns with two squirrels, a couple of mice, and yes, an eagle. Another group returns with three rabbits, courtesy of Crowstrike, Onewhisker, and Gorsetail. Rabbits are difficult to catch on the mountainside, but nothing is more impressive than an eagle.

“You should have seen it,” Ashfur exclaims, as a crowd gathers around. “Brook and Stormfur leapt at the exact same time, both of them hooking into its wings. They brought it down like it was nothing!”

Cats turn to look at him in awe. Stormfur isn’t used to cats looking at him like that. He ducks his head, bashful, as Graystripe shoulders him proudly.

--

Stormfur is sharing tongues with Brook, Lavenderhaze, Whitewing, and Ashfur for the evening when Reedpaw walks up to him, Splashpaw, Weaselpaw, and Talonpaw behind him.

“They want to hear about how you caught the eagle,” Reedpaw explains.

Stormfur purrs. “It wasn’t just me, you know. Hunting eagles is a group effort.”

“It was basically all you,” Ashfur says. “Well, you and Brook.” 

“Useless Ashfur, being useless,” Whitewing teases. 

Ashfur flops onto his side and groans. “Your words, they wound me.”

Whitewing eyes him. “Are you faking being dead? Is that a jab at Mudclaw?”

“What?! No!” Ashfur shoots Weaselpaw an embarrassed look. “I promise, it wasn’t.”

Weaselpaw shrugs. “I didn’t like Mudclaw anyway.” 

“O-Okay…”

“There really isn’t much of a story to tell,” Stormfur says loudly, before Ashfur can accidentally incite a riot; he seems like a cat with that kind of luck. “We had already caught a mouse, so we used it as bait for the eagle. Once it swooped down to grab it, Brook and I leaped on top of it, and I bit into it’s neck to kill it.”

“Wow,” Splashpaw breathes. “You make it sound so easy!”

Stormfur purrs. “It’s not easy, but it helps to have a partner.”

“And Stormfur is a very good partner,” Brook adds.

Lavenderhaze, the gossip-hound that she is, shoots Stormfur a sly smile. “I thought that was Hawkfrost’s line.”

Brook tilts her head to the side. “Who is Hawkfrost?”

For some reason the entire cave falls silent at that, proving once again that half-Clan kits are cursed at birth and life will wrong them at every turn.

Across the cave, sitting with Rowanclaw, Blossomtail, and Webfoot, Hawkfrost turns around very slowly. There is murder in his eyes.

“That’s Hawkfrost,” Splashpaw says helpfully , gesturing to him with her tail.

Brook shifts to look at Hawkfrost. She meets his eye and offers him a smile. He does not return it.

Lavenderhaze has the decency to look sheepish as she leans over and whispers, “I’m so sorry I didn’t know you hadn’t told Brook about him--”

“Why would Stormfur tell me about Hawkfrost?” Brook asks, turning back around and conveniently missing the way Hawkfrost starts gnashing his teeth in a fit. 

“Um,” Stormfur says, feeling very much like he is tiptoeing through a field of sleeping dogs and one wrong step will result in his death. “We’re Clanmates.”

“They used to be lovers,” Splashpaw says helpfully . 

“What?!”

Ashfur looks between the two toms. “I didn’t know you two used to be lovers!”

“Hush, Ashfur!” Whitewing hisses. “Now is not the time!”

“Splashpaw, you can’t make up things that aren’t true,” Stormfur says, refusing to look at either Hawkfrost or Brook.

Splashpaw bristles, appalled by the notion. “I’m not making it up! Swallowtail told me that you two have so much sexual tension because you went on your quest before it could be resolved, and Hawkfrost still hasn’t forgiven you for disappearing yet!”

The silence that had fallen over the cave disappears in an instant. Ashfur sucks in such a gasp that he starts choking. Somehow, “they used to be lovers” sounds tame now.

“Swallowtail!” Stormfur hisses, whirling around.

“That’s not exactly how I said it,” Swallowtail defends herself, giving Splashpaw a look. “But she asked me about the night everyone was talking about Hawkfrost jumping your bones, so I tried to give her some context--”

“Wait,” Cedarheart says, standing up. “I thought we established that Brambleclaw jumped Stormfur’s bones?”

“It was Tawnypelt,” Rainwhisker says quickly.

“No it was not,” snarls Rowanclaw.

Skyheart frowns at Stormfur as if he’s the one who keeps bringing it up. “Can we please stop talking about that night?”

“Darkest day in RiverClan history,” Heavystep agrees.

Stormfur openly glares at Heavystep. “You’re sure? You’re sure that’s the darkest day in RiverClan history? Are you sure about that?”

Heavystep cringes. “Well, maybe not the darkest,” he amends. “But it’s up there.”

“Stormfur and I were never lovers,” Hawkfrost says loudly, fighting to be heard over the mess of voices. For some reason, it stings.

“In my defense, I wasn’t apart of RiverClan when all of that went down,” Swallowtail says, looking apologetic. “I just know Hawkfrost was irritable and cold when I first joined, and when I asked Mosspelt about it, she told me he was upset about Stormfur disappearing.”

The worst part of all of this is the fact that the only untrue thing that’s been said is that Stormfur and Hawkfrost used to be lovers. Everything else is true. 

Hawkfrost stands to his paws and storms out of the cave, tail lashing behind him. Stormfur wants to chase after him, but he knows that nothing good comes from trying to talk to Hawkfrost when he needs space. He just stares after him miserably, all too aware of Brook by his side.

Whitewing takes pity on him. “Ashfur, you need to take one for the team,” she whispers.

“Huh?”

Whitewing raises her voice. “Don’t be so insensitive, Ashfur! First you mock Mudclaw for dying, and now you’re laughing at Stormfur’s expense!”

Ashfur’s eyes widen in alarm. “I didn’t laugh! Lavenderhaze, did you hear me laughing?”

“But you did mock Mudclaw for dying?!” Nightcloud snaps, rising to her paws, Tornear and Gorsetail right behind her.

“No! I didn’t!”

“He did,” Weaselpaw confirms. “He laid on his side and poked his tongue out of his mouth.”

Ashfur gapes at the apprentice. “Why-- you little-- weasel!”

“Now you call my apprentice a weasel?!” Webfoot demands, joining the group of affronted WindClan warriors.

“I thought his name was Weaselpaw?” Reedpaw whispers to Splashpaw.

“Fox-dung, have we been calling him the wrong name this entire time?” Splashpaw worries. “That's so embarrassing!”

Ashfur backs up as WindClan warriors stalk toward him. “No! I mean, I did, but, he told me he didn’t like Mudclaw anyway!”

Weaselpaw’s jaw drops. “How dare you! He was my uncle!”

Wisely, Ashfur realizes that he cannot take on all of WindClan by himself, so he turns around and bolts down one of the tunnels. The WindClan warriors chase after him, shouting.

“Does Ashfur actually think he can outrun all of WindClan?” Lavenderhaze asks, incredulous.

“He’s actually a very fast cat,” Whitewing says, a bit defensively. “Only Sandstorm is faster than him.”

“Okay, but fast enough to outrun WindClan?”

Slowly, concern itches itself into Whitewing’s features. “I see your point. Oh. Oh stars this isn’t-- Ashfur!” Whitewing darts down the same tunnel. 

Mousefur looks at Dustpelt, accusing. “Of course Ashfur would be the one to accidentally incite a riot.”

Dustpelt sighs, heavily. “He’s doing his best, Mousefur. Lay off.”

Mist flops down beside Stormfur with a grin. “You Clan cats are the most entertainment we’ve had in seasons!” She exclaims. “Stay for as long as you like!”

Stormfur manages a weak smile and tries to take that as a compliment.

--

He waits for the chance to talk to Hawkfrost. Even though things have been tense between them recently (and isn’t that an understatement), he still feels like he owes him an apology. Stormfur is used to being publicly humiliated by this point, but it’s really not fair that Hawkfrost keeps getting lumped in with him.

Hawkfrost is intent on not giving Stormfur the time of day. He’s never alone, and when he is, he excuses himself as soon as Stormfur starts to approach him.

So instead Stormfur turns his attention to his Dawnflower dilemma.

“Let me stop you right there, Stormfur,” Dawnflower says. “I love you, but you have cats from two Clans and a Tribe fighting over you right now. I think you should worry about your own love life before you come for mine.”

“Hypocite,” Sootfur adds scornfully.

Stormfur watches, dumbfounded, as Dawnflower and Sootfur walk away with their tails loosely intertwined. The fact that still no one else has noticed they’re mates is more offensive than anything that was just said to his face.

--

“I think we should resume traveling again,” Tawnypelt says one afternoon, having gathered them all together. “The break has been nice, but Rock Beneath Still Water told me that snow will be hitting the mountains soon.”

Squirrelflight makes a face. “Oh, yeah. We definitely want to miss that.”

“Fine,” Brambleclaw shrugs.

“Works for me,” Stormfur says.

None of them can look each other in the eye.

Crowstrike looks between his four friends, confused, before shaking his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”

--

Brook asks him to take a walk with her. 

The sun has just started to set, turning the mountainside a shade of golden. The sunset is on full display, the sky swirled with pinks and purples and oranges. Even in leaf-bare, even when it’s bitingly cold, there’s still a sort of majesty to the mountains, something wondrous and powerful. 

And he has a wonderful, powerful she-cat by his side. Stormfur ought to thank the stars, but instead, he feels a creeping sense of dread. This conversation is unavoidable, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.

“I’ve enjoyed spending these last few days together,” Brook begins.

“I have, too,” Stormfur says honestly.

“You fit in well here,” she goes on. “You’re a natural prey-hunter, and my Tribemates all like you.”

Stormfur’s heart starts to feel heavy, like something is weighing it down. “I really like them, too.”

“I remember, you once told me that RiverClan has not always treated you kindly. You have not always fit in there.” She looks at him now, the sunset reflected in her amber eyes. “I understand it was important to you to complete your quest, but you did that. Now, you are free to choose your own destiny. If you wanted to, you could stay here. With me.”

Brook is right; but Stormfur can’t stay.

“I can’t,” he whispers.

Her brow furrows. “Is it because of my father? I had told him not to speak to you while you were here. I did not want him to bring up any… unpleasant memories.”

Well, that explains why he hasn’t seen so much as a hair on the old Stoneteller’s pelt in the days they’ve been here. 

“No, he hasn’t said anything to me. But, as much as I like you, Brook, and believe me, I think you’re amazing,” he stops, looking for the right words. “The mountains are beautiful, but this will always be the place my sister died.”

“Feathertail is our greatest hero. We speak of her with the highest respect.”

“I know,” he says, heart twisting. “But you have to understand, I don’t… I don’t see her sacrifice as a good thing.”

“She saved my Tribe,” Brook argues.

“I would rather her be alive,” Stormfur says, hoarsely.

It dawns on Brook, then, that they regard Feathertail’s sacrifice very differently. “I see.”

“I can’t live with cats that were willing to kill me,” Stormfur says, trying to make her understand. “No matter how nice they are to me now.”

Anger flashes across her face. “But that is exactly what you are doing in RiverClan.”

Like claws across his muzzle, it stings.

But then something rises up inside of Stormfur. “I think I can change RiverClan, though,” he presses. “Shadepelt is going to be a good leader, and the cats who threw me into that foxhole-- they’re going to retire soon. They won’t be the ones spearheading RiverClan anymore. I will be, me and my friends, and I,” he stops. He’s refused to accept it, scared of being ridiculed, but now knows it with certainty. “I want to be my Clan’s deputy. I want to protect cats like me, I want to help bring peace to the Clans. And I think I have a real chance of it.”

Slowly, the anger fades from Brook’s face. “I feel the same way about my Tribe,” she murmurs. “My father led us fearfully, and it only led to death. I want my Tribe to grow in peace.”

“It’s going to,” Stormfur says surely. “You’re a good leader. I can already see such a difference here.”

She smiles at him. There’s a hint of sadness to it, though. “Hawkfrost is a lucky cat,” she says.

Stormfur snorts. “Hawkfrost hates me.”

“No, he loves you. I can see the way he looks at you.”

“Well, he’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“That may be true,” she admits. “But some cats are very stubborn. Sometimes you need to cuff their ears a few times to make them see reason.”

It’s not bad advice. 

Brook leans forward, and Stormfur meets her halfway, touching noses. “I wish you the best on your journey,” she murmurs.

“Thank you, Brook, for everything.” She smiles at him again, and it’s a little less sad.

She leaves him to return to the cave. He watches as she walks away; deep down, he knew he would never stay with the Tribe. RiverClan has not been glorious since he was born, but he thinks it could be again. He wants it to be. Even if Shadepelt picks a different deputy, he still wants to be there, leading it into it’s next era. 

For Reedpaw’s sake, he wants to be there.

“Let me be the first to say congratulations.”

He spins around. Hawkfrost is standing there, alone. 

Feeling encouraged by his conversation with Brook, he walks towards Hawkfrost. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“So you could break the news gently?” Hawkfrost asks, and Stormfur stops.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re staying,” Hawkfrost says, his entire body tense with anger. “I overheard Brook talking to her Tribemates earlier. She was going to ask you to stay with her. It looks like you said yes.”

Stormfur scowls, his good mood evaporating. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know that certainly didn’t look like an unhappy conversation.”

“Because some cats are capable of having difficult conversations without losing their temper,” Stormfur retorts. “Not that you would know anything about that.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that all of our conversations are horrible?” Hawkfrost demands. “Seriously, I’ve been spending a lot of time with other cats on this journey, and nobody else has to have the conversations that we do. Nobody argues about, about Bonehill, or fathers, or disappearing in the middle of the night, or secret lovers--”

“You can’t blame me for everything that goes wrong,” Stormfur fumes. “That’s not fair!”

“It always comes back to you, though!”

“We always come back to each other,” Stormfur snaps.

He meant for that to sound angry, but in the heat of the moment, it sounds passionate. But as Hawkfrost glares at him for all he’s worth, eyes locked on Stormfur, he realizes that-- maybe that’s why things have never been easy. Maybe he’s been reading Hawkfrost wrong all this time. Maybe Hawkfrost’s anger has been a mask for something else.

His place in RiverClan; the deputyship; what happened on that rescue mission; the one thing, the only thing that Stormfur has ever been sure of is that he loves Hawkfrost.

He decides to let that be enough.

Stormfur starts towards him again. Hawkfrost stands his ground.

“I told Brook I can’t stay.”

He watches as Hawkfrost’s expression begins to crumble. “I don’t care if you stay or not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Stormfur says, stepping closer. “I think you care a lot.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Hawkfrost,” Stormfur whispers, just a whisker away, “stop fighting this. We’re just making ourselves miserable.”

He thinks about their last day in RiverClan, standing by the dried up river, when Hawkfrost said I loved you and Stormfur was convinced he had ruined everything. Hawkfrost had looked at him with a similar expression that day, raw and vulnerable in ways that he never was. 

“You’re going to run away again,” Hawkfrost whispers. “You always do.”

“I told Brook I can’t stay,” Stormfur repeats. 

“This time,” Hawkfrost insists. “But the next time things get hard--”

“When things get hard, you’re the cat I want by my side.” He brushes his muzzle against Hawkfrost’s tentatively, giving him the space to pull away if he doesn’t want this. 

Hawkfrost doesn’t pull away.

“My entire life feels like it’s been one hardship after another,” Stormfur goes on. “But falling in love with you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Hawkfrost is trembling like he’s one decision away from bolting. But he stays.

“It happened so smoothly that I didn’t even realize I was in love with you until I was apart from you, and every day since then, all I’ve wanted is to be with you.” He closes his eyes, unable to hold Hawkfrost’s piercing gaze for another moment without knowing how he feels. “Say something, fish-brain.”

Hawkfrost takes in a breath. Stormfur feels it against his muzzle. “Stormfur, I… I can’t…”

Don’t do this again.

“I can’t lose you,” he finishes, and Stormfur opens his eyes. “So you better not ever run away from me again.”

Stormfur huffs out a laugh. “I won’t, I promise.”

“If you do, I’ll track you down and kill you.”

With a groan, he pulls away. “Way to ruin the moment, Hawkfrost.”

But Hawkfrost is back on him within a second, pressing his face into Stormfur’s neck and breathing in. Stormfur freezes, but then his muscles relax and he’s smiling again. He bunts his head against Hawkfrost’s shoulder and teases, “Isn’t this so much better than fighting?”

“Whatever. I win all of our fights anyway.”

“That is not true.”

To prove his point, Hawkfrost pushes him. Stormfur gapes at him. 

“What is wrong with--”

Hawkfrost launches himself at Stormfur with a mock growl and they go rolling down the hill. Once they hit the bottom Hawkfrost pins him down, and Stormfur is ready to give him an earful for ruining the moment again, when Hawkfrost leans into his personal space, smirking, and says, “I win.”

Heartbreakingly handsome. That’s what he’s always called Hawkfrost. He thinks it again now, but his heart isn’t broken.

“I’m tired of you always pinning me down,” Stormfur says, not a trace of annoyance in his tone.

“This is where I like you best, though,” Hawkfrost replies, and the heat gathering in Stormfur’s stomach is not unfamiliar, but it’s never burned like this before. Every hair on his pelt feels like it’s on fire. This moment is more exhiliariating than hunting eagles.

“I love you,” Stormfur whispers. He doesn’t know why he’s whispering. As far as he’s concerned, they’re the only two cats on the mountainside.

Bathed golden in the sunset, Hawkfrost rubs his cheek against Stormfur’s and whispers back, “I love you, Stormfur. I love you so, so much.”

Chapter Text

Ashfur ducks his head. “I didn’t mean to,” he mumbles, petulant.

Firestar sighs. “I want to believe you, Ashfur, but this is the second time you’ve accidentally incited a riot.”

“Two times is a coincidence,” Mousefur yells from across the cave. “Three times is a pattern!”

“Leave him alone, Mousefur!” Dustpelt snaps. 

Hawkfrost hums. “Ashfur has incited a riot twice now?”

“Yeah,” Rainwhisker winces. “The first time-- well, it’s a long story. Mousefur still hasn’t forgiven him for it, if you can’t tell. He’s probably the only cat with worse luck than you, Stormfur.”

Selfishly, Stormfur is glad that somebody out there has worse luck than him, although it’s unfortunate that it’s Ashfur; he’s always liked Ashfur. 

“I’ve heard Stormfur’s luck is changing, actually,” Hawkfrost says smoothly. “According to Lavenderhaze, he has a very handsome new mate.”

Rainwhisker grins. “Well, Lavenderhaze is up to date on all the best gossip. Congratulations, Stormfur.”

Stormfur rolls his eyes, but he can’t help his own grin as Hawkfrost leans into his fur. “Thanks,” he says, his voice muffled as he nuzzles Hawkfrost’s neck.

--

Their journey resumes tomorrow. Stormfur should be resting in preparation, but he wants one more night to sit and talk to Feathertail.

Somebody else has the same idea.

Stormfur halts, squinting at the figure sitting in front of the waterfall, their muzzle pointed up at the claw-moon. The wind carries their scent to him: Graystripe.

He’s close enough to hear Graystripe’s voice, murmuring softly, but too far away to make out the words. Suddenly, Stormfur is reminded of being an apprentice and finding Graystripe and Featherpaw sitting on opposite sides of the river, talking underneath the light of the claw-moon. He used to be jealous that they never asked him to join them, and then he regretted that he simply never asked if he could join.

Maybe it’s not too late.

“Is it okay if I interrupt?” Stormfur asks, alerting Graystripe of his presence. Graystripe turns around, and his amber eyes are already soft, but they grow impossibly softer when he looks at his son.

“Of course.”

Stormfur slides next to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you here myself.”

“You didn’t have to. One of the Tribecats called that ledge the Sacrifice of Falling Feather. I pieced it together myself.” His eyes are locked on the ledge. “She jumped from all the way up there?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” Stormfur whispers back. He nods to a spot just a few lengths away. “I was standing right there. The Sharptooth was climbing down the waterfall, and Feathertail jumped on its back.” He points his muzzle down, at the bottom of the waterfall, a deep blue pool. “She died right there.”

“On impact?” Graystripe asks. 

No, not on impact, but then Stormfur remembers that’s what he originally told his father; that her death was painless. He nods.

Graystripe takes in a deep, shuddering breath. “I prayed to the stars every single night that wherever you two were, you would both come home safely. I begged Silverstream to follow you to the ends of the earth…” he trails off. “But now they’re together again. And as terribly as I miss her, I am so happy that they can finally be together. It's Silverstream's turn to get to love her.”

“Do you think they’re getting along?”

“I hope so. They’re strikingly similar.”

He isn’t surprised. “Our Clanmates were always telling her how much they looked alike.”

“It wasn’t just physically. Their personalities, their mannerisms; it’s strange because Silverstream didn’t get to raise either of you, and yet, I find so much of her in you both.”

Stormfur looks at his father sharply. “Both of us?” He repeats. “I remind you of Silverstream?”

“More than you know.” Graystripe looks at him, quizically. “Why does that surprise you?"

"It's just... no one has ever, ever compared me to her before. It's only ever been you."

A rueful smile plays across Graystripe’s face. "Well, I think I knew a side of Silverstream that nobody else did. Maybe you favor me physically, but believe me, Stormfur, you could be nobody else's son." 

Heat wells behind his eyes. He feels smaller, younger, just an apprentice who didn’t know what to think about the mother he never got to meet. His Clanmates rarely spoke of her because to acknowledge her death would be to acknowledge that she left behind two half-Clan kits, and Crookedstar’s perfect daughter would never break the Warrior Code. 

“I wish I could have met her,” Stormfur murmurs. 

“I wish you could have, too. But I know she must be so proud of the warriors you and Feathertail grew into.”

“You think?”

“More than anything else, she wanted you to be happy. And you certainly look happy these days.” Stormfur’s pelt starts to prickle; he knows where this is going. “I guess you worked things out with Hawkfrost. It’s official, now? You’re mates?”

Stormfur nods.

“You’ll have your paws full. You chose a challenging cat to fall in love with.”

“It sounds like you did, too.”

“In different ways, yes.”

Stormfur sighs, frustrated. “Just say it: Firestar told you who Hawkfrost’s father is.”

“Stormfur--"

“I thought he agreed with Shadepelt not to tell anyone?”

“I’m his deputy, Stormfur. I’ve filled in for him as the leader of ThunderClan before. He thought it was important that I know.” 

“In case someone else dies?” Stormfur asks tersely. “So you know who to accuse first?”

“Stormfur, being the son of Tigerstar does not make him or Mothwing inherently evil, but… I told you about how similar you and Feathertail were to Silverstream even though she didn’t raise you. There’s something to be said about blood and how it shapes you into who you are. And you must admit, Hawkfrost’s reputation isn’t the best.” 

“You think he broke Shrewpaw’s leg because of Tigerstar?”

“I think Tigerstar was willing to cross boundaries to win battles. He was a powerful warrior, the most powerful warrior in the entire forest at one point, and he got there by being ruthless. I see that same trait in Hawkfrost.”

Ruthless. There’s that word again.

“You don’t know him,” Stormfur protests hotly. “Nobody knows him like I do!”

“I’m sure that’s true. I just hope he’s exactly the kind of cat you think he is.” Sensing Stormfur’s frustration, Graystripe leans over and nudges him playfully. “I’m your father, Stormfur, I’m entitled to worry about you. You’ll understand someday when you and Hawkfrost have your own kits.”

In typical Graystripe fashion, Stormfur goes from prickling with frustration to groaning, embarrassed. “Dad--”

“All I ask is that you name one of them after me,” Graystripe goes on. 

“I’ll name it Embarrassingkit,” Stormfur grumbles, face hot.

“Funny, that’s what I almost named you.”

Stormfur snorts. “Sure.”

Graystripe stares straight ahead, smiling to himself.

“... you are kidding, right?”

“Sure,” Graystripe copies him.

“Dad!”

“Fine, I’m kidding,” Graystripe purrs. "Besides, I didn't choose your name anyway. Silverstream did."

That piques his interest. "I thought she-- I always assumed she died before you named us."

"Please, we discussed names for an entire moon before you were born. We were both so excited to become parents." There's a wistfulness to Graystripe's voice that Stormfur has never heard until tonight. It makes him sound younger, like talking about Silverstream sends him back in time. He wonders what memories are playing in his father's mind right now, which ones he holds the closest to his heart.

For the first time, Stormfur asks a question he's never had the nerve to before: "What was Silverstream like?"

Slowly, the wistfulness in Graystripe's voice manifests as a small, heart-twisting smile across his face. Stormfur wonders, then, if anyone has ever cared enough to ask his father about her before. If he's ever been allowed to share those memories of her with anyone, or if his own Clanmates have refused to acknowledge his Code-breaking crime as well. 

They stay up late that night, sharing stories underneath the light of the claw-moon and a thousand glistening stars. 

--

Saying farewell to the Tribe is easier the second time around.

The Clan leaders thank Brook for the Tribe’s hospitality, and she graciously brushes them off. Her eyes meet Stormfur’s when she says,  It’s been a pleasure.

Hawkfrost, who doesn’t have a possessive bone in his body, makes sure their pelts are touching the entire time. For his part, Stormfur just smiles winsomely.

--

The five of them gather as the Clans finish saying goodbye to the Tribecats.

“Do we still need a leader?” Crowstrike asks. “It’s not like we know where we’re going anymore. Our quest stopped at the sun-drown-place, and our homes certainly aren’t there.”

“Having a leader would keep things running smoothly,” Tawnypelt says.

“You just want to keep bossing everyone around,” Crowstrike accuses.

Tawnypelt shrugs agreeably. “It’s a perk.”

“I wish we knew what we were looking for,” Stormfur says. “All Midnight said is to keep following the dying warrior. We could still have moons of walking to do.”

“Don’t say that,” Squirrelflight groans.

Behind them, somebody clears their throat. Stormfur turns around and is surprised to see Mothwing and Leafpaw.

“I might be able to help with that,” Leafpaw says.

“She had a vision,” Mothwing adds.

Stormfur’s ears perk forward. “What did you see in your vision, Leafpaw?”

“I saw a large pool of water, and it was filled with stars.” Her amber eyes are bright. “I know it isn’t much to go off of, but in the vision, I just knew that I was looking at our new home.”

Squirrelflight shoulders Crowstrike. “You were saying, about the sun-drown-place?”

Crowstrike curses under his breath.

“The sun-drown-place was endless water,” Stormfur points out. “Leafpaw saw a pool of water. It doesn’t sound like they’re the same places.”

“So then, we need to keep traveling until we find a large pool of water filled with stars,” Brambleclaw surmises. They all exchange looks.

Tawnypelt shrugs and says, “The dying warrior message didn’t make much sense either until we saw the falling star.”

“We’ll know it when we see it,” Stormfur agrees. He gives Leafpaw a smile. “Thanks for telling us about your vision.”

“Of course!” She chirps. She bunts her head against Squirrelflight’s shoulder, and while the sisters prepare to separate, Stormfur’s attention falls on Mothwing.

She’s carefully avoiding eye contact with Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt; he notices they’re doing the same thing. It tugs at his heart. I wish I could smooth things over for all of them.

It occurs to him that maybe he can help speed up the process.

--

Stormfur drops back until he’s walking beside Tawnypelt. 

“I have a secret for you,” Stormfur begins.

Tawnypelt eyes him. “The last time you told me you had a secret for me, it was that I have half-siblings.”

“This is a good one, I promise.” 

Tawnypelt sighs. “Fine, let’s hear it.”

 “Hawkfrost was talking to Rowanclaw about RiverClan’s new apprentices, and Rowanclaw mentioned that Blackstar is waiting to make Tallpoppy’s kits apprentices until we find our new homes, but he’s already got mentors picked out.”

At that, Tawnypelt’s ears perk forward. “And?” She prompts.

“And, you’re going to mentor Marshkit.”

A purr bursts from Tawnypelt’s throat. “Yes! I was praying I would get one of her kits, but after disappearing for the quest, I didn’t know if Blackstar would make me wait.” Then her expression screws. “Wait a moment, Rowanclaw knew this entire time and he told Hawkfrost but not me?”

“To be fair, I did force Hawkfrost to inquire,” Stormfur admits. “He’s extremely persuasive.” Then, giving Tawnypelt a pointed look, he adds, “Like somebody else I know.”

Tawnypelt snorts, not quite looking at him. “It sounds like Hawkfrost has me beat.”

“Still, it sounds like it runs in the family.”

“I can tell you want to talk about this, Stormfur, but I’ve already said my piece. So if you’re trying to whittle answers out of me for Hawkfrost, then you can tell him what I said the other night still stands.”

“What did you say?”

“That just because Tigerstar is their father doesn’t mean they’re like him. And they shouldn’t feel ashamed by his legacy because that’s his legacy, not ours. But just because we share a father doesn’t change how I view either of them; they’re still RiverClan, and I’m still ShadowClan. I’m open to getting to know them the same as I am any rival warrior."

It sounds fair enough to Stormfur. He nods, then asks, “And Brambleclaw?”

She sighs. “Well, he reacted a bit more emotionally. When we were apprentices, he used to say that he wished Swiftpaw and Lynxkit had survived, so that we had more kin to understand us. So I think he would have been more accepting of them if it had been anyone else.” She gives him a look. “It’s no secret that Brambleclaw doesn’t like Hawkfrost. A lot of that has to do with you. So to find out they’re kin? It was like rubbing dirt in an open wound. Not only did Brambleclaw lose you to Hawkfrost, he lost you to his half-brother.”

Frustration flares in Stormfur’s chest. “He didn’t lose me to Hawkfrost. Brambleclaw is in ThunderClan, and I would never have agreed to a relationship with him.”

“And I’m sure Brambleclaw knows that, deep down, but his pride is still injured. All I know is that he already didn’t like Hawkfrost, but now? I don’t think Hawkfrost should hold his breath if he’s hoping they can become close.”

Thinking about the lengths Hawkfrost has gone to try and establish a relationship with Brambleclaw: the ambush on Sunningrocks; their introduction at the Gathering; challenging him to a spar. He’s gone about it in his own odd way, but it’s clear that having a relationship with Brambleclaw matters to Hawkfrost.

The fact that it might never happen because of Brambleclaw’s feelings for Stormfur doesn’t seem fair. Stormfur wonders what would’ve happened if he wasn’t a factor; if maybe then Brambleclaw would be open to knowing his half-brother.

It’s pointless to wonder. He’s Hawkfrost’s mate and Brambleclaw’s friend (although even that is questionable again). There’s no removing himself from this equation.

“What about Mothwing?” He asks.

“Guilty by association, I think.”

“Ridiculous,” Stormfur mutters. To think that Hawkfrost and Mothwing waited for so long to admit the truth to Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt, only to receive the rejection they were already so afraid of, upsets him. 

Tawnypelt looks at him. “I’m not angry at them, Stormfur. It’s just something I need to process in my own time.”

“Sure, that makes sense.”

“And you know how Brambleclaw is; he doesn’t say mad forever. He might come around someday, too. Maybe after he takes a mate and gets his own bones jumped.”

Stormfur had removed ‘help Brambleclaw and Rainwhisker get together’ from his to-do list; he adds it back, near the top.

“Are you mad at me?”

She shakes her head. “At first I wanted to be, but then I remembered you did tell me you had a secret that related to my kin, and I told you I didn’t want to know. So that’s on me, not you.”

Then, because he’s a glutton for punishment, he asks, “Is Brambleclaw?”

Tawnypelt gives him a sardonic smile. “Come on, Stormfur. You’re smart enough to figure that one out yourself.”

He sighs. “I figured he was.”

“Hey, what pushed Hawkfrost and Mothwing to finally tell us, anyway? It seems like it came out of nowhere.”

“No, they’ve wanted to say something for a while, but…” he trails off, then decides to throw caution to the wind. “Squirrelflight found out. She told Firestar and Shadepelt. There was a discussion about whether they should be forced to announce it to all the Clans, and even though they decided not to… Hawkfrost is worried that Squirrelflight is going to tell cats herself. So he wanted you and Brambleclaw to hear it from them, not her.”

“Squirrelflight won’t tell anyone else, if she has any good sense,” Tawnypelt says, and Stormfur is surprised to hear a hard edge to her tone. “Brambleclaw and I never had the option to keep our father a secret, but if we did, I’m sure we would have taken it. There is no upside to being known as the child of Tigerstar. It just means you have to work twice as hard as everyone else to prove you’re exactly the same as them.”

He should probably keep his mouth shut, but he’s fed up with Squirrelflight. “She accused him of letting Mudclaw die.”

Tawnypelt’s eyes widen. “What sense does that make? He was snatched up by an eagle!”

“She says he saw the eagle and intentionally didn’t sound the alarm.”

“Can she prove this?”

“No, and when asked about it, he says he never saw the eagle until it was too late.”

Tawnypelt shakes her head, disgusted. “And this is why I don’t resent them for not wanting to announce that Tigerstar is their father. A cat dies in a terrible accident, and then Hawkfrost is accused of murder!” Tawnypelt’s gaze zeros in on Squirrelflight up ahead. “I never expected Squirrelflight to buy into that sort of bigotry. I thought… I thought she was fair enough to judge a cat by their actions, not their blood.”

A stormcloud gathers in Tawnypelt’s face. Suddenly Stormfur worries that he’s divulged too much sensitive information; he was relieved that Tawnypelt so strongly rejected the accusation, that another cat was willing to believe Hawkfrost’s explanation, but he wasn’t trying to turn her against her friend.

As Tawnypelt’s glare sears holes into the back of Squirrelflight’s head, he hopes he hasn’t just said something he’ll regret. 

--

They stop to hunt and make camp for the night. Hawkfrost volunteers to go hunting, but Stormfur hangs back with the group. He’s got one eye on Tawnypelt, half-afraid the fiery she-cat will confront Squirrelflight over what he told her.

His focus is interrupted when Thistleheart pushes past him, crying. He turns his head and stares after the WindClan warrior, wondering if he should follow her and see what’s wrong, but then he decides he’s done enough meddling for the day.

He picks a spot to groom his pelt where he can still watch Tawnypelt. Once the hunting patrols return, a few other cats join him.

“Congratulations on finally working things out with Hawkfrost?” Lavenderhaze says. There’s a trout in her mouth that Stormfur thinks is meant to be a peace offering.

He gives her a faux-hard look. “Do you have any more gossip that could potentially embarrass me in front of all four Clans?”

“Nothing that comes to mind!”

He accepts the trout, then.

It isn’t long until quite a group has joined them: Rainwhisker, Ashfur, Whitewing, Sootfur, Dawnflower, and Cedarheart. Hawkfrost lies down beside him, too, after he returns from hunting. 

Stormfur leans against Hawkfrost as he strips the scale off of a pike and listens to the others chat about what good gossip they’ve heard throughout the day. Cedarheart asks Ashfur about the first riot he accidentally incited, and the ThunderClan tom flushes as his Clanmates joyfully take turns telling the story. 

There’s a part of Stormfur that can’t help but notice - he’s grown quite popular. These cats are his friends, and they want to spend their evening with him. 

He wishes he could go back and time and tell young, isolated Stormpaw that life does get better. It takes time, and a lot of embarrassment, but he forms friendships that transcend boundaries. He hopes they last forever.

He thinks about telling his younger self that he also eventually becomes mates with Hawkpaw, and laughter bubbles in his throat. 

Ashfur shoots Stormfur an offended look. “You’re laughing at my misfortune, too, Stormfur? Really?”

“It’s not misfortune, it’s straight-up clumsiness,” snorts Sootfur.

“You do need to be more careful of where you step,” Rainwhisker agrees.

“Or at least, be more careful around Mousefur,” Whitewing says with a purr. She nudges him with her nose, though, and Stormfur tilts his head thoughtfully as he looks at the pair. 

Someone clears their throat. Stormfur turns around and is surprised to see Tawnypelt. “Do you have room for one more?” She asks, a lizard hanging from her jaws. 

Of course, they tell her. He’s caught off guard when she chooses to lie down beside Hawkfrost, though. Similarly, he feels Hawkfrost stiffen against him.

Lavenderhaze leans over Cedarheart to ask, “So, Tawnypelt, have you finally agreed to take pity on our brother and become his mate?”

“Mind your own business, Lavenderhaze,” she retorts. She peels the skin back on her lizard, then remarks to Hawkfrost, “Although I’ve been told that you managed to whittle some very important information out of Rowanclaw for me earlier today. Thank you for that.”

Hawkfrost blinks. “You’re welcome?” 

“Did he happen to tell you who the other two were going to?”

“Oh. Yeah, he did.”

Lavenderhaze leans forward again. “Oooh, are we talking about Tallpoppy’s kits?”

“Lavenderhaze.”

The dark gray-and-white she-cat sits back with a groan as Tawnypelt and Hawkfrost speak quietly with each other. “This is why Rowanclaw and Tawnypelt are a perfect match. Neither of them is any fun.”

“Didn’t you say you’re the one who started the rumor that Blackstar and Russetfur are Rowanclaw’s real parents?” Rainwhisker laughs. “I’m not surprised your Clanmates don’t trust you with their gossip!”

“That’s not exactly how I worded it,” Lavenderhaze protests weakly. “Back me up here, Thistleheart!”

Only then does anyone realize that Thistleheart isn’t with them.

Whitewing looks around. “That’s weird. She always eats with us.”

“I saw her heading into the woods earlier,” Stormfur recalls. “She seemed upset.”

Lavenderhaze nudges Cedarheart. “I’m sure she would perk up if you went looking for her.”

Cedarheart grunts. “I’m fine here, thanks.”

Dawnflower eyes Cedarheart curiously. “Oh? You and Thistleheart--?” 

Hypocrite!

“Not at all,” Cedarheart replies. “She's had a crush on me since we met at our first Gathering, but I’ve already told her I would never betray my Clan like that.”

Stormfur looks pointedly at Dawnflower and Sootfur. They pointedly ignore him in return.

“It’s too bad she’s WindClan,” Lavenderhaze sighs. “She’s sweet and funny. We could use more sweet and funny she-cats in ShadowClan.”

Mid-conversation with Hawkfrost, Tawnypelt issues Lavenderhaze a glare.

“They could use more of them in WindClan, too,” Sootfur huffs. “Gorsetail confronts any cat who looks at her for a heartbeat too long, and yesterday, Nightcloud stepped on my foot but made me apologize to her!”

The entire group purrs in amusement at that. Stormfur nearly interjects that Nightcloud is pregnant and grieving Mudclaw’s death, so she should be allowed a pass, when a dark ginger pelt catches his eye.

Squirrelflight is looking between Tawnypelt and Hawkfrost. There’s a conflicted expression on her face until she notices Stormfur; then their gazes harden at the same time.

Squirrelflight breaks off to go lie with a different group of cats. Stormfur returns his attention to Rainwhisker, who has started telling a new story. 

He misses the way Hawkfrost’s gaze flickers to Squirrelflight before returning to Tawnypelt.

--

Their good fortune finally runs dry. Not even StarClan can control the weather. The first snowflake falls and melts on Stormfur’s nose. 

He looks up. More flakes are tumbling down from the gray, overcast sky. 

Ferncloud and Tallpoppy’s kits squeal with excitement; this is their first snow. The warriors do not share their enthusiasm. 

Stormfur meets Tawnypelt's eye. He sees his own fears reflected there.

--

They make camp not long after. Surprisingly, not even Crowstrike speaks up about wasting daylight; he’s been pretty quiet since they departed from the Tribe.

He’s about to discover why. Stormfur is watching Reedpaw and Timberpaw chase Splashpaw and Volepaw amidst the scattering flakes - this is their first time seeing snow, too - when Squirrelflight materializes in front of him and says, “Emergency meeting.” Then she disappears into a throng of cats without a backward glance.

Stormfur has half a mind to ignore her, but calling an emergency meeting is no joke. He rises to his paws and follows after her.

He finds her on the edge of the clearing. Brambleclaw, Tawnypelt, and Crowstrike are already present. Suddenly, Stormfur worries that this has something to do with Hawkfrost and Mothwing; he can tell from the way Tawnypelt is eyeing Squirrelflight that she’s thinking the same thing.

But then Squirrelflight whirls around on Crowstrike and orders, “Spill.”

Crowstrike recoils. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been keeping a huge secret from us and, because of our love-hate friendship, I’m giving you the chance to come clean yourself.”

Stormfur can’t help but imagine Squirrelflight standing in front of the four Clans and saying something very similar to Hawkfrost and Mothwing. The thought makes bile bubble in his stomach, and he opens his mouth to defend whatever secret Crowstrike has been keeping--

When Crowstrike’s eyes round in understanding, and then he rolls them. “Oh. You’re talking about Thistleheart.”

Stormfur pauses. Thistleheart?

“I asked her to be my mate,” Crowstrike finishes.

Brambleclaw’s eyes widen. “What? Congratulations, Crowstrike!”

“And she said yes?” Tawnypelt teases.

Crowstrike snorts. “Well, it wouldn’t be a very juicy secret if she rejected me, would it?”

Squirrelflight looks pleased with herself. She gives him a playful push. “I’m so happy for you that I’m not even mad I had to corner you over it.”

“Gee, that’s terribly benevolent of you.”

“Alright, I’m starting to remember the hate part of our friendship.”

“Congratulations,” Stormfur finally finds his words, a beat too late. The others stop and look at him. Perhaps in the same instant, they all remember Crowstrike’s first love. The good cheer dissipates after that. 

They echo their congratulations one more time before spreading out for the evening. Stormfur stays there with Crowstrike, pelt prickling with guilt that he’s ruined the moment. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-- I’m happy for you, seriously--”

“It’s fine, Stormfur,” Crowstrike interrupts. “I didn’t want it to turn into a big thing anyway.”

Stormfur can’t help but try and salvage the moment anyway. “I like Thistleheart a lot. She’s really nice, and funny, and sweet.”

A small, soft smile spreads across Crowstrike’s face. “Yeah, she is.”

“When did you ask her?” Asks Stormfur. 

“Like, a half-moon ago.”

Stormfur blinks. “Oh. That’s-- around the time we left the Tribe?”

“Sometime after that, yeah.”

Crowstrike’s responses are measured. His tone is level, but he won’t quite look Stormfur in the eye. Abruptly, he recalls bumping into Thistleheart while she was crying.

“What made you ask her?”

“You already said it: she’s nice, funny, sweet.”

“That’s it?”

Crowstrike cuts him a look. “Do I need a better reason?”

“No, but I-- I mean, not to drudge up any unpleasant memories, but you told me on the quest that you didn’t have any friends in WindClan, and you were so hung up over Feathertail, and I guess I just-- wasn’t expecting you to take on a mate so soon.”

Crowstrike scowls. “I’m sorry, aren’t you the same cat who told me to move on someday? To not let my sorrow hold me back?”

Stormfur bites his tongue. He doesn’t know how to say I feel like there’s something you’re not telling us without it sounding like an accusation. 

Then Crowstrike’s scowl fades. He sighs and says, “Oh, whatever, if any cat should understand, then it’s you.” He does a quick scan to confirm they’re alone, and then he leans in conspicuously toward Stormfur. “Thistleheart started hooking up with Cedarheart at the beginning of the journey,” he whispers. “She just found out she’s pregnant.”

Stormfur balks. “What?”

Crowstrike nods, face grim. “She told him, and he was an utter fox-heart about it; told her that he would never leave his Clan for her, and if she ever told anyone he was the sire then he would deny it.”

Stormfur shakes his head, disgusted. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, it is. I found her crying over it, and she told me everything.”

“And then you… asked her to be your mate?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he confesses. “I couldn’t… Feathertail told me so many stories about growing up in RiverClan, knowing she was half-Clan, and all of the madness with TigerClan, and I thought… if I can stop that from happening to another litter of kits…” He trails off, looking away. “You and Feathertail didn’t deserve to go through any of that. You were innocent. Thistleheart’s kits will be too. So I’m going to claim them."

Oddly, Stormfur feels touched. In this moment Crowstrike feels like a kindred spirit. He understands his stance completely - he wants to protect half-Clan kits, too, but he can’t do it alone. But with cats like Crowstrike, who are empathetic and willing to take a stand, tyrants like Tigerstar will never be able to throw them into a foxhole ever again. 

“Wow. You’ve really grown up, Crowstrike.” Yet still, Stormfur feels compelled to say, “But you should… I mean, your own happiness is still important too, you know. You deserve to love and be loved by someone. I don’t want you to throw that opportunity away forever.”

Crowstrike doesn’t immediately reply. When he does, he says, “I wasn’t lying to you when I said there was no one in WindClan like Feathertail for me. There still isn’t. Maybe there won’t ever be. But I took your advice about opening up and trying to make friends, and Thistleheart, she didn’t even hesitate. After I returned from the quest I asked her if she wanted to share a rabbit I caught, and she acted like that was the most natural thing in the world, even though I never started a conversation with her throughout our entire apprenticeships.” He laughs through his nose.

“Then she helped me get closer to some of my other Clanmates: Onewhisker, Whitetail, Nightcloud. She’s been a good friend to me. If I can help her in return, if I can save her from the scrutiny she would endure otherwise, then I want to. And maybe one day…” he trails off, his voice softening. “She’s a great cat, and we get along well. I’m happy for us to stay platonic, but you never know.”

It pulls a smile from Stormfur, something warm and proud. He really has grown up so much since the beginning of the quest.

“I’m proud of you,” he says honestly.

Crowstrike rolls his eyes. “Don’t make it awkward, Stormfur.”

“Oh no. Oh, what’s this, I’m going to touch my nose to your shoulder--”

“Do not bring your nose anywhere near me you sentimental sap--”

“I think you’re going to make a great father,” Stormfur purrs.

Crowstrike eyes him, disgusted. “I’m going to raise my kits to call you Sappyfur.”

The fact that he’s already referring to them as ‘my kits’ coupled with the implication that he is going to tell them stories about Stormfur brings tears to his eyes, thus proving Crowstrike’s point.

“You’re crying?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m really am just so proud of you--”

“Stars above, this is my worst nightmare,” Crowstrike says, with feeling. “I’m so embarrassed right now. Please don’t speak to me for at least three days while I try to forget about this moment.”

“Deal,” Stormfur agrees. “Congratulations again, though.”

Crowstrike is already putting as much distance between him and Stomfur as possible, but he does pause to turn his face slightly to the side and mutter, “Thanks, Stormfur.”

--

In an unfamiliar land, to catch green-cough would be a death sentence. Queens from every Clan band together to shield the kits from the cold as much as possible. 

During the day, Mosspelt, Blossomtail of ShadowClan, and Morningflower of WindClan each carry a kit so that they don’t have to trudge through the snow. During the night, Emberdawn and Goldenflower of ThunderClan nest with Ferncloud and Tallpoppy, offering their thick coats for warmth. 

(Dustpelt seems put out by the fact that he can’t snuggle his mate and kit at night anymore, but Goldenflower shoo’s him away, calling it queen bonding time. He slinks off, sullen.)

One night, Nightcloud approaches the nesting queens with a bundle of moss tucked underneath her chin. “There’s not much,” she grunts, dropping it. “But at least it’s dry.”

Tallpoppy purrs loudly. “It’s been days since we’ve been able to find any dry moss! Thank you, Nightcloud!”

Nightcloud dips her head a bit stiffly, then turns to leave. Goldenflower calls her back. 

“You can’t be far from kitting, yourself. Do you have any names picked out?”

Nightcloud pauses, then shakes her head. “Mudclaw and I didn’t have the chance to discuss names. But… I’ve always liked Breezekit.”

Ferncloud’s ears perk forward. “Breezekit! That’s a good one! It works for a she-kit or a tom.”

“I recall meeting a WindClan warrior named Stagleap before,” Emberdawn adds. “I’ve always thought that was a strong WindClan name.” She moves over a bit, clearly issuing an invitation for Nightcloud to join them. 

After hesitating, Nightcloud lies down and tucks her paws underneath her. “I don’t mind Stagkit for a tom.”

“Doekit for a she-kit?” Asks Tallpoppy.

Nightcloud nods. “That’s a good, traditional name.”

It’s the first time Stormfur has seen the black WindClan warrior interacting with cats since Mudclaw’s death. Even standing in the snow, it warms him from the inside out.

--

With the community of queens banding together, the kits are well-protected from the cruel season. 

The same can not be said for everyone.

“Oh, no,” Cinderpelt bemoans, standing over the lifeless body of a stripped-tabby tom. “Longtail! I told him to stop sleeping so far away from everyone!”

They can’t afford to waste a day sitting vigil, and there are no burial grounds here. Someone points out that the snow has frozen the ground, and it will be difficult to bury the body.

Head and heart heavy, Firestar gives a speech, returning Longtail’s body to the earth, offering it as nourishment to the nature around them. He places a tender lick on Longtail’s forehead, and when he looks up again, his green eyes are fierce.

“We will not let Longtail’s death be for nothing. We will find our new homes, and the sun will shine on us again.”

-- 

Longtail’s death is only the first.

Frostbite claims Oakfur of ShadowClan. Spiderleg and Thornclaw of ThunderClan both develop a raspy cough and are found dead within two days. Then, Gorsetail of WindClan passes away in her sleep, her skin hanging off her bony frame.

Finally, Tallstar loses his final life in his sleep. 

Ashfoot is the new acting leader of WindClan.

Like Shadepelt, she is a leader without nine lives, without the stars' blessing.

Stormfur stores Firestar's words deep in his heart, repeats them over and over again in his head, a mantra to keep him going: The sun will shine on us again. The sun will shine on us again. The sun will shine on us again.

--

Tensions are high. Empty stomachs inspire petty arguments and festering grief spurs them on. More than once, Stormfur has to wedge himself between warriors hissing and spitting. The Clans continue to march ahead, searching for a pool that shines with stars.

“You really believe in Leafpaw’s vision?” Stormfur can’t help but ask Mothwing one day.

“I do.”

“Even though you don’t believe in StarClan?”

Mothwing’s response is resolute: “Even if I don’t believe in StarClan, I will always have faith in Leafpaw.”

--

One evening, Stormfur and Hawkfrost take their apprentices hunting together. They don’t find any streams good for fishing, so they focus on ground prey instead, Stormfur’s moon of ThunderClan training becoming useful. 

Volepaw misses a mouse that darts practically across his paws. It’s the third piece of prey he’s missed.

“Are you asleep on your paws, Volepaw?” Hawkfrost asks. “That was the easiest catch you could have hoped for!”

“I’m not used to hunting ground prey,” Volepaw defends himself hotly.

“You’re not that accustomed to fishing, either,” Hawkfrost retorts.

“Well if I’m such a miserable hunter, then why don’t you just send me back to camp?” Volepaw bites out. Hawkfrost ices over.

“Make yourself useful and at least look for dry moss on the walk back,” Hawkfrost replies, stepping to the side. Hurt flashes across Volepaw’s face, like he wasn’t expecting Hawkfrost to seriously send him back. With a huff, he stomps past them, grumbling underneath his breath.

Stormfur and Hawkfrost exchange looks. “I don’t know what crawled up his tail today,” Hawkfrost says. “He sassed Skyheart earlier, too. I thought she was going to claw his ears off.”

Reedpaw clears his throat. “I don’t know if they’re related, but… last night, Owlpaw was joking around and he told Volepaw he’s going to have to be careful once we start battle training, or else Hawkfrost is going to have him limping around like Shrewpaw.”

Stormfur cringes. He risks a glance at Hawkfrost.

Hawkfrost’s expression is flat. “I think I’m going to go off on my own. Good luck hunting, you two.”

--

Stormfur finds him later that night, hunkered over a skinny shrew. He watches as Hawkfrost peels its fur back with more force than necessary, then says, “I talked to Leafpaw.”

Hawkfrost makes a noise that suspiciously sounds like ‘ugh’.

“Apparently Firestar is just waiting until we find our new homes before he gives Shrewpaw his warrior name.”

At that, Hawkfrost squints up at him.

“He’s going to become a warrior after all,” Stormfur presses. “You didn’t ruin his warrior career.”

“He still limps.”

“Leafpaw thinks he’ll always have a slight limp,” Stormfur replies, a bit hesitantly. “His muscles needed more time to mend before we started the journey. She thinks they fused back together incorrectly. But still, it’s not enough to prevent him from becoming a warrior.”

Hawkfrost scoffs, returning to his shrew. “I don’t care if he becomes a warrior or not. I just don’t need Volepaw giving me an attitude because of it.”

“All of the apprentices really like him,” Stormfur says softly. “He’s taken them under his wing.”

“He’s still the enemy,” Hawkfrost retorts. “They don’t need to forget that.”

Funny. That’s exactly what Stormfur was hoping they would do.

--

“Peaceful evening,” Russetfur remarks to Blackstar. 

It is. Cats are sharing tongues, sharing prey. The recent deaths have taken a toll on everyone mentally, and this is the first evening that doesn’t feel blanketed with dread, an unspoken, ‘who will we find dead in the morning?’

“It won’t last forever,” Blackstar snorts. “It never does.”

Because there have always been leaders like you, Stormfur thinks scathingly. He’s made peace with a lot of cats throughout his life; one cat he’s never felt compelled to forgive is Blackstar.

No matter how many moons pass, whenever he looks at the leader of ShadowClan, he only sees a deputy. A deputy who sat at the bottom of Bonehill, eyes gleaming cruelly, claws reflecting the faint moonlight as he ripped Stonefur open right in front of him. 

He can only hope that whoever succeeds Blackstar - Russetfur, or Rowanclaw - is not so vicious. 

--

Dim heat starts to radiate from the sun again. Slowly, the snow begins to thaw. Hunting patrols return with a few more pieces of prey than usual. A clear blue sky stretches out in front of them, but the endlessness of it doesn’t crush Stormfur’s spirit.

Underneath the warmth of the sun, tensions melt away. It isn’t the same as it used to be, though. Stormfur can tell that cats are still holding back, reserved in ways they haven’t been since the start of the journey.

RiverClan and WindClan do not have a leader that StarClan approves of. ThunderClan has lost more cats than any other Clan. ShadowClan is noticeably the weakest of the four Clans.

New friendships have been forged and boundaries have been broken down on this journey, but new fears have taken root as well. New enemies have been made. The dynamic between the four Clans has shifted, but it has not been reborn into something lily-white.

Peace does not last forever. And sometimes, it must be fought for.

--

They arrive at the lake when the moon is rising. Stormfur’s breath catches in his throat.

On the far side of the ridge, the ground slopes steeply away to a vast, smooth expanse of water. All the stars of Silverpelt are reflected in the lake, glittering silver against indigo-black, as if they were swimming in the night sky.

A pool full of stars.

“Leafpaw’s vision,” Tawnypelt breathes, echoing Stormfur’s thoughts. “This must be what she was talking about!"

“We found it,” Stormfur agrees, and merely uttering those words lifts a burden from his shoulders.

“Look!” Timberpaw exclaims. “I see an island! That could be RiverClan’s new territory!”

With her tail, Whitewing gestures to a dense forest. “There’s a forest, perfect for ThunderClan! Trees for climbing, and I’m sure it’s full of prey.”

“We’ll have to explore it, first,” Brightheart says, licking her daughter’s temple. “But it does look promising.”

It looks perfect, Stormfur thinks. Hawkfrost moves to stand beside him, their pelts brushing. Perfect.

A quiet falls over the Clans; not silent and cold, but soft like the snowfall, filled with murmurs of contentment, whispers of excitement. Warriors point out different landmarks, already planning. The kits creep forward and their eyes light up in awe at the sight of the star-scattered surface.

Reedpaw brushes up on Stormfur’s other side. "It’s been such a long time since we’ve had a home,” he whispers.

Home. He overhears snatches of different conversations, but he hears that same word repeated again and again: Home, Home, Home.

If Stormfur closes his eyes and thinks of home, he still thinks of the forest. He can still see the sandy banks where he spent time fishing with Stonefur and then Shadepelt; the beech copse where he and Hawkpaw settled their petty disagreeances; the old warriors den, where he was lulled to sleep by his Clanmates breathing; the reedbed where Feathertail would lay and watch ThunderClan warriors sun themselves on Sunningrocks.

He opens his eyes. That home is gone, the forest ripped up from the ground by twolegs.

The home set before them is untouched, both by twolegs and by their ancestors. Untouched by bad memories, too. There is no Bonehill to leak poison into the heart of RiverClan. 

“It has been a long time,” Stormfur agrees, finally. “But we’re here now. Soon, every single step will have all been worth it.”

--

The leaders announce that tonight they will hunt and rest; tomorrow they will send cats to explore the land around the lake.

Stormfur is sleeping soundly next to Hawkfrost when a screech of pain jolts them both awake. 

Nightcloud is kitting. She’s early, but Barkface says that’s to be expected with how much walking they’ve had to do. The lines on his face betray his concern, though; just because the early labor isn’t unexpected doesn’t mean he'sprepared for it.

The only kind of medicine Barkface can offer her for the pain is a stick to bite down on during her contractions.

“Poor Nightcloud,” Dawnflower whispers. “I can’t imagine having to give birth without my mate.”

Stormfur looks sharply at her. Sootfur murmurs something in her ear, and Dawnflower buries her face in his chest. Hawkfrost is focused on Nightcloud, paying the pair no attention, same as the rest of the Clans. Typical.

As Stormfur stares at Dawnflower and Sootfur - Dawnflower, one of his closest friends - he’s reminded of Thistleheart and Cedarheart. Thistleheart, who is pregnant. 

His gaze drifts to Dawnflower’s side. She looks fine; well-fed, even.

None of them have been well-fed in moons.

Stormfur squeezes his eyes shut. Oh, no, Dawnflower… 

Another screech demands Stormfur’s attention. Nightcloud does not seem to want the stick. 

“Sheesh,” Hawkfrost mutters, ears pinned back. “Good thing neither of us can have kits.”

“Don’t be insensitive,” hisses Stormfur.

Then Morningflower breezes past them. She settles down behind Nightcloud and begins licking her back. “You’re doing great, Nightcloud,” she encourages. “It won’t be long until your kits are here.”

One by one, more queens join Nightcloud: Mosspelt, Goldenflower, Blossomtail, and Emberdawn. Ferncloud and Tallpoppy leave their kits with their Clanmates and join the circle as well. Barkface backs off; there’s nothing else he can give her. The queens offer Nightcloud endless murmurs of support and encouragement, their words constant like a bubbling stream. 

Nightcloud’s screeches die down. She pants heavily, but Stormfur feels like he’s watching her draw strength from the other queens. Then, Goldenflower cries out, “A tom-kit! He looks just like you, Nightcloud!”

What feels like moons later but can realistically only be minutes, Morningflower begins to purr loudly. “A she-kit. Dark brown like Mudclaw, but she has your ears.”

“Your muzzle, too,” Ferncloud adds.

Exhausted as she must be, Nightcloud lifts her head to look at her kits for the first time. Stormfur doesn’t know how to describe the look that overcomes her; he doesn’t know a word for such pure love, such fierce devotion. 

“Breezekit,” she murmurs, touching her tail to the tom-kit suckling at her stomach.

“And the she-kit?” Emberdawn asks. “Doekit?”

“No." Nightcloud tears her gaze away from her two kits and looks at the lake instead, still dusted with starshine and promise. “Lakekit.”

“Lakekit,” Morningflower repeats. She licks the top of her Clanmate’s head. “It’s perfect.”

Stormfur couldn’t agree more.

Chapter Text

RiverClan’s new camp is a triangle of wetland between two streams. It’s easily defendable, and full of rowan trees, tall reedbeds, and minnows swim in the streams. There is a main stream outside of camp, not as wide as the river in the forest, but still teeming with fish.

It’s perfectly ideal. Stormfur couldn’t have come up with a better camp even if StarClan let him pick out where every cattail went. 

But they have a long way to go before this triangle of land is truly a camp, a home. They still have dens to build, after all.

Shadepelt is perched upon a smooth boulder, handing out tasks. 

“I’ve noticed bramble thickets not far from here,” she starts. “We can use those to build the warriors' den, the nursery, and the elders' den. Obviously we’ll focus first on building the warriors' den since we don’t have any queens or elders.”

Stormfur shoots Dawnflower a glance. She’s looking straight ahead at Shadepelt, her expression not betraying anything.

Blackclaw gestures to a tree in the corner of camp. “I think it would be easiest to build the warriors' den against that tree. The tree will help support it in storms.”

Shadepelt nods. “I agree. And the nursery, I think, should go behind the tallest reedbed. We can wait on the elders' den for now.” Her gaze finds Mothwing. “Do you have any suggestions for where the medicine den should be built, Mothwing?”

Mothwing stands up and walks over to a thorn bush. “I was thinking around here. Some of the earth has been washed away, leaving a pool in the roots and a hole in the bank. I’ll be able to fetch fresh water at any time, plus use this hole to store herbs.”

The placement of dens now tentatively decided, Shadepelt sends out patrols to gather building materials. Stormfur and Hawkfrost take Reedpaw and Volepaw to start collecting the bramble thickets.

“I’ll be glad when we can start doing some real warrior training,” Volepaw mutters.

“I’ll be glad when you stop grumbling every time you’re given an order,” retorts Hawkfrost.

Stormfur bumps their hips together. “Please, as if you weren’t the moodiest, most annoying apprentice RiverClan has ever known. If Leopardstar had you spend your days collecting building materials, you would be grumbling way more than Volepaw.”

“Gee, honey,” Hawkfrost deadpans. “I love you, too.”

“I never said I don't love you!”

“Even when he was a moody, annoying apprentice?” Reedpaw asks. His tone is innocent enough but there’s a mischievous glint in his amber eyes.

“Uh, right after that. He grew more tolerable after he got his warrior name.”

“You only got less tolerable after you got your warrior name,” Hawkfrost snarks. Stormfur gives him a knowing smile, doubting that very much.

Volepaw’s tail raises in the air. “Found some!” He calls, darting forward. Indeed, there’s a large patch of bramble thickets.

“Carrying these back to camp is going to take all day,” Reedpaw observes. He’s not wrong. But from experience, Stormfur knows what the best motivator is.

“Well, I think it’s only fair that whoever can carry the most thickets back to camp should be able to have first dibs on where their nest goes in the apprentice den.”

Instantly, the apprentices begin tugging the thickets apart. “I’m going to make sure you have to sleep next to Timberpaw,” Volepaw declares. “I’m not going to have him snoring in my ears all night long!”

“You’re on!” 

Hawkfrost shoots Stormfur a knowing look. “Smooth,” he murmurs.

“Some healthy competition never hurt anybody,” Stormfur replies. They ought to be helping the apprentices with the thickets, but right now, Stormfur is content to just stand there and watch. Hawkfrost settles his weight against Stormfur’s side; he leans into the warmth. 

“When we were apprentices, I never imagined this is what our lives would look like,” Hawkfrost says quietly.

“Which part of it?”

“Any of it. The journey, establishing a new camp, you. I expected to mentor an apprentice at some point, but that’s about the only thing I got right.”

“Stormpaw’s jaw would drop if I told him literally anything that happened after he got his warrior name.”

"Hawkpaw might have tried to drown himself if he knew what to expect. Or maybe drown you instead.”

Stormfur snorts. “That tracks. You were rotten.”

Hawkfrost doesn’t argue. Instead he turns his face to bury it in Stormfur’s scruff, and Stormfur noses the top of his head. Hawkfrost is a possessive cat; he always has to be touching Stormfur somehow, but Stormfur doesn’t mind. Hawkfrost’s touch is like liquid fire in his veins, and his scent is intoxicating. He’s happy to spend the rest of their lives like this, always leaning on each other, faces buried in the other’s fur, hips bumping as they walk, talking quietly as they watch their apprentices hurry to be the winner of some mundane competition.

--

“It looks like everything is coming together nicely,” Swallowtail observes, as they work on the apprentice den. “We really couldn’t have picked out a better camp.”

“It’s fine,” Heavystep replies. “I wish Shadepelt had fought harder for that island, though. It was nearly the size of Fourtrees!”

Stormfur shakes his head. “A camp that large would be impossible to defend well. There would always be blind spots. Plus, we have to have somewhere to hold Gatherings.”

Heavystep snorts. “You expect the other Clans to swim to the island? Because I’m not carrying anyone on my back.”

“If it’s where StarClan wants us to hold Gatherings, then they’ll make it possible for everyone to attend,” Swallowtail says surely, and Stormfur is caught off guard by the utter faith in her voice. 

He knows Mosspelt would have explained StarClan to Swallowtail when she was training her, but he still doesn’t expect that kind of faith from a former loner. Even Mothwing, who was raised in RiverClan from a kit, doesn’t believe in their warrior ancestors. It’s a good trick to shut Heavystep up, anyway. The older tom wouldn’t be caught dead speaking ill of StarClan. 

They work in companionable silence after that.

--

There’s still a lot of work to be done around camp, but the apprentices are getting antsy, and besides, they need to learn some battle moves eventually.

During one of his first expeditions, Stormfur recalls finding a sandy hollow that he mentally bookmarked for training purposes. Now Reedpaw, Volepaw, Splashpaw, and Timberpaw sit on the sand, quivering with excitement.

“We’re only starting with the basics today,” Stormfur reminds them in a firm tone. “Nothing fancy, and I don’t want to see any claws unsheathed. Understand?”

The apprentices nod vigorously. 

Stormfur looks at Dawnflower and Swallowtail. “Did you two want to show them the first move?”

“Sure,” Swallowtail says, standing up. Dawnflower hesitates for a heartbeat; Stormfur assumes battle training isn’t recommended when expecting kits. But the heartbeat passes, and she rises to her paws as well.

Hawkfrost leans into his space as he sits back down. “Scared to do the demonstration with me and get your tail handed to you in front of Reedpaw?” He teases.

Stormfur snorts. “More like I’m scared you would traumatize them. Remember that time we showed them the backkick when they were kits and you pinned me down--”

Hawkfrost clears his throat, embarrassed. “No, I don’t recall.”

“You don’t? Well, that’s fine, I’m sure if we ask Blackclaw about it, he’ll remember--”

“I had a lot of pent-up frustration back then,” Hawkfrost interrupts. “I have better control over myself now.”

“Yeah? We should put all that self-control to the test sometime.” Feeling cheeky, Stormfur leans in close and tugs lightly on Hawkfrost’s ear. The shiver that shoots down Hawkfrost’s spine has nothing to do with the leaf-bare chill.

Hawkfrost turns to him, nose to nose, voice husky, and murmurs, “I’ll show you--”

“Ahem.”

They jump apart, wide-eyed, as Dawnflower and Swallowtail look at them. “I think you two need to go get a drink of water,” Dawnflower says dryly.

“You look thirsty,” Swallowtail agrees, whiskers twitching in amusement.

“M’fine,” Stormfur and Hawkfrost both mutter. The she-cats resume their demonstration. Timberpaw is still eyeing them strangely, like he doesn’t get the joke. Volepaw shoots his mentor a look of disgust, like he wishes he didn’t get the joke.

They stay on their best behavior for the rest of the training session.

--

On the walk back to camp, Stormfur decides he can’t play pretend anymore.

“Hey, Dawnflower, can I talk to you?”

The gray she-cat gives him a puzzled look, but shrugs agreeably. Hawkfrost and Swallowtail take the apprentices up ahead. Stormfur takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.

“Okay, I know this is none of my business, and it’s rude to even ask, and usually I would never, but--”

“Yes, Stormfur, I’m pregnant.”

He deflates. To suspect something is true is one thing; to hear it confirmed is another thing.

“Sootfur is the father,” she goes on. “Yes, I already told him the news, and he’s very happy. We both are. Do you have any more questions?”

“You-- you knew that I knew?”

“I had my suspicions. You stare at my stomach whenever we’re in the same area together.”

Flushing, Stormfur supposes he could have been more subtle. But there’s nothing he can do about that now; nothing, of course, except offer his help.

“Look, I haven’t talked to Hawkfrost about this yet, but I’m sure if I explain everything to him, then he’ll understand. I’m-- if you want to tell the Clan that the kits are mine, we can do that.”

Dawnflower’s eyes widen in disbelief. “What?”

“So that everyone thinks they’re pureblooded,” Stormfur elaborates. “We can tell the Clan that you wanted kits so badly, I agreed to sire them for you. Or, or maybe Hawkfrost sired them. Whatever he’ll go along with. We don’t have to tell anyone that we’re mates. It can just be an agreement between friends.”

Dawnflower is staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “Stormfur, have you got bees in your brain? I told you, Sootfur is happy about these kits!”

Stormfur frowns, confused. “So he’s going to join RiverClan to be with you?”

“No, of course not. He’s very loyal to his Clan. We both are.”

Swiftly, Stormfur’s confusion boils into irritation. “Not loyal enough, evidently.”

Dawnflower narrows her eyes. “Watch it, Stormfur.”

“No, I’m tired of pretending you haven’t been actively breaking the Warrior Code for moons now. A forbidden relationship is one thing, but to bring kits into it-! Did you learn nothing from my parents' mistakes, Dawnflower?”

“Sootfur and I have a plan,” Dawnflower says, ignoring his question. “I’m going to raise the kits in RiverClan and once they’re six moons old, I’m going to introduce them to Sootfur at their first Gathering. We’re going to explain everything to them then. We’ll tell them it has to stay a secret, but that they can talk to Sootfur at Gatherings, and he’s always going to be watching out for them--”

“Even in the heat of battle?” Stormfur challenges.

“You’ve never had to fight Graystripe,” Dawnflower points out.

“Because when I found out we were plotting an ambush on ThunderClan, I ran away. Do you expect your kits to do the same thing? Or do you expect Sootfur to be the one to run?”

For the first time, uncertainty creeps onto Dawnflower’s face. “I’m sure I could think of something if it came to that.”

“Alright. What are you going to tell them if they ask who their father is before they’re six moons old?”

“I’ll-- I’ll tell them that he’s a warrior.”

Stormfur eyes Dawnflower with long-suffering patience. “And what are you going to tell everyone else once you move into the nursery?”

“Nothing,” she replies, strength surging into her voice. “It’s a queen’s right to keep the identity of the father private.”

“That doesn’t stop anyone from speculating, and you know it.”

“They can speculate all day long. I won’t confirm anything.”

Abruptly, Stormfur realizes that this must be how Mistyfoot felt when Silverstream told her she was expecting Graystripe’s kits. He wonders what she did with all of her frustration toward Silverstream, wonders if it felt like the river building against a wall like a dam about to burst.

“Dawnflower,” he pleads, “tell the Clan I’m their sire. They’ll hardly question it, and we can explain it to the kits once they’re old enough-- I’ll help you explain it to them, even. Stars, I’ll help you raise them!”

Somehow capable of finding amusement in this conversation, Dawnflower’s whiskers twitch. “You think Hawkfrost will be okay with that, do you?”

“He can help too! The three of us, we’ll raise them together if you want! Isn’t that better than raising them by yourself?”

“No, it’s not.” Her amusement has vanished now. “Not when my kits already have a father who loves them fiercely. I won’t let another tom claim Sootfur’s kits. Besides, these are peaceful times.”

There is a sense of desperation growing within Stormfur that he hasn’t felt since he was an apprentice. “Dawnflower, wars have broken out over half-Clan kits. You know the stories of Graypool and Willowbreeze just as well as I do; Hailstar ambushed WindClan’s camp and stole them, nearly killing their father in the process. Crookedstar waged war against ThunderClan over Feathertail and I. Your kits could be the very thing that brings this tentative peace to an end!”

She shakes her head. “You’re not listening to me, Stormfur: Sootfur and I already agreed, I’ll raise the kits in RiverClan. There’s no reason for a war.”

No, you’re the one not listening. He takes in a deep breath. “Half-Clan kits have never been treated kindly. They always pay for their parents' mistakes--”

“That’s the difference between you and I, Stormfur. You may think you’re a mistake, but I don’t.” Her eyes are solid blue stones, unmovable. “Kits are a blessing, no matter what.”

“It’s not about mistakes, it’s about--” he breaks off, shaking his head. There’s no point in wasting his breath anymore than he already has. Dawnflower isn’t going to change her mind. Yet, frustration making him surely, he can’t stop himself from saying, “I thought so highly of you before this. I never thought you could be so fish-brained.”

Dawnflower hardens. He’s unfamiliar with her rage, but he sees it now as clearly as if he were the enemy warrior and not her Clanmate, her friend. “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she spits, shoving past him. He watches her leave, and she takes his anger with her until all that’s left is the feeling of failure.

--

Days pass by in a blur. Stormfur wants to confront Dawnflower again, but he’s too busy for that; in the morning he takes Reedpaw on patrols, in the afternoons they work on building the camp, and in the evenings he tries to squeeze in some training. He barely has the time to steal away with Hawkfrost; he’s not willing to give up that precious time to continue fighting a losing battle.

It turns out he doesn’t have to. After stubbornly ignoring him for days, Dawnflower approaches him in the half-finished warriors' den and says, lowly, “If you want to help me, Stormfur, then you can do so by keeping your mouth shut. Don’t say anything to Hawkfrost. Act as surprised as everyone else when they find out I’m pregnant.”

Stormfur looks up at her, steely. “The Clan is going to have questions.”

“Let me worry about that,” Dawnflower replies. “Like you said, it’s none of your business anyway.”

Are you sure you don’t want me to claim them? He nearly tries one more fruitless time, but then Hawkfrost curls beside him in their nest, and the offer dies on his tongue. He already knows what her answer would be, anyway.

--

Along with the other medicine cats, Mothwing has been setting out to look for a replacement for the Moonstone. They’ve had no luck. 

If not being able to promote a deputy is wearing thin on Shadepelt, then she masks it well. Still, Stormfur knows it can’t be easy to bear the weight of both roles on her shoulders, especially when combined with the added pressure of building a camp and establishing boundaries. Stormfur isn’t under nearly as much pressure as she is, and he’s exhausted.

Hawkfrost noses Stormfur’s scruff. “We could take a nap?” He suggests.

Stormfur pulls away and stares at him with undisguised suspicion. “Who are you and what have you done with my mate?”

Hawkfrost gives him a flat look. “What.”

“You never take naps. If you’re not patrolling then you’re fishing, if you’re not fishing then you’re reinforcing one of the dens--”

Dawnflower clears her throat. “If I may, napping is more enjoyable when you have someone to share a nest with.”

Hawkfrost turns toward Dawnflower curiously. “And whose nest have you been sharing?” He asks.

Certainly not for the first time, Stomfur is appalled that no one else has figured out Dawnflower and Sootfur are mates, especially with her loose lips.

But Dawnflower is saved from giving Hawkfrost an answer when Shadepelt pokes her head out of her den and calls, “Hawkfrost, Stormfur, Dawnflower - can I speak to you three for a moment?”

--

The leader’s den is coming along nicely. Shadepelt chose to build it in a cavern underneath a rowan tree. It’s sturdy and will hold up against the strongest winds. It also doesn’t have a blind spot for eavesdropping, unlike Leopardstar’s old den, Stormfur notices.

“I’ll go ahead and get straight to my point,” Shadepelt begins, sitting down in her nest. “I don’t know when someone will discover a replacement for the Moonstone, but as soon as they do, I’m going to receive my nine lives. And I’m going to need a deputy.”

Hawkfrost leans forward eagerly. Dawnflower’s ears perk up. Stormfur finds himself holding his breath. 

“I don’t know who I’m going to choose yet,” Shadepelt confesses. “If there’s been one benefit to waiting for StarClan’s blessing, it’s been that I’ve had plenty of time to weigh my options. Now, I’ve narrowed it down to you three.”

Dawnflower asks, “Even though none of us have completed an apprentice’s training yet?”

“It’s an inconvenience for sure,” answers Shadepelt. “But I feel it’s still in RiverClan’s best interest. Emberdawn was my top candidate, but after speaking to her about it, she confirmed that she wouldn’t want to become leader someday. And while first deputies don’t often succeed their leader, it does happen. It would be irresponsible of me to choose a deputy knowing they don’t want to lead RiverClan. But,” her blue gaze sweeps across the trio, “I don’t believe any of you have such reservations. If you do, then speak up now and let me know.”

Hawkfrost doesn’t look at him, but Stormfur feels him stiffen. He’s waiting for me to speak up. 

Stormfur bites his tongue and meets Shadepelt’s eye resolutely.

“Good,” Shadepelt says, sounding pleased. “It might cause a fuss, but I think I can spin this in a way the Clan will accept. After all, you’re all mentors now, and this is RiverClan’s first litter of kits since Hawkfrost and Mothwing, so it’s not as if you weren’t given apprentices sooner because you weren’t ready for them. Besides, I feel each of you has proven in different ways that you would make qualified deputies.”

“So what, then?” Hawkfrost asks. “We’re under observation until you receive your nine lives?”

“Basically, yes, although I don’t expect any of you to do something that would make me remove you from consideration. Mostly, I just wanted to allow you to bow out if you didn’t want the position.”

Again, none of them speak up. Hawkfrost’s tail twitches. 

“Alright then, that’s all I needed to know. Go on and take it easy this evening, you three have earned it.”

Dismissed, Stormfur follows Hawkfrost out of the den, Dawnflower on his tail. It feels like every hair on his pelt is prickling with tension. He tries to catch Hawkfrost’s eye, but Hawkfrost is looking ahead. 

Stormfur bumps their shoulders together and says, “So, about that nap…”

“Maybe later,” Hawkfrost replies. His voice sounds tight. “I’m going fishing.”

“Shadpelt said to take it easy.”

“She also said we’re under observation until further notice.” He turns, then, and flashes them the smirk that he wears for show. “If you think I’m going to let either of you outshine me, you can think again.”

Dawnflower snorts. “I wouldn’t expect anything less out of you.”

He gives them one more smirk before disappearing through the half-completed reed tunnel. The anxiety that pinches Stormfur’s heart should not be brought on by Hawkfrost merely going fishing, but there’s a part of him that is irrationally scared that he’s never going to see Hawkfrost again. 

“Well, I guess we’re all in competition now,” Dawnflower remarks. She gives Stormfur a playful push. “May the best warrior win.”

Stormfur does his best to return it. “I intend to,” he says, but his heart isn’t in it.

--

He knows that Hawkfrost needs space right now, but the longer Stormfur stays in camp, the louder his fears begin to talk. Finally he can’t take it anymore. He locks onto Hawkfrost’s scent trail and follows it out of camp.

He doesn’t have to track him very far. True to his word, Hawkfrost is perched in front of a stream, focused on whatever swims beneath the surface. Stormfur approaches him cautiously, but not secretly; Hawkfrost’s ear flicks when he scents him.

“I think we should talk,” Stormfur says, slowly.

“You said everything you needed to in Shadepelt’s den.”

“I didn’t say anything at all!”

Hawkfrost’s gaze flicks to him. “Exactly.”

Stormfur sits beside him, but he doesn’t brush their pelts. “What do you want me to say now?”

“Nothing. I don’t care.”

“I’ve learned when you say ‘I don’t care’ it actually means you care a whole lot.”

Hawkfrost takes a deep breath. “So you lied to me when you said you don’t think about becoming deputy, and the politics aren’t for you. I’ll get over it.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Stormfur presses. “I just hadn’t given it much thought at that point. I mean, Leopardstar was still alive and there was no reason to assume that Shadepelt wouldn’t be deputy for moons to come. It’s not something I’ve ever lain around and daydreamed about.”

“I have,” Hawkfrost says abruptly. “Ever since I was an apprentice, it’s what I’ve wanted. And it would have been so easy,” he hisses. “Never mind becoming deputy, I could have been RiverClan’s next leader!”

Stormfur blinks, confused. “How so?”

“Leopardstar and I had a conversation about it while you were gone,” Hawkfrost says, too worked up to concentrate on fishing now. “She had several lives left. She expected Mistyfoot to retire eventually, after I had time to mentor a couple of apprentices, and she told me that I would be her next choice.”

“But when Mistyfoot was taken by the twolegs, and the kits weren’t old enough to be apprenticed yet…”

“I couldn’t be considered a candidate,” Hawkfrost finishes. “So, Shadepelt.”

Stormfur lets that new information sink in. If only the apprentices were a little older, or if Mistyfoot’s untimely kidnapping had been delayed, it could be Hawkfrost in Shadepelt’s position right now. 

Hawkfrost huffs. “Shadepelt is right. First deputies rarely succeed their leaders.”

“It wouldn’t be enough for you to just be deputy?”

“That’s not the point. The point is that I was so close to becoming Hawkstar, it was practically within my grasp. I did everything right.” The frustration in his voice sets Stormfur on edge. 

He can’t help but ask, “Is this why you chose to save Graystripe over Mistyfoot on the rescue mission?”

Hawkfrost faces him. “What?” His voice is taunt.

Stormfur doesn’t back down. “Blackclaw told me you managed to free every cat except for Mistyfoot. You even saved Graystripe over her. Did you do it because you wanted Mistyfoot gone so that you could replace her?”

“Stars above, Stormfur,” Hawkfrost snaps. “I am so sick of my actions constantly being called into question -- did I let Mudclaw die, was I hoping the eagle would kill Squirrelflight--”

“Do you expect me to sit here and stay silent while you go on about how it should be you in Shadepelt’s position right now?” Interrupts Stormfur, heated.

“Do I expect my mate not to question my integrity?” Hawkfrost retorts, and it has the intended effect; Stormfur deflates a bit, his suspicion morphing into guilt. “Fish-brain, leaving Mistyfoot behind worked against me. I didn’t suddenly forget the fact that I hadn’t mentored an apprentice. My best bet to replace Mistyfoot would have been to wait for her to age into retirement. I needed her.”

“Then why didn’t you save her?” He presses.

“I--” Hawkfrost sighs, frustrated, and starts over. “Did you know you and your father have the exact same eyes?”

Stormfur squints at him, thrown by the abrupt change in topic. “Why?”

“I jumped onto that monster with my mind set on saving Mistyfoot, but when I saw Graystripe in the other cage and I met his eye, I just… I reacted instinctively. I didn’t even have to think about it. You have the same eyes. I couldn’t leave him behind.” His shoulders hunched defensively around himself. “The monster hit the thunderpath after that and threw me off. If I’d had time to stand there and decide, then of course I would have saved Mistyfoot first and Graystripe second, but I wasn’t thinking.”

The first time Stormfur asked Hawkfrost about the mission, he said, “Is there anything else you need to tell me?” and Hawkfrost’s response had been, “I’ve told you everything you need to know.” He had known, then, that Hawkfrost was hiding something.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“Because I regretted it,” Hawkfrost spits. “Leopardstar was forced to choose a new deputy - somebody who had mentored an apprentice - and you had already told me that if we didn’t bring Mistyfoot back then you wouldn’t have anything else tying you to RiverClan, and I thought I had just lost you and the deputyship. I was furious with myself. And then I was punished for it, and,” he stops suddenly.

Stormfur frowns. “Who punished you? Not Leopardstar.”

“Blackclaw,” Hawkfrost says. “He was one of my strongest supporters, and I wanted his favor when it came time to choose a new deputy. He blames me for the rescue mission, though. We haven’t talked since then. Now if he has to throw his weight behind someone for deputy, it’s going to be you or Dawnflower.”

He studies Hawkfrost for a moment, searching for any hint that he isn’t telling the truth. But Hawkfrost has completely shut down now. This conversation has drained him. Finally Stormfur says, “I wouldn’t call not having to talk to Blackclaw a punishment.”

“Well, you’re probably the favorite to become deputy, anyway,” Hawkfrost says tersely. “Shadepelt was your mentor, and at least you’re half-RiverClan. You don’t need to be popular.”

“Dawnflower is pureblooded and popular,” Stormfur points out. “Maybe she’ll get it, and we’ll only have each other as consolation prizes.”

“Some prize you are,” grumbles Hawkfrost, shoulders still hunched.

Guilt is still eating away at his conscious. He touches his nose to Hawkfrost’s shoulder and says, “I’m sorry for asking if you intentionally left Mistyfoot behind. That was fish-brained of me.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“And I’m sorry for not telling you that I changed my mind about the deputyship. I should have told you. We could have avoided this awful conversation if I had.”

Hawkfrost hums agreeably.

“I’m not ambitious like you,” he goes on, leaning his head on Hawkfrost’s shoulder. “It hasn’t always been my dream. But the more I think about it, the more I want to be in a position to help cats like me. Cats who the Clan shuns, who don’t quite know where they belong, who need someone with power to support them; I think about Reedpaw, and he doesn’t even know he has ThunderClan blood, and I never want anything bad to happen to him. Dawnflower’s kits, too, I want to be able to protect them--”

“Dawnflower is pregnant?”

Stormfur clamps his mouth shut, but it’s too late. Hawkfrost has pulled away to stare at him. Realizing there’s no way he can play this off, especially after questioning Hawkfrost about lying, he sighs and says, “Sootfur of ThunderClan is the father.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how no one else has noticed, but they’ve been together since the start of the journey,” Stormfur says, irritable. “So I guess you’re not as observant as you think you are.”

“Surely they were hiding it well?”

“They literally started sharing a nest while we were with the Tribe.”

Hawkfrost scoffs. “Excuse you, but I had a lot to deal with when we were with the Tribe! Accusations of murder and fish-brained toms, you know.”

“Half-siblings, too.”

He sighs loudly. “What can I say? I know how to multitask. It’s just another reason why Shadepelt should make me deputy.”

“I’m the one with the stellar observation skills, though,” Stormfur teases, and Hawkfrost gives him a flat look, but at least he seems more relaxed now.

An idea hits Stormfur. “Hey. Shadepelt is a fair cat, and we can trust her to make the decision that best benefits RiverClan. Let’s agree right now that we won’t interfere with each other’s observation, and whoever she chooses, we’ll be happy for them.”

Hawkfrost’s glare has a little heat behind it. “You seriously think I would sabotage your chances at becoming deputy?”

“I know the cat I fell in love with.”

“Fine,” Hawkfrost groans. “Whatever you need to hear to trust me. I won’t tell Shadepelt that you wet our nest every night--”

“Hawkfrost that is not true--”

“Which is why I won’t say that,” Hawkfrost finishes, flashing him a smirk. “Now, if you develop a condition and start wetting our nest, then it might slip out.”

“You’re horrible.” Stormfur shakes his head.

“And yet, you love me,” Hawkfrost says smugly.

Stormfur hums, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing it out loud; the smug fuzzball doesn’t deserve it right now. Instead, he crouches over the stream and says, “I bet when I catch more fish than you, Shadepelt gives me a point.”

“You’re on.”

--

The territory still needs exploring. They have their borders, but there’s still so much about the land that no one knows about. Shadepelt has decided that no one should venture far from camp without another cat, so when Stormfur returns to camp with Reedpaw, Mothwing asks him to go herb hunting with her.

“I need a break from searching for the new Moonstone,” Mothwing explains as they walk. “I doubt we’re going to find many herbs in leaf-bare, but I’ll take anything I can find. It’s better than having empty stores.”

“Are we looking for anything in particular?”

“Catmint for green-cough would be amazing, but I can work with juniper berries as well. Sweet-sedge is known to grow throughout leaf-bare and I can use that for infection. Oh, and borage to help with Dawnflower’s milk!”

Stormfur looks at Mothwing, shocked. “You know Dawnflower is pregnant?”

“Fish-brain, who do you think confirmed it for her?” Mothwing purrs.

“Did she… did she tell you who the father is?”

“No, but I figured it out pretty quickly afterward.” Mothwing sighs. “You and Hawkfrost were the last two single toms in RiverClan, and you were clearly hung up on each other, so it’s not like she had many options.”

“Entering a forbidden relationship should never be an option at all,” Stormfur says sharply.

Mothwing looks at him curiously. “I’ve always wondered how you feel about that, considering… well, you know.”

“I’ve never heard of a forbidden relationship that didn’t end in heartbreak,” Stormfur says tersely. “Especially when kits are involved. It seems like the kits suffer more than the parents if anything.”

“So you’re a hard ‘no’.”

“Kits are innocent no matter what, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure Dawnflower’s kits never have to face the same horrors that I did. But if it’s an option to not bring them into the world, then that should be what cats choose, every time.”

“You think your parents shouldn’t have been together?”

Stormfur shrugs stiffly. “It would have saved everyone a whole lot of suffering if they hadn’t.”

Mothwing stops to sniff a spikey-leaved berry bush. He thinks she’s biding her time before speaking. Then, “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about my relationship resulting in kits.”

They’ve never talked about Leafpaw before. Stormfur has never asked, and Mothwing has never brought her up. If she’s going to, though, then he isn’t going to suddenly become a hypocrite and keep his mouth shut. Mothwing is one of his closest friends, which is why he owes her his honesty.

“Just because kits can’t come from it doesn’t mean it doesn’t go against the Warrior Code.”

“Is the Warrior Code really this perfect, untouchable thing?”

“It doesn’t matter. You took an oath to uphold it when you became a warrior, and you agreed to never take a mate when you became a medicine cat.”

“I didn’t expect to fall in love with Leafpaw,” Mothwing argues. “It happened naturally.”

Stormfur takes in a breath. “So it’s official, then? You’re mates?”

“No, we’re not mates. We haven’t-- we haven’t even addressed it, really.” Mothwing hides her face from him. “I think talking about it would make it too real. But we both know how we feel about each other.”

He tries to be understanding. “If you can keep it that way, then-- I mean, you shouldn’t be feeding the flames, but if you were just two close friends… that doesn’t go against the Code.”

“I love her,” Mothwing says miserably.

“I know you do. I see the way you look at her.” He touches his nose to Mothwing’s shoulder and says, “But when I say forbidden relationships always end in heartbreak, I’m not just being bitter: my parents, Bluestar and Oakheart, and it was rumored that Brokenstar’s mother was an enemy warrior--”

“We can’t have kits!” Mothwing protests. “They all had kits!”

Stormfur shakes his head. “By falling in love with her, your loyalties will always be divided. What will you do if you’re ever put in the position to choose between Leafpaw or a Clanmate?”

At that, Mothwing hesitates. “I… I would…”

Suddenly, a wail echoes throughout the trees. Stormfur’s ears flick forward, alert. “What was that?” He asks, scanning the territory.

“I didn’t recognize the voice,” Mothwing responds, opening her mouth to better scent. Her eyes widen. “I think-- I’ve got it!” She sprints off toward the ThunderClan border, Stormfur hot on her paws.

--

They enter an unexpected scene.

“Stay away!” Hisses a cream-colored queen. Her back is arched threateningly but fear is rolling off of her in waves, and Stormfur thinks she looks like she would struggle to fight off even Reedpaw.

Two kits peer at them from behind her legs. Stormfur notices a third kit, too, stuck in a thorn thicket. That must be who we heard wailing.

Mothwing takes a step toward the queen. “I see your kit is stuck,” she says, in a comforting voice. “I’m a medicine cat. Can I help him?”

The queen pins her ears, distressed. “What’s a medicine cat?” She asks. 

“It means I have a responsibility to help injured cats,” Mothwing replies. “My name is Mothwing, and this is Stormfur. We’re from RiverClan. We can help your kit.”

The queen is still eyeing them wearily, but then her kit whimpers, and she relents. She steps out of the way and nods for Mothwing to approach. 

Mothwing purrs soothingly as she works on carefully freeing the kit. “What’s your name?” She asks him. 

He sniffs tearfully. “Berry.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“My name is Hazel,” one of the other kits, a gray-and-white she-kit, pipes up. “This is Mouse.” She gestures to the third kit, a gray-and-white tom-kit. 

“I’m Daisy,” the queen says. She sounds exhausted.

“Those are nice names, too,” Stormfur says, blinking kindly at them. Hazel puffs her chest out proudly, and Mouse smiles at him. They must only be a few moons old. “What are you all doing out here? Do you live nearby?” 

Daisy shakes her head. “We lived in a twoleg barn, me and some others. My friend had kittens right before I did, and the twolegs, they, they came and took the kittens away.” Her voice starts to tremble. “I didn’t want them to do the same thing to my kits, so I left the barn to look for a new home, but we, we ran into a bunch of cats who said we were trespassing--”

“They were huge!” Mouse says, eyes wide. 

“And ugly!” Hazel adds. Berry sniffs again.

“I was so scared, I ran,” Daisy goes on. “But I can only carry one kit at a time, and Berry fell behind and somehow he got stuck in this thorn thicket. Oh, it’s all my fault!”

“There’s no harm done,” Mothwing says, stepping back as Berry wiggles out of the bush. “Look! There’s only a scratch on your nose.”

Berry huffs. “I don’t want a scratch!”

“Could’ve been worse,” Mouse says. “Could’ve lost your tail.”

Mothwing looks at Stormfur. “We have a patch of dock leaves by the camp,” she starts. “I collected some this morning. I could put them on Berry’s scratch, and it would heal much cleaner.”

“Shadepelt wouldn’t turn away a kit in pain,” Stormfur agrees.

“Shadepelt?” Daisy echoes wearily. “Who is that?”

Stormfur offers her a reassuring smile. “If you come with us, we’ll answer all of your questions on the walk to our camp. We can even each carry a kit.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Daisy nods.

--

“So, those cats we ran into were ThunderClan?”

Hazel swings from Stormfur’s jaws. He tries to talk clearly around her scruff. “It would have to be. You came from their territory.”

“I didn’t know,” Daisy says glumly. “I don’t leave the barn much, and I’ve never heard of Clans before.”

“In your defense, we haven’t lived here long,” Mothwing says around Berry’s scruff. “I’m not surprised word hasn’t spread very far.”

Camp comes into view, then. Blessedly, Shadepelt just so happens to be leading a patrol through the reed tunnel when she notices them. She stops, lifting her tail for her patrol to do the same, and calls, “What do we have here?”

“Just a kitten with a scratch,” Stormfur explains, setting Hazel down. “Mothwing said she already has some dock leaves that she can give him.”

The patrol consists of Mosspelt, Heavystep, Dawnflower, and Timberpaw. At the mention of herbs, Heavystep frowns. “Use our already limited herb collection on a loner?”

“On a kit,” Stormfur insists. “The Warrior Code says--”

“Spare me,” Heavystep rolls his eyes. 

Shadepelt gives Heavystep a sharp look. “If you already know the Code then you shouldn’t question it,” she chides, and it reassures Stormfur that Shadepelt would stand up for strangers. “Mosspelt, you can lead this patrol. I’ll stay behind.”

Mosspelt nods obediently and, with a final curious look at Daisy, marches forward. 

Shadepelt gestures for Dasiy to enter the reed tunnel. “Come on, let’s take care of that scratch.”

--

The kits are in awe of the medicine den. They take turns excitedly asking Mothwing questions as she chews up the pulp for Berry’s scratch. 

“Thank you for helping us,” Daisy murmurs to Shadepelt and Stormfur. “I appreciate it. I-- I don’t know what I was thinking, running away from the barn. Clearly, I can’t take care of anyone by myself.” She wilts. “I’ll have to go back to the barn and just hope the twolegs don’t take my kits away from me.” She begins to sniffle.

“Not necessarily,” Shadepelt says, and Stormfur looks at her. “In a Clan, we all take care of each other. You could stay with us and become RiverClan. Your kits could become apprentices someday, and then warriors. You could be a warrior, too.”

“Me?!” Daisy gaps. “I could never be a warrior! Stormfur told me that you all hunt and fight and, and,” she shakes her head. “I’m not cut out for all of that.”

“That’s fair,” Shadepelt shrugs, and Stormfur is surprised by how easily she lets it go. “Well, if you would like some time to recoup before you return to your barn, you’re more than welcome to stay in our Nursery with your kits for a few days. We would share our fresh-kill with you.”

At the mention of fresh-kill, Daisy’s stomach growls. She flattens her ears, embarrassed. “I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday,” she admits quietly. “Neither have the kits. I tried to catch a mouse, but that was when the ThunderClan cats showed up.”

“There’s a trout on our fresh-kill pile,” Shadepelt offers. “And the patrol that just left camp is going fishing.”

“Fish?!” Mouse asks, whirling around. “Smokey has talked about eating fish before! He says it’s delicious!”

Daisy looks at Shadepelt. “Well, if you’re sure we won’t be a bother…”

“Not at all,” Shadepelt says smoothly.

--

The Nursery has been completed in preparation for Dawnflower’s litter. There’s even already a new nest in place. Daisy examines it, grateful but clearly still on edge. Her kits relax much quicker, as kits typically do, and are investigating every crook and cranny. 

“It was kind of you to let them stay for a few days,” Stormfur remarks to Shadepelt.

“She has kits. RiverClan will never turn away kits.”

“Sure, but I wasn’t expecting you to offer to let them join.”

“Why not? Because they’re loners? That’s even more of a reason to offer them a place.” She looks at him. “RiverClan is strong, but we’re very close. In another generation or so, most of us will be related. New blood is always a good thing.”

Again, Stormfur feels reassured by Shadepelt’s words. It makes sense of course, but some cats are so fixated on pureblood that it’s difficult to accept loners and rogues. ShadowClan has always had a reputation for it, and cats have looked down on them for it. It’s clear now that Leopardstar knew Sasha before the rest of them, and that’s why she allowed her to join. He’s not sure Leopardstar would have looked at Daisy - a soft-looking, borderline kittypet - and offered her a home.

“I’ll have Swallowtail help her settle in,” Shadepelt decides. “Maybe talking to another former loner will sway her decision.”

Stormfur flicks an ear. “You’re not giving up on them?”

Shadepelt looks at him slyly. “New blood, Stormfur,” she repeats. “RiverClan is going to thrive if I have anything to do with it.”

--

Daisy settles into the Clan rather seamlessly. She isn’t much help when it comes to constructing dens, but she’s fascinated by RiverClan’s collection of shiny things. Swallowtail leads her to one of the streams and shows her how to pick out shiny pebbles and pretty stones. Daisy, in turn, goes around the camp gifting each warrior a pebble or stone to thank them for their generosity.

She’s a simple barncat, completely harmless, but Stormfur watches as she charms his Clanmates with her gifts and wins them over with her sweet disposition. 

When she gifts Mosspelt a particularly pretty pebble, he thinks he’s never seen the other she-cat so flustered before.

Reedpaw is showing the kits how to crouch so that their shadow doesn’t fall over the water when Dawnflower is called into Shadepelt’s den. He doesn’t think much of it, watching Reedpaw instead, until Dawnflower shoots out of Shadepelt’s den and through the reed tunnel.

Startled, Stormfur stares at the reed tunnel for a moment before following her.

--

He finds Dawnflower pacing one of the streams. 

“Dawnflower!” He calls. “Is everything okay? You ran out of camp like a nest of bees were chasing you!”

“Oh, sure, everything is fine,” Dawnflower hisses. “I just had an amazing conversation with Shadepelt. She’s forcing me to move into the Nursery now, and she’s taking me out of consideration to be deputy.”

Stormfur freezes. “What? Why?”

“To punish me,” Dawnflower spits. “And this way she can keep an eye on me to make sure I’m not being disloyal by meeting up with my ThunderClan mate.”

Dread turns his blood cold. “How does Shadepelt know about Sootfur?”

Dawnflower stops pacing to fix him with a furious look. “I don’t know, Stormfur. Why don’t you tell me?”

The implication behind her words makes his fur bristle. “You think I told Shadepelt about you two?”

“You’re the only cat I told,” she retorts. “So unless you told someone else, then it must have been you.”

Hawkfrost. It makes sense now. Anger gathers in his belly at both Dawnflower and Hawkfrost, but he can’t out Hawkfrost without also exposing himself.

Not quite meeting her eye, Stormfur says, “Or maybe Shadepelt actually has eyes and noticed how close the two of you became herself. Or maybe Mothwing told her. Who knows? But it’s not fair of you to blame me.”

Dawnflower doesn’t look convinced. She points out, “You were upset I wouldn’t accept your offer to claim the kits. It would make sense.” 

Abruptly, Stormfur recalls whispers, his Clanmates arguing over whether or not to trust Midnight’s warning, to trust Stormfur’s intentions, wondering if he was leading them all into a trap in revenge for TigerClan. Dawnflower hadn’t been one of the cats included in that meeting, as a matter of fact, she's never doubted Stormfur’s word before. 

The pain he feels at her accusation flashes across his face. Dawnflower sees it, winces against it, but she doesn’t take it back.

“I won’t be able to see Sootfur again until after the kits are born,” Dawnflower mumbles miserably, hiding her tears from him. “Maybe not ever again, if Shadepelt sees fit. I can’t believe this.”

Stormfur is the type of friend who would offer to deliver the news to Sootfur for her, to exchange messages between the couple. 

“How do we know… disappeared… trust Stormfur? ... wants revenge… TigerClan…”

“It would make sense.”

Stormfur turns around, shoulders hunched. “Yeah. Good luck with that.” 

--

He goes hunting for Hawkfrost. 

It takes Stormfur a while to track his scent, but he eventually finds Hawkfrost sitting by the lake. From this angle, ThunderClan’s territory is directly across from them, and unexpected anger surges into Stormfur’s stomach. What is he up to?

Then Volepaw steps out from in front of Hawkfrost, and Stormfur’s anger shifts into confusion, and then guilt. There I go again, questioning Hawkfrost’s integrity without cause.

Well, he remembers. Not completely without cause.

“Hey,” he calls, drawing both mentor and apprentice’s attention. “Can I borrow Hawkfrost for a moment?”

“Please,” Volepaw grumbles. “Have at him.”

“Actually, you can go ahead back to camp,” Hawkfrost says, voice tight. “Our lesson is over for now.”

Volepaw flicks an ear, but otherwise doesn’t respond as he breezes past Stormfur. Stormfur watches him leave for a moment, temporarily thrown. “What’s that about?”

“What else?” Hawkfrost sighs, irritated. “I was trying to show him the trout in the lake, but he spotted a ThunderClan patrol, and started wondering if Shrewpaw had gotten his warrior name yet. I’m not oblivious, I realize it was targeted.” 

Stormfur winces. “I’m lucky Reedpaw is so mild. Volepaw seems determined to piss you off no matter what you try.”

“Tell me about it.” Hawkfrost fixes him with a look. “So you better not be here to piss me off, either. I’ve had enough of that today.”

Suddenly Stormfur recalls what made him hunt down Hawkfrost in the first place, and it must show on his face, because Hawkfrost groans and turns around. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to deal with it right now, Stormfur.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Stormfur retorts, following him. “Shadepelt removed Dawnflower out of consideration for the deputyship.”

Hawkfrost stops, then, and turns around, looking puzzled. “Yeah? Well, good. Dawnflower broke the Warrior Code.”

“You’re the one who told Shadepelt!” Stormfur accuses.

“Well, yeah. Did you not just hear me say Dawnflower broke the Code?”

“We had an agreement,” Stormfur fumes. “We said we would trust Shadepelt’s judgement and wouldn’t interfere with the observations!”

“Whoa, hold on,” Hawkfrost says, raising his tail. “We agreed we wouldn’t interfere with each other’s observations. You never said anything about Dawnflower.”

“It-- It was implied!”

“What? No, it wasn’t!” Hawkfrost’s expression is steely. “I know she’s your friend, Stormfur, but she doesn’t deserve to become deputy. She can’t be trusted, not with her loyalties divided.”

A chill shoots down Stormfur’s spine. These words sound painfully familiar. “And what about her kits? Can they be trusted? Since they’re half-Clan.”

Hawkfrost narrows his eyes. “Okay, now you’re implying something. Of course I trust half-Clan cats, Stormfur. Have you forgotten that we’re both half-Clan?”

“How would you deal with Dawnflower, if you were leader?” Stormfur can’t help but ask. “Do you think Shadepelt was harsh enough?”

“Shadepelt’s punishment is fine.”

“But is it what you would do if she were your warrior?” Stormfur challenges.

Hawkfrost locks his jaw. “How am I always the one on trial?”

“How are you always at the scene of the crime?” Stormfur shoots back.

A low growl escapes Hawkfrost’s throat. He takes a step towards Stormfur, and Stormfur tenses, refusing to back down. He doesn't know if Hawkfrost would actually lay a claw on him, but he's so unpredictable these days -- moreso than usual.

Then, Hawkfrost's gaze catches on something behind Stormfur’s shoulder. His eyes narrow. “Speaking of always being at the scene of the crime.”

Confused, Stormfur turns around, and-- yeah, he can’t come up with many innocent excuses for Mothwing and Leafpaw to be wandering around the territory alone together.

Mothwing spots them, then. Blinking, she calls out, “What are you two doing out here?”

“Are you kidding me?” Hawkfrost snarls.

Mothwing recoils. “Oh, a lovers' spat, is it? Well, don’t take your anger out on me, Hawkfrost!”

At the tail-end of his patience, Stormfur asks, “I think what Hawkfrost means to say is, we could ask you both the same question. Especially since one of you isn’t supposed to be on RiverClan soil right now.”

“We were searching for a new Moonstone together,” Leafpaw politely explains.

“Also, borders don’t apply to medicine cats the same way as warriors,” Mothwing adds. “Also also, the leaders decided that cats can travel near the shore if they keep within three tail-lengths from the water. Which Leafpaw and I are adhering to. You two, however, look close enough to fish. So really, if either of us is breaking the Code…”

Stormfur literally has to block Hawkfrost’s path to keep him from lunging at Mothwing.

“I can go home now,” Leafpaw says, eyeing Hawkfrost cautiously. “We’ve been searching all morning with no success, Mothwing. We can look another day.”

“Thank you, Leafpaw,” Stormfur says loudly, over Hawkfrost’s snarled “another day?!” and Mothwing’s protests. “Tell Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight I said hi!”

Leafpaw is starting to head back to her own territory when she stops and squints against the sun. “Wait a moment, is that… Marshkit?”

Stormfur follows her gaze and tenses when he spots the dark brown kit charging towards them. “Marshkit!” He calls. “What are you doing in RiverClan?”

“Why do we care, as long as he’s three tail-lengths away from the lake?” Hawkfrost grumbles. Stormfur shushes him.

Marshkit skids to a halt in front of the warriors, panting heavily. “Kittypets,” he gasps, “are att-- attacking ShadowClan. Tawnypelt--Tawnypelt sent me to get help.”

“Kittypets?” Mothwing asks, uncertainly. “That’s unusual.”

“They’re huge,” Marshkit -- Marshpaw, now, Stormfur figures -- explains. He looks up at Stormfur with wide, terrified eyes. “You’ll-- you’ll come help, won’t you? Tawnypelt said you would.”

His heart twists. “Of course we will.”

“Thank StarClan,” Hawkfrost mutters. “I’m itching to rip my claws through someone.”

I’m trained in combat," Mothwing adds. “I’ll come too."

“Me, too!” Leafpaw volunteers.

Mothwing stiffens. “No, Leafpaw, you should return to your Clan now. Firestar doesn’t know where you are--”

“I told Cinderpelt I was looking for the Moonstone,” Leafpaw brushes off. “Besides, I can help Littlecloud.”

“No, I don’t think that’s wise--”

“We need all the cats we can get!” Marshpaw interrupts, nodding gratefully at Leafpaw. Out of the corner of his eye, Mothwing bites her lip nervously.

Stormfur steps forward. “Lead the way, Marshpaw.”

--

Marshpaw does a creditable job of keeping up with the warriors, even though he’s already run all the way from ShadowClan. Stormfur realizes they’re nearing the entrance to the camp as the yowls echoing throughout the marshland grow louder. Thoughts of Tawnypelt, Lavenderhaze, even Rowanclaw and Cederheart spur him on faster until he explodes into their camp with a snarl.

“Stormfur!” Tawnypelt yells from across the camp, and Stormfur doesn’t hesitate. He rushes towards her side and joins her in driving back a large black and white tom. 

“Marshpaw?” Tawnypelt asks, in between strikes.

Stormfur lands a strong blow to the tom’s head, and sends him darting through the thorn tunnel. “He’s alright. I told him to lay low, after running so hard.”

Tawnypelt nods and spins around to target another cat, but she pauses long enough to blink gratefully at him. “I knew you would come.”

For just a heartbeat, Stormfur softens. He’s faced so much betrayal in his life, so much grief, but Tawnypelt is one cat that Stormfur trusts down to the marrow of his bones.

“Anytime,” he responds, before leaping back into the fray.

--

He’s fighting against a ginger she-cat when Hawkfrost streaks by and catches Stormfur’s eye; he can’t help but become unfocused as he tracks Hawkfrost, watching him, worrying about him.

The she-cat takes advantage of his distraction and slams her shoulder into his chest, shoving him onto his back. The air is knocked out of his lungs, and he gasps as the she-cat towers over him. 

“Clan-scum,” she growls. “Go back to wherever you came from!”

Her eyes are locked on his throat. Stormfur inhales a gulp of air and prepares to kick her off of him, only for someone else to beat him to it.

“Don’t you touch him!” 

Hawkfrost flies overtop of Stormfur’s head and lands on the she-cat, sending her falling backwards. Stormfur scrambles to his paws and shakes his pelt off before rushing forward to Hawkfrost’s side, and together they drive the she-cat out of camp.

They look at each other, then, panting and covered in dust and blood -- maybe it’s theirs, maybe it isn’t -- and Hawkfrost’s ice-blue eyes glisten, and the feeling that surges through Stormfur’s veins is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. It’s something so bone-deep and affectionate that Stormfur feels like he’s been cut open and exposed right in the middle of battle. It’s terrifying. 

“You saved me,” Stormfur breathes, and he can’t believe that he’s ever doubted Hawkfrost over anything before.

Hawkfrost smirks and says, “What can I say? I like being the only cat to pin you down.”

The moment is ruined. Stormfur gives Hawkfrost a flat look, but then they jump back into the fray together, side by side, and they stay that way. 

They fight like a matched pair, taking it in turns, jabbing and swiping as though they’d been trained to fight together. At one point two kittypets take them on, and Stormfur finds himself back-to-back with Hawkfrost, and not once does he worry about his backside. 

Stormfur drags his claw across a she-cat’s ear, and she runs away with a pained wail. He spins around, searching for his next target, but he can only find ShadowClan warriors.

Hawkfrost brushes their shoulders together. “Easy, tiger,” he purrs. “Put your claws away.”

Stormfur looks into his eyes and gets lost in them. “You saved me,” he can’t help but repeat. Just an hour ago they were fighting with each other, words sharp but claws sharper, and Stormfur doesn’t know what he would have done if Hawkfrost got in his face. He doesn’t know if his anger, if his adrenaline, would have carried him to do something he would regret later.

Hawkfrost’s smile is tired, but victorious. He brushes their shoulders again and Stormfur expects him to repeat his earlier sentiments, but this time he says, “Always, fish-brain. I love you.”

His bones turn to mush. He could melt into Hawkfrost right then and there in the middle of enemy camp, when suddenly a heart-wrenching sob freezes him. “Rowanclaw, Rowanclaw, no!”

He turns around and finds Tawnypelt hunched over Rowanclaw’s body; he’s frighteningly still. Memories of Feathertail at the bottom of a waterfall flash across his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he barely hears Mothwing say. “I-- I tried to get to him, but I-- I stopped to pull a tom off of Leafpaw--”

Leafpaw stands just behind Mothwing, her amber eyes locked on the blood seeping from Rowanclaw’s stomach. “Tawnypelt,” she whispers, “he hasn’t got very long, you should-- you should put pressure on the wound--”

“You’ve helped out enough,” A voice interrupts, and Russetfur appears. She’s speaking to all of them, her voice steady, but her eyes are set on Rowanclaw’s body. “Littlecloud can take care of him from here. Give Shadepelt and Firestar our thanks.” 

It occurs to Stormfur that Blackstar is uncharacteristically silent. The leader of ShadowClan is standing right behind Russetfur, and like his deputy, his eyes are locked on Rowanclaw. Stormfur realizes that he’s trembling.

Suddenly, Stormfur recalls that they’re rumored to be Rowanclaw’s parents. If there was ever a doubt in Stormfur’s mind, it’s been put to rest now, as he takes in their matching expressions of grief.

Then Blackstar raises his amber gaze and stares straight at Mothwing. “Leave,” he growls from somewhere deep in his throat.

Mothwing tucks her tail and darts out of the thorn tunnel, Leafpaw on her tail. Stormfur resists the urge to go to Tawnypelt’s side and comfort her; she did her best to comfort him when Feathertail died, but Stormfur doesn’t trust that Blackstar won’t turn on them if they linger in camp much longer.

“Bye, Stormfur,” Lavenderhaze whispers as he passes by, her tone mournful. They’re halfway through the marshland when Tawnypelt’s wail cuts through the air.

--

They’re walking back to camp together, pawsore and depressed. Stormfur can’t get Tawnypelt’s wail out of his head, can’t forget about the tears in Russetfur’s eyes, Blackstar’s growl echoing in his ears. Beside him, Hawkfrost is simmering with barely-controlled rage. It doesn’t feel like they’ve won a battle.

Hawkfrost slams to an abrupt halt and snarls, “This is all Mothwing’s fault!”

Stormfur stops too, and looks at his mate wearily. “How is what happened to Rowanclaw Mothwing’s fault? You heard her, she had to pull a tom off of Leafpaw.”

A strangled laugh escapes Hawkfrost’s throat. “They were right in front of me -- I saw everything! Rowanclaw yelled for backup, and Mothwing was the closest to him, but she wouldn’t leave Leafpaw’s side!”

Stormfur frowns. “But the tom--”

“There was no tom,” Hawkfrost retorts. “Leafpaw was fine. Mothwing could have gone and helped Rowanclaw, but she refused to!”

Silence descends upon them. Stormfur racks his brain trying to come up with a defense for Mothwing, but he falls short. He was facing the opposite direction of Mothwing and Leafpaw; he doesn’t know what happened. But after tonight, he can’t find it in himself to doubt Hawkfrost any further.

He touches his nose to Hawkfrost’s ear and instead murmurs, “I know you and Rowanclaw are friends. This must be hard for you.”

Hawkfrost pulls away. “Forget about friendship,” he snaps. “You never think about the politics of things, Stormfur. Rowanclaw likes me. Blackstar is set on him becoming his deputy after Russetfur retires. Especially after tonight, ShadowClan would’ve been a guaranteed ally to RiverClan, but we don’t know who Blackstar will choose to replace Russetfur if Rowanclaw dies, and besides all of that -- you saw the way Blackstar looked at Mothwing. He knows that Mothwing, a medicine cat, refused to aid one of his warriors and then lied about it.”

Venom drips from Hawkfrost’s words; rage burns in his eyes. Stormfur half-expects Hawkfrost to storm into camp and drag Mothwing out by her scruff. He looks at Hawkfrost now, and is terrified for an entirely new reason.

Cautiously, he says, “Why don’t you let me talk to Mothwing about it? I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Hawkfrost’s gaze cuts to him. “What’s the point? I know what I saw.”

“Maybe this is the realization she needs to end things with Leafpaw.”

Hawkfrost scoffs. “Fine, whatever you want.”

Frowning, Stormfur says, “This must be hard on Mothwing too, you know. I bet she’s beside herself with guilt.”

“Mothwing will be lucky if Blackstar doesn’t show up in our camp tomorrow demanding a life for a life,” Hawkfrost snaps. “Or worse, a war.”

Is that what you would do, if you were leader?

Hawkfrost turns his back on Stormfur. “Go on without me. I need to clear my head.”

Wearily, Stormfur asks, “What are you going to do?”

“Just take a walk.” He looks back at Stormfur, irritated. “You look half-scared of me. If I go into camp like this, Daisy will pass out from fear.”

“I’m not scared of you.” 

“Right. Just scared of what I might do.”

It’s alarming how accurately Hawkfrost can read him these days. Stormfur slams a mask into place and hopes it’s convincing. He pads over to Hawkfrost’s side and bunts his head against his shoulder. “You’re unpredictable, is all. Promise you won’t do anything fish-brained?”

Hawkfrost snorts. “Whatever helps you sleep tonight.”

Stormfur fixes him with a hard stare; Hawkfrost meets it, unflinchingly. Hawkfrost has always been stubborn, but right now, something is different about him. The anger burning in his eyes seems too hot, even considering the battle-high. It's like there's something else feeding into that anger, stoking the flames of it. Stormfur would prefer to fight an actual battle than to fight with Hawkfrost right now.

Then he recalls a memory that makes him soften. “I love you, too,” Stormfur whispers. “In ShadowClan’s camp, I never said it back. But I do. I love you so much -- that’s what scares me.”

Like ice underneath the green-leaf sun, Hawkfrost melts, affection flooding his eyes and quelling the anger. He noses the top of Stormfur’s head. “I won’t do anything fish-brained,” he murmurs. “I’ll be in our nest soon, alright? Don’t wait up.”

“Okay,” Stormfur whispers, too tired to argue. With one last nuzzle, they part ways underneath the fateful eye of Silverpelt.

Chapter Text

“Hey,” Hawkfrost whispers, nosing him gently awake. “C’mon, we’ve got a dawn patrol to join.”

A yawn splits Stormfur’s jaws, and he shoots Hawkfrost a suspicious look. “Shadepelt called for both of us?”

Hawkfrost smirks that heart-twisting smirk, the one that Stormfur has never stood a chance against, and says, “Well, I just know how you can’t live without me--”

“Whatever,” Stormfur interrupts with a purr, playfully pushing Hawkfrost’s face away with a paw. 

Hawkfrost nips at his paw, then says, “Hurry up, I’m leading it.” 

Stormfur has half a mind to roll over and go back to sleep, but really, that smirk is dangerous. He stands to his paws and sleepily makes his way towards the rest of the patrol.

--

Later that day, he finds Mothwing moping in her nest.

“Hey,” Stormfur greets. “Take a walk with me?”

--

They follow the stream aimlessly. Mothwing’s ears droop, and her eyes are downcast; Stormfur feels terrible for even bringing this up to her, but better him than Hawkfrost.

He takes in a deep breath. “I’m going to get to the point: Hawkfrost says you lied about pulling a tom off of Leafpaw.”

“What are you talking to me for, if Hawkfrost already told you everything?”

“Is it true?”

She can’t even lift her eyes from her paws. “I-- I couldn’t leave Leafpaw alone. I have warrior training, but she doesn’t! If something had happened to her, if she died, I would never forgive myself.”

“Will you forgive yourself if Rowanclaw dies?”

Mothwing winces. Her voice comes out in a whisper: “I don’t think so.”

Stormfur stops walking and fixes her with a look. “I told you that your loyalties would become divided. Rowanclaw may not be our Clanmate, but you still choose your heart over the life of a cat.”

“I know,” Mothwing whispers. “Trust me, I know.”

“Then you know it’s time to break things off with Leafpaw, right?”

For the first time, Mothwing looks up at him; her amber eyes are glistening with tears. “I love her.”

“Do you love her enough to join ThunderClan for her?” Stormfur presses. 

Mothwing hesitates, then shakes her head. “And we would have to give up being medicine cats, too, and I could never ask Leafpaw to do that. Being a medicine cat means everything to her; it does to me, too.”

“Then you see what you have to do.”

Her bottom lip begins to quiver. “I love her so much,” she says in a voice that sounds like regret. She collapses into Stormfur’s pelt, shoulders shaking as she cries, and Stormfur stands still, letting her tears soak his fur, his heart breaking for her as she repeats, “I love her, Stormfur, I love her so much!”

--

Shadepelt calls Stormfur, Hawkfrost, and Mothwing into her den.

“I couldn’t be more proud of you three for rushing to ShadowClan’s aid,” she says, dark blue eyes shining. “RiverClan is lucky to have cats like you.”

Stormfur smiles, but it feels forced. He looks at Hawkfrost and Mothwing, and notices their smiles don’t quite meet their eyes either.

--

Stormfur is telling Daisy’s kits a story when Blackclaw bursts into camp. “A tree has fallen onto the Island! Now all cats can use it to cross onto the Island for Gatherings!”

“Maybe this is StarClan’s way of showing the Clans their approval?” Emberdawn says. “After all, ShadowClan only won against the kittypets because of RiverClan and ThunderClan.”

“They’re rewarding our peace,” Mosspelt agrees. 

Shadepelt announces that RiverClan will attend the Gathering on the next full moon; only four nights away.

--

Thankfully, Stormfur doesn’t have to wait until the Gathering to receive an update on Rowanclaw. While on a border patrol, he runs into a ShadowClan patrol. Blossomtail is leading it, along with Cederheart, Applepaw, and the Clans' resident gossip enthusiast. 

“He’s stable, for now,” Lavenderhaze replies, as she remarks their border. “Thank StarClan. I know I give Rowanclaw a hard time, but I do consider him my brother. And Blackstar and Russetfur -- Littlecloud keeps snapping at them to go do something useful, they’re so beside themselves with worry.”

“They act this way whenever anyone is injured,” Blossomtail adds, giving Lavenderhaze a pointed look.

“Oh, right. Rowanclaw isn’t, like, their secret lovechild or anything!”

Blossomtail sighs loudly.

For the first time in days, Stormfur’s smile doesn’t feel forced. “Well, I’m relieved Rowanclaw is doing okay.”

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Cederheart warns. Stormfur can’t look at the tom without being reminded of Thistleheart, so he decides now is a good time to end the conversation.

“Right. Regardless, a battle with no deaths is a blessing.”

Lavenderhaze nods, then adds, flippantly, “Except for that ginger kittypet.”

Stormfur blinks. “I didn’t see any other bodies in your camp when we left…”

“Oh, no. We found her body in the forest the morning after.” 

It feels like his thoughts keep getting stuck on something. Something isn’t adding up.

“Ginger kittypet?” He repeats. “I only saw one ginger kittypet during the battle.”

“It was the same one you and Hawkfrost were fighting,” Cederheart confirms, cutting Lavenderhaze a glare. “She must have succumbed to her wounds; there was a nasty gash on her neck.”

We never touched her neck, Stormfur thinks, alarms blaring in his head. They landed strike after strike to her sides until she ran off… 

Hawkfrost, you didn’t… you wouldn’t…

Lavenderhaze says goodbye as her patrol sets off, but Stormfur hardly hears her.

--

Hawkfrost is giving Daisy’s kits badger rides. The kits giggle and squeal as Hawkfrost lumbers around camp, purposely clumsy. It’s the kind of thing that would usually fill Stormfur’s stomach with a pleasant warmth and make him think about the future, about the possibility of actually naming a kit after Graystripe, but tonight his head is filled with much more morbid thoughts. 

Did he double back and kill her? Stormfur feels like the worst mate for even questioning it, but they never severely wounded that she-cat, and Hawkfrost was so angry after the battle… 

Hawkfrost spots Stormfur, then, and flashes him a grin. The kits beg for one more circle around camp, and he obliges them, and their laughter fills the camp.

How can this be the same cat? Stormfur wonders as he watches him with the kits, feeling like he’s being torn in half. The same cat who would kill someone in cold blood, who would try to ruin an apprentice’s career, who would plan a pointless ambush on another Clan? It just doesn’t make sense.

Why would he return to ShadowClan and kill her?

--

The right thing to do would be to confront Hawkfrost and give him a chance to defend himself. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation, an explanation that proves Hawkfrost’s innocence, that removes him from the horrific scenario Stormfur can’t get out of his head.

Tigerstar. The ThunderClan ambush. Their feelings for each other. Mistyfoot’s capture. Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt.

Stormfur is so, so tired of confronting Hawkfrost.

Inadvertently, he begins avoiding his mate.

--

“Want to take the apprentices out for a spar?” Asks Hawkfrost.

“Sorry, I already agreed to take him fishing with Swallowtail and Splashpaw.”

Hawkfrost gives him a playful look. “Then maybe you and I can go out for a spar later.”

Stormfur forces a purr. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

--

He curls up in their nest while Hawkfrost is on a dusk patrol. When he enters the warriors' den, nearly completed now, Stormfur closes his eyes and steadies his breathing.

Hawkfrost falls into the nest behind him, his familiar warmth seeping into Stormfur’s skin. He begins grooming Stormfur’s ears with smooth, rhythmic strokes. Hawkfrost’s touch usually sets Stormfur’s entire body aflame, usually makes his heart race in anticipation, usually makes him think, I can’t believe he’s all mine, finally.

Now it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to shy away from him. The thought leaves a sour taste on Stormfur’s tongue, something rancid.

Just ask him about it. Maybe it’s not what you think it is.

“Goodnight,” Hawkfrost murmurs in Stormfur’s ear. “I love you.”

Stormfur concentrates on his breathing, pretending to sleep.

--

Shadepelt announces the cats attending the first Gathering around the lake: Mothwing, of course, and then Blackclaw, Emberdawn, Skyheart, Swallowtail, Hawkfrost, himself, and Reedpaw, Volepaw, and Splashpaw.

Hawkfrost grins at him. “Looks like we’re both still in Shadepelt’s good graces,” he teases.

Dawnflower ducks into the nursery with her tail wrapped around her side.

Stormfur pretends not to hear him, as he tells Reedpaw to groom his pelt and grab something to eat.

--

The Gathering threatens to pass by in a soundless, colorless blur. Stormfur tries to be present, tries to remember who he talks to and who calls his name, tries to keep an eye on Reedpaw, tries not to let his discomfort show as Hawkfrost walks beside him.

Then Hawkfrost says, “Oh, there’s Cederheart. We should go say hello.”

Stormfur’s eyes fall on the steel-gray tom. “I’m not Cederheart’s biggest fan right now.”

“Why not?” Hawkfrost gives him a suspicious look. “He didn’t try to make a move on you, did he--”

“Of course not.” Stormfur rolls his eyes. “He’s just not my favorite cat, that’s all. You can go say hello if you want to, though.”

Hawkfrost holds his gaze for a moment longer before shrugging and trotting over to greet the ShadowClan warrior. Stormfur watches as they exchange friendly nods, and Hawkfrost does That Thing where he pulls out his smirks and easy charm. 

For one brief moment, jealousy starts to take root like an ugly weed. Stormfur stamps the weed down and reminds himself that he’s the one who's been ignoring Hawkfrost lately, not the other way around. 

Properly scolded, Stormfur turns to start mingling with his own friends, but then something Cederheart does grabs his attention again. It’s nothing grand or special, it’s just a look; the kind of pointed look you give someone when you have a message you’re trying to silently convey.

Does Cederheart know what Hawkfrost did? Did Cederheart help him do it? Oh, stars, Hawkfrost, what sort of mess have you created?

--

The first Gathering doesn’t quite go the way Stormfur expected it to; he expected a sense of triumph, a sense of victory that the Clans had finally found their new homes and established boundaries. 

There is some of that feeling, of course, but it’s all tinged with melancholy. 

Blackstar reports that Tallpoppy’s kits have been apprenticed: Marshpaw to Tawnypelt, Applepaw to Cederheart, and Toadpaw to Littlecloud. After the chanting dies down, he adds that Rowanclaw is stable, but his wound runs deep, too deep; Littlecloud isn’t sure he’s going to survive. If he does survive, there is a chance he will never return to his warrior duties.

Blackstar pointedly does not thank RiverClan or ThunderClan for coming to their aid. Does Stormfur imagine the creased-brow look Blackstar shoots Mothwing and Leafpaw, or does everyone else notice it too? When Stormfur looks at the medicine cats to gauge their reactions, it is immediately, painfully obvious that Leafpaw is trying to catch Mothwing’s eye, and Mothwing is refusing to look at her.

In WindClan, Weaselpaw and Owlpaw are now warriors: Weaselfur and Owlfeather. Nightcloud and her kits are doing well, and now they have company: Thistleheart has moved into the Nursery. Stormfur catches a glimpse of Crowfeather, surrounded by friends, blue eyes gleaming, by all accounts a very excited soon-to-be father.  

That excitement is tempered, though, when Ashfoot reveals that she still has yet to receive her nine lives. She gives Shadepelt a questioning look, but Shadepelt shakes her head.

“Mothwing has been diligently searching for our replacement Moonstone,” Shadepelt starts, “but unfortunately, StarClan has not revealed it to any of our medicine cats.”

RiverClan has little else to report. Shadepelt does announce that Dawnflower has moved into the Nursery, but there’s an edge to her words that silences any whispers.

ThunderClan is the last to give their report.

Firestar shares that Shrewpaw has finally been given his warrior name, Shrewheart, and Birchpaw has been apprenticed to Rainwhisker. For a moment Stormfur’s spirit rises; he chants loudly for Shrewheart and Birchpaw, before realizing that the chanting, especially from ThunderClan’s own cats, is dull.

Firestar clears his throat. “Unfortunately, ThunderClan was ambushed by a badger attack a few days ago. While we were victorious in the end, we suffered greatly: Mousefur, Goldenflower, Brackenfur, Sorreltail, and Sootfur have all joined the ranks of StarClan.”

Gasps are breathed into the crisp, nighttime air. Cats whisper about the great loss ThunderClan has suffered, three healthy warriors and their last two elders, but the only thought Stormfur can manage is, I’m going to have to tell Dawnflower that Sootfur is dead.

Stormfur is so numb with shock, he barely hears Firestar warn the other Clans that twolegs have been setting up foxtraps throughout the forest; as a matter of fact, he’s already lost a life to one of them.

--

It’s a horrible note to end the Clans’ first Gathering on. Stormfur wonders, morbidly, if this Gathering is going to set the tone for their future here. Stars, he hopes not.

RiverClan doesn’t need the land-bridge to cross, so they take their time saying their goodbyes before splashing into the lake.

There were so many cats I wanted to speak to. Instead I spent the entire night worrying over Hawkfrost, he thinks, glum. I need to confront him about the kittypet’s death. I can’t spend the rest of my life like this. 

He’s getting ready to step into the water when a familiar dark tabby pelt catches his eye. Determined to talk to at least one friendly face before the night is over, Stormfur calls out, “Hey, Brambleclaw!”

Too late does Stormfur remember-- Oh, yeah, we haven’t talked since he found out about Hawkfrost and Mothwing.

That explains the cautious look on Brambleclaw’s face as he ambles over. “Hi, Stormfur.”

He forces a smile. “How’s the prey running?”

“Not too badly, considering the badger attacks and the fox traps.” Sarcasm is laced throughout his words; Stormfur suppresses a wince.

“Right. I guess ThunderClan is dealing with more important things.”

This entire Gathering has been a bust. Stormfur decides it’s time to cut his losses and mumbles goodnight to Brambleclaw, when Brambleclaw sighs and says, “Wait. Don’t leave yet.”

Stormfur can’t bring himself to look Brambleclaw in the eye. “No, things are too weird between us, and I honestly don’t have the emotional capacity to handle it right now.”

A strange look passes across Brambleclaw’s face. “Lovers’ spat?” He asks, in a tone that implies he already knows. Stormfur lifts his head, then, suspicious. 

“Partly,” Stormfur agrees. “You sound like you know something.”

“No, I don’t, I just…” He trails off. “I wish Hawkfrost and I’s relationship was better. Sometimes I have thoughts or questions that I can’t go to Tawnypelt with, especially now, while Rowanclaw’s life hangs in the balance. It would just be nice to have someone else who might understand.”

Stormfur narrows his eyes. “You can’t talk to Mothwing about it? Surely you have a better relationship with her than with Hawkfrost.”

Now it’s Brambleclaw who can’t quite meet his eye. “I don’t think it pertains to Mothwing.”

Alarms are starting to go off inside Stormfur’s head. “Is it something you can talk to me about? I promise, I won’t judge you for whatever it is.”

Brambleclaw shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Stormfur. It was just a… a strange dream I had. Maybe ask Hawkfrost if he’s had any of those recently.”

Hawkfrost and I have more pressing matters to deal with before I ask him about his dreams, Stormfur nearly snorts. But he doesn’t know how to get Brambleclaw to open up to him like he did before, not while their friendship is fractured.

“Well,” he starts, slowly, “just remember you can talk to me if you ever need to.”

“Yeah,” Brambleclaw replies, but he sounds distracted. “I will.”

Sadly, there’s nowhere else for the conversation to go. Resigned that this is what his friendship with Brambleclaw looks like now, Stormfur turns around to step into the lake, when a thought suddenly enters his mind.

He spins around and asks, “Hey, how’s Rainwhisker holding up?”

Brambleclaw blinks, as if pulled from the middle of a daydream. “Rainwhisker?”

Stormfur can’t help but feel a beat of irritation. “Yes, Rainwhisker. Both of his littermates died in that badger attack. He doesn’t have any kin left, does he?”

Brambleclaw actually looks startled by Stormfur’s question, as if the realization hadn’t crossed his mind. “I… I mean, Ashfur and Ferncloud are technically his half-siblings -- same father, different mother -- but he isn’t close to either of them. And both Willowpelt and Whitestorm are dead, so…” A haunted expression settles on Brambleclaw’s face. “I don’t know how I didn’t realize… I guess I’ve been so wrapped up thinking about that dream…”

The one you won’t tell me about, that reminded you of Hawkfrost, Stormfur doesn’t say. He has been gifted a golden opportunity and he won’t let his paranoia ruin it.

“I remember when Feathertail died,” he begins, “how terribly lonely I was. There isn’t anyone who can ever fill the hole in my life she left behind, but I don’t think I would have come out of that darkness without my friends. Does Rainwhisker have a best friend?”

Thinking hard, Brambleclaw shakes his head. “Not really. His best friend was Sorreltail, and even Sootfur, although they had a strained relationship.”

“Hm. That’s a shame. I bet Rainwhisker probably has some regrets about that.” He sighs. “I’ve always liked Rainwhisker, you know. He’s always been kind to Feathertail and I. I wish he had someone to lean on while he grieves.”

It’s almost funny, how strength seems to surge into Brambleclaw. He stands up a little straighter and says, “I’ll check on him when we get back to camp; make sure he eats tonight. And I’ll remind Squirrelflight and Whitewing, too, so that I’m not the only one keeping an eye on him.”

“It’s good that he has Birchpaw to mentor now. That will help him not to become stuck in his grief. Maybe you could offer to take out Birchpaw from time to time?”

It’s a ploy to set up two of his friends, of course, but for the first time that night, a genuine smile spreads across Stormfur’s face. He remembers, moons ago, when Sandstorm introduced Feathertail and him to ThunderClan’s three newest apprentices; how Feathertail and Sorreltail immediately hit it off, and how Sootfur kept hissing at them to lower their voices, and how he and Rainwhisker would share amused glances with each other.

And then more recently, on the journey, when Rainwhisker fell back to give Stormfur his condolences for Feathertail, and how he offered to be a sympathetic listening ear should Stormfur ever want it. 

“Well, if you ever want to talk about it, which you probably won’t, I’m here, and so is Sorreltail. Maybe not Sootfur yet, but we at least have a lot of experience comforting survivor's guilt.”

“Tell him I said, if he ever wants to, he can talk to me about it,” Stormfur says. “Tell him I understand the survivors' guilt of it all.”

A wiry smile twists Brambleclaw’s lips. “Sure, I’ll tell him. May StarClan light your path, Stormfur.”

“Yours too, Brambleclaw.”

--

The air Stormfur walks on comes crashing down as soon as he walks into camp and his eyes land on the nursery. He freezes in the middle of camp, suddenly confronted with what he has to do. If he doesn’t, then the news will travel to Dawnflower some other, less sensitive way. 

A pelt brushes softly against his. “How long have you known?” Shadepelt murmurs.

“She only told me recently. The same day she moved into the nursery.” It isn’t a lie, at least.

Shadepelt nods. “I never thought that Dawnflower, of all cats, would… well, I suppose I don’t know what it’s like to be in love, either.”

“Never?” Stormfur asks in disbelief. 

“Well, I did have a thing with Skyheart when we were both much younger. Right before you were first apprenticed, actually, but it didn’t last long. Only a couple moons.”

He figures a slack-jawed reaction would be considered rude, so he shuts his mouth quickly. “I have a hard time imagining Skyheart softening for anybody,” he says, choosing his words carefully. 

“She never did,” Shadepelt replies. “That’s why we broke up. It was like… like there was always a wall between us. I never felt like she trusted me completely, like she told me everything. In the end, I decided that some cats are better off as friends than lovers."

“You never took another mate, though.”

A rueful smile crosses her face. “Neither did Skyheart.”

He wants to ask why they never tried to give it a second chance, but the smile on Shadepelt’s face is tinged with sadness, and it occurs to Stormfur that some wounds leave lasting scars.

Then Shadepelt says, “I can tell Dawnflower, Stormfur. I’m her leader. The burden is on my shoulders.”

As tempting of an offer as it is, Stormfur doesn’t seriously consider it. “No, I think it should come from me.”

Shadepelt eyes him for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Come get me if you need to.”

“I will,” Stormfur agrees, and then ducks into the nursery.

--

Daisy is curled up in her nest with her plumy tail wrapped around her kittens. He tiptoes past their nest and stops in front of Dawnflower’s.

“Dawnflower,” he whispers. “Are you awake?”

Part of him hopes that she isn’t, and that this conversation can wait until tomorrow. But then her blue eyes blink open. “Stormfur?” She yawns. “What’s up? Did the Gathering go alright?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, considering the gentlest way to break the news of Sootfur’s death. He soon realizes there isn’t one; Dawnflower’s heart is going to be broken no matter how he phrases it. 

When he opens his eyes again, Dawnflower looks concerned. “Stormfur?” She prompts.

“You have to be quiet,” Stormfur says abruptly. He gestures to Daisy’s nest. “I know it’s going to be hard, but you have to try.”

He watches as dread sinks in her eyes. “It’s not about Sootfur, is it?” She asks in a tiny, breakable voice. 

He sighs, trying to expel the pressure sitting on his lungs, but it doesn’t work. “I’m so sorry, Dawnflower.”

That’s all it takes. Dawnflower clamps her mouth shut so that only a whimper escapes past her teeth, but her shoulders begin to shake with the weight of her sobs. Stormfur curls his body around her, offering her what little comfort he can, and lets her press her face into his fur so that her cries are muffled.

I’m sorry, he thinks again, useless, as her entire body trembles with the wail she’s physically holding back. I never wanted this.

--

This leaf-bare season seems shorter than previous ones. That should be a good thing, and it mostly is, but Stormfur can’t shake the creeping feeling that there’s one more storm waiting on the horizon; the cruel season’s last attempt to steal lives.

Fog curls ominously around his paws, sending a chill down his spine. Then a voice calls out, “So, you’re using your apprentice to communicate with me now?” 

He turns around, and Hawkfrost is further away than Stormfur expected him to be; there’s no pelt brushing, no flirtatious looks or teasing. Of course there isn’t. If he ever thought he was doing a good job of hiding his discomfort around Hawkfrost, that hope is dashed when he adds, “Are you finally going to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Just like with Dawnflower, no matter how he words this, someone is going to have their heart broken. “I heard that a ShadowClan patrol found one of the kittypets dead after the battle. The ginger she-cat that you and I fought together.”

Hawkfrost is staring at Stormfur with an unreadable expression. Stormfur swallows, then presses on: “They said the she-cat must have succumbed to her wounds and dropped dead while fleeing the camp. But that’s not the truth, is it?”

“Wow,” Hawkfrost says in a flat tone. “You know, I never expected to be accused of murder even once. Twice? I should get some kind of--”

“Hawkfrost,” Stormfur growls. “Did you go back and kill her?”

Finally, some kind of emotion seeps into Hawkfrost’s ice-blue eyes: anger. 

“You know what? Yeah, I did.”

It feels like someone has sucked the air from his lungs. “Hawkfrost, why?”

“Because of the politics,” Hawkfrost snaps. “I told you, Blackstar knew Mothwing chose not to help Rowanclaw, and then she lied about it, and cats like Blackstar think, a life for a life. So rather than have ShadowClan ambush our camp and break the peace, I offered him a different life.”

“You told Blackstar you killed her?” 

“No, I didn’t need to. Cederheart found us right after I slit her throat. I told Cederheart that the she-cat almost killed you, and I wasn’t going to let her get away with that. Cedarheart is Rowanclaw's foster brother, you know, of course he wanted one of those kittypets to pay. He agreed that when one of the patrols eventually found her body, he would remind Blackstar that we were the ones who fought her.”

Unbelievable. “Hawkfrost, Rowanclaw is still alive!”

“For now,” Hawkfrost agrees. “But if he does subcombs to his wounds, then our debt has already been paid.”

“Blackstar thinks we gave her those wounds, Hawkfrost,” Stormfur snarls. “I didn’t kill her! Her blood isn’t on my paws!”

“She was just a kittypet, Stormfur,” Hawkfrost says, sounding almost confused, but the words Just a kittypet ring in Stormfur’s ears. “Besides, I did it for Mothwing. Not that my ungrateful sister deserves any more help from me, not after--”

“After you faked a sign from StarClan so that Mudfur would agree to train her?” He bites out.

Tension bleeds into the mossy hollow, nearly overwhelming. Hawkfrost narrows his eyes. “So Mothwing told you about that? I gave her exactly what she wanted, and now she acts like I’m the bad guy.”

“She wanted Mudfur to agree to train her for himself,” Stormfur snaps. 

“It didn’t matter what Mudfur wanted, because the Clan decided it would take a sign,” Hawkfrost retorts.

“Then you should have left it alone and let her stay a warrior!”

“She needed to become a medicine cat!”

“Why?”

“Because,” Hawkfrost stops. He closes his eyes and inhales a deep breath. “Because it’s what would’ve made her happy, and StarClan was never going to choose a cat who doesn’t believe in them.”

Stormfur squeezes his eyes shut. Is that the truth? The question presses against his teeth, but Stormfur is so sick of second-guessing everything. 

Hawkfrost’s pelt brushes against Stormfur’s, startling his eyes open. Hawkfrost’s eyes have softened ever so slightly. “I killed her for you, too, Stormfur,” he murmurs, his breath hot against Stormfur’s muzzle. “She was going to kill you, and I would have lost you forever. I would never let anyone get away with that.”

“I took an oath to RiverClan,” Stormfur says abruptly, taking one step back. “If I die in battle, then I die nobly. What would you do if it were a WindClan warrior who tried to kill me?”

Hawkfrost holds his gaze, level. “The Warrior Code says an honorable warrior does not need to kill other cats to win his battles.”

“You killed the she-cat after the battle had already been won!”

“Stormfur,” Hawkfrost says, his frustration thinly veiled, “she was just a kittypet.”

“And I’m just half-Clan!” Stormfur explodes. “Is that how you think about me?!”

“Of course it isn’t,” Hawkfrost snarls. “I’m half-Clan too, fish-brain! We’ve been over this before! You and I are the same!”

It feels like his throat is closing up as he stares at his mate. Voice cracking, he says, “We are not the same.”

The clearing around them shifts into something darker, something cruel; a place cursed by the stars themselves. In front of him stands Hawkpaw, panting as blood drips from his torn ear, and behind him, the throne of bones gleams ghost-white underneath the moonlight.

“No,” Hawkfrost says, icily. “I tried to convince you that we were, but you’ve never believed it. Tigerstar is my father, and that was always going to make all the difference.”

“The battle was won,” Stormfur presses. “The battle was won, but you still went back and murdered her.”

“You can say it,” Hawkfrost says, his voice full of mocking encouragement. “Go ahead, you’ve always wanted to.”

Stormfur squeezes his eyes shut, praying to be woken up from this nightmare. “I love you, Hawkfrost.”

“But that’s not enough, is it? Because I’m just like him, I’m a monster just like him. Say it.”

Ruthless.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” Stormfur says, in a barely audible whisper. “You’ve changed. You’re not the same cat that I first fell for.”

Stormfur opens his eyes, and there’s no Bonehill in front of him, no darkness threatening to swallow him whole; it’s just Hawkfrost, and the look that shatters across his face reminds Stormfur, suddenly, painfully, that Hawkfrost is still just a cat, still just flesh and bone. Same as me.

“Wait--”

“No,” Hawkfrost cuts in. “You’ve said enough.” He turns his back on Stormfur, and heat wells behind Stormfur’s eyes, burning. “You’ll understand if I make a new nest for myself tonight.”

All Stormfur can think to say is, “You’re breaking up with me?”

Hawkfrost freezes. Slowly, he looks over his shoulder, and Stormfur’s own distraught is reflected in his eyes. “You haven’t left me with a choice,” he says bitterly. “I love you too much to make you suffer a lifetime with somebody you don’t know.”

A lifetime with Hawkfrost. That used to sound like a sweet dream.

Stormfur watches as his sweet dream disappears into the clouds of fog, nothing more than a wisp. 

And then the dam bursts open, and he’s trembling like Dawnflower was when she found out her mate was dead, but Hawkfrost isn’t dead, he’s just-- just--

All Stormfur can do is curl in on himself and pray that this pain, this feeling of being cut wide open down to the bone and then thrown to the side, won’t last forever.

--

To be fair, Hawkfrost did give him a warning.

It still doesn’t prepare Stormfur for the reality of it.

“I am so confused,” Blackclaw whispers, not quietly enough. “You literally couldn’t pry them apart a half-moon ago.”

“Exactly,” Skyheart yawns. “That’s why you shouldn’t waste your time thinking about it. They’ll go back to being stupidly sweet in a couple of days.”

I wish it were that simple, Stormfur thinks, as Hawkfrost circles his new nest. It’s going to take time to pad it down the way Hawkfrost likes, just like it’s going to take Stormfur time to get used to sleeping by himself again.

“What if we go back to the dark days?” Heavystep worries.

“The dark days?” Swallowtail repeats.

“He means, back to when Stormfur and Hawkfrost filled the den with unresolved sexual tension,” Emberdawn clarifies. 

“Can you all stop gossiping about our love life?” Hawkfrost snarls over his shoulder. “You’ve been doing it since we were apprentices. Give it a break!”

“Find something new to talk about,” Stormfur adds forcefully.

The entire warriors' den falls silent. Then, in a deeply troubled voice, Heavystep whispers, “Great StarClan, the dark days are already upon us.”

--

Hawkfrost takes Volepaw fishing with Swallowtail and Splashpaw, and Timberpaw’s temporary mentor, Mosspelt.

“We’re not going with them?” Reedpaw asks, looking disappointed.

Stormfur swallows. “Not today, squirt. We’re going to do some battle training instead.”

--

The weight of the Clan begins to show on Shadepelt’s face. There is a permanent crease in her brow these days, and lines under her eyes.

“Shadepelt might have to choose a deputy without the stars' blessing,” Emberdawn murmurs.

“And risk losing StarClan’s favor?” Blackclaw demands. “It isn’t worth it. Shadepelt can hold out until someone finds the replacement Moonstone.”

Stormfur watches as Shadepelt ducks into Mothwing’s den, and wonders if she really can.

--

“I’ve decided to stay in RiverClan,” Daisy tells him, smiling. “I wanted you to be the first cat I told. Well, second. Uhm, third.”

“Third?” Stormfur asks playfully. “I thought I was special!”

“You are!” Daisy protests. “But of course I had to tell Shadepelt first, and then…” her face flushes. “Mosspelt is just very, very special.”

A genuine smile spreads across his face. Stormfur never met Dawnflower’s father, Frogleap, but from what little he’s heard, it was a tumultuous relationship. Mosspelt deserves to settle down with someone kind. 

“She is special,” he agrees. “I’m happy you’re staying, Daisy.”

“Ooh, so am I! Shadepelt said that I can stay in the nursery after my kits are apprenticed if I want to, and help future queens with their kits! I never thought such a dream was possible!” She bumps her nose to his shoulder, then, eyes sparkling. “If you and Hawkfrost ever decide you want kits, by the way, I might be willing to carry them for you.”

For one, painfully short moment, Stormfur’s spirits rise. Then it’s like his heart skids to a halt. For a minute, it just isn’t beating anymore. 

“Stormfur?” Daisy prompts, suddenly worrisome. “I-- I hope that wasn’t too forward of me to offer--”

“Thanks, Daisy,” Stormfur breathes past the pain in his ribcage. “That’s really sweet of you. I’ll tell him.”

The way Daisy’s face lights up as she tells him it’s the only way she can repay him for bringing her to RiverClan, Stormfur can’t tell her that they’re never going to need a surrogate queen.

--

“Mothwing says I can go into labor any day now,” Dawnflower says, tiredly. He knows she hasn’t slept much since Sootfur’s death.

“I bet you’re ready to not be pregnant anymore,” Stormfur tries to joke.

“You would think so. But part of me wishes it could stay like this forever. Nothing can harm my kits as long as they’re inside of me.”

Stormfur can’t imagine being willing to endure all that pain and discomfort forever. He wonders if all queens feel this way; if his own mother felt this way.

“Do you have any names picked out?”

“One or two,” Dawnflower yawns. “If I have any more kits than that, I might have to let you name one of them. Hey, what’s this I hear about you and Hawkfrost sleeping in different nests, and Hawkfrost spending all his time moping outside of camp?”

Stormfur flicks an ear. “Just a lovers' spat. You know how moody Hawkfrost can be.”

“Okay, but I also know how obsessed he is with you. He’s been stuck to your side ever since we left the mountains. You’re sure it’s just a spat?”

What is he supposed to say to the she-cat whose mate just died?

“Yeah, Dawnflower, I’m sure.”

--

When Mothwing approaches him with a troubled look in her amber eyes, Stormfur sighs. “Mothwing, if this is about Hawkfrost, I don’t want to talk about it--”

“I think he’s going to do something really stupid,” Mothwing interrupts, which is not what Stormfur expected her to say.

He eyes her wearily. “How stupid?”

Mothwing takes a deep breath, then says, “I saw him heading in ThunderClan’s direction.”

--

“Leafpaw found the Moonstone replacement,” Mothwing pants as they race across the territory. “It’s a pool full of stars, exactly like the lake, and exactly like her vision. I was on my way back to camp when I saw Hawkfrost.”

Stormfur skids to a stop. “Wait, you found the Moonstone replacement? Mothwing, you have to bring Shadepelt to it immediately!”

“But, what about Hawkfrost?”

“I can handle Hawkfrost on my own,” Stormfur says, surely. “You said you think he was heading in ThunderClan’s direction?”

“Yeah, but,” Mothwing looks hesitant. “Stormfur, I-- I think he’s going to try and kill Squirrelflight.”

The fur along his spine bristles. “Why would you think that?”

“I overheard Squirrelflight talking to some cats at the Gathering about who Shadepelt and Ashfoot will pick for their deputies, and when someone suggested Hawkfrost, Squirrelflight said if Hawkfrost was chosen, she would throw a fit.” Mothwing bites her bottom lip. “I think she was just being dramatic with her friends, but then I noticed Hawkfrost hanging around, and I think he was eavesdropping.”

“So all of your fears are based on an assumption, then.”

“But remember the dream I told you about?” Mothwing presses. “About the hawk snatching up the squirrel and killing it? What if it was warning me about tonight?”

“You told me StarClan can’t send you dreams if you don’t believe in them!”

“I don’t know!” Mothwing cries, her voice breaking. “All I know is that Squirrelflight is Leafpool’s sister, her best friend, and Hawkfrost, for all of his faults, is my brother and I don’t want to watch him ruin his own life! The daughter of Firestar? War would break out in an instant!”

They’re lucky a war hasn’t already broken out after Hawkfrost trespassed into ShadowClan territory and needlessly murdered a cat.

Stormfur takes in a deep breath, trying to clear his head. “Alright. You go back to camp and bring Shadepelt to get her nine lives. That has to be what’s most important right now, because if anything happens to Shadepelt and StarClan doesn’t have a way to communicate with you, we’re going to have more than just ThunderClan to worry about.”

Mothwing looks at him with desperation in her eyes. “And you’re going after Hawkfrost alone?”

“I can handle him,” Stormfur repeats. Mothwing seems to think Hawkfrost can’t be reasoned with, and maybe he can’t be, but despite everything that’s happened in the last few days, Stormfur truly doesn’t believe Hawkfrost will hurt him -- not fatally, at least.

Mothwing touches her nose to his and whispers, “Please be safe, Stormfur.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“And Hawkfrost will be, too?” 

Stormfur swallows. “Stars willing.”

--

Stormfur races along the lakeshore. He’d wanted to believe that Mothwing was wrong about what she saw, but then he catches Hawkfrost’s scent and follows it towards ThunderClan’s forest.

StarClan, please don’t let me be too late, he thinks. Please don’t let Hawkfrost do anything stupid!

The realization hits him as his paws pound against the sand and the wind buffets his pelt; he loves Hawkfrost more than anything. He thought he knew that before, but now, as the fear of possibly losing him forever starts to become real, he understands just what it means to love like that.

It’s terrifying.

The ThunderClan forest comes into view, and Stormfur nearly cries, relieved, when he spots a familiar dark brown tabby standing by the border. I’m not too late!

“Hawkfrost!” He shouts as he draws closer. Hawkfrost spins around, and Stormfur’s heart sings. There’s a shocked expression on Hawkfrost’s face, and Stormfur is surprised the other tom didn’t hear him running--

It’s like lightning strikes him; suddenly, he’s petrified with fear, unable to take another step or say a single word. The only sound that escapes him is a short, startled scream.

Graystripe is caught in a foxtrap. His pelt is soaked crimson in his own blood. His amber eyes are glassy.

“H-Hawkfrost,” Stormfur stutters, “what did you do?”

“He’s not dead,” Hawkfrost hurries. “His chest is still moving, faintly. He’s just passed out. He-- I didn’t mean for this to happen, Stormfur, you have to believe me--”

“My father is dying in a foxtrap!” Stormfur snarls, coming halfway to his senses. “I don’t care what you meant to happen, Hawkfrost! Shut up and help me!”

He makes to cross the border, but Hawkfrost steps in front of him. “Your scent,” he starts.

“My father,” Stormfur spits back, claws unsheathing.

“There’s nothing you can do for him,” Hawkfrost hisses. “He needs a medicine cat!”

“Okay, so then run back to RiverClan and get--” he stops. Mothwing isn’t in RiverClan, she’s taking Shadepelt to get her nine lives. “We need Cinderpelt or Leafpaw.”

Hawkfrost scoffs. “Oh, sure, let me just walk into ThunderClan’s camp and ask which one of them knows how to open a foxtrap, and reattach a leg.”

“He lost his entire leg?!”

“Stop shouting at me, do you want the entire forest to know--”

“--I think it’s coming from over here!”

Relief floods Stormfur’s body at the sound of Squirrelflight’s voice. He opens his mouth to call her towards them, only for Hawkfrost to grab him by his scruff and yank him behind a cluster of holly bushes.

“What are you doing?!” Stormfur hisses.

“Saving your life!” Hawkfrost hisses back. “I don’t care how soft ThunderClan is on you, if they see you standing over Graystripe’s body right now, they’ll kill you without asking a single question!”

Before Stormfur can come up with a retort, he hears two screams. He jerks away from Hawkfrost and peers out of the bushes: Squirrelflight and Shrewheart are standing over Graystripe.

“Great StarClan, Graystripe is dead!” Shrewheart cries, and a wail gets stuck in Stormfur's throat.

“No, no I think he’s still breathing! Quick, run back to camp and get the medicine cats, I’ll stay here and try to open the trap!”

He watches as Shrewheart runs away as fast as his bad leg will allow him, and stars, Stormfur could kill Hawkfrost ten times over right now. Judging by the way Hawkfrost has finally shut his mouth, he knows it.

Squirrelflight grabs a stick of tries to wedge it in between the teeth of the trap, but even from where he’s crouched down, he can tell she’s shaking. A sob gets caught in her throat, and as the reality of the situation finally sets in, tears well up in Stormfur’s eyes too. 

Then Squirrelflight calls quietly, “S-Stormfur? Can you hear me?”

He tenses. Beside him, Hawkfrost does the same.

“I can pick up your scent across the border. It’s barely there, but…” she trails off. “Stormfur? Are you still here?”

He shifts minutely. There’s a part of him that wants to step out of the bushes and explain the entire situation to Squirrelflight, but that isn’t possible. Maybe Hawkfrost didn’t mean for Graystripe to get caught in the trap, but he still meant it for someone. Stormfur doesn’t even have to bother asking who.

Squirrelflight begins sniffling, and then she looks right at Stormfur, and for a heartbeat, he forgets that she can’t see through the bush. Her green eyes are wide and watery, and when she speaks next, he feels like she knows exactly where he’s hiding. 

“I don’t understand what’s happening, Stormfur, but I-- I trust you. I know this has to be some horrible accident. But Stormfur, I-- I can’t… there are two scents here…”

Hawkfrost’s entire body goes rigid. 

“I trust you, Stormfur,” Squirrelflight repeats. “I know you would never harm anyone, much less Graystripe. But you need to… I need you to make the right decision here. Please. Don’t make me do it for you.”

Don’t make me do it for you. He doesn’t dare glance at Hawkfrost.

Squirrelflight stops talking to him, then, as her body is consumed with sobs. Thankfully Shrewheart arrives soon after, with both Cinderpelt and Leafpaw in tow. Cinderpelt sets down a bundle of herbs, and she and Leafpaw begin working in tandem as a well-trained pair.

“Must’ve been a hunting accident,” he hears Shrewheart say. “I bet he never even saw the trap.”

Squirrelflight sniffles. “Y-yeah. I think so, too.”

Hawkfrost breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Stormfur doesn’t breathe his until much later, after the sun has started to set, after Shrewheart and Leafpaw have pried the trap open, after Cinderpelt declares Graystripe stable enough to transport. They set him gently on Squirrelflight’s shoulders, and Stormfur knows that he will never be able to repay her for carrying his father back to camp.

Once they’re out of earshot, Hawkfrost stands and steps away from the bush, stretching. He opens his mouth to say something, probably crack a joke, but stops after he meets Stormfur’s gaze. Then he swallows and says, “I owe you an explanation.”

“Yeah, you do,” Stormfur agrees. “Good thing we’ve got such a long walk back to camp.”

--

The trap was meant for Squirrelflight, obviously. Mothwing was right when she guessed that he overheard her talking about him at the Gathering.

“Firestar said there were traps in his territory,” Hawkfrost says, shoulders hunched. “I went for a swim in the stream and then rolled around in ferns and berries and whatever else I could find to mask my scent, and then went hunting. It didn’t take long to find one. Once I did that, I grabbed a branch and pushed it to where I wanted it. Covered it up with leaves so that nobody would see it.”

“Why did you think Squirrelflight would be over here, anyway?”

“Shrewheart told Volepaw that he was going to take her to the border and officially ask her to be his mate.”

This entire situation is already so messed up, but Stormfur can’t help but shake his head and ask, “You were going to ruin their proposal?”

Hawkfrost shoots Stormfur a blank look. “That’s not the worst part of the story, Stormfur, honestly.”

“No, the worst part is definitely when you planned to murder Squirrelflight, and instead almost murdered my father.”

For once in his life, Hawkfrost doesn’t have a retort for that.

Too soon, the RiverClan border comes into view. Stormfur stops walking and asks, “All of this, just for the deputyship?”

Hawkfrost casts his glare to the side. “I just wanted a fair shot at it,” he says, bitterly. “We agreed to not sabotage each other’s chances, and if Shadepelt chooses you then I can live with that, honestly, but it just isn’t fair that I could do everything right, and Shadepelt choose me, and then at a Gathering Squirrelflight stands up and tells everyone that Tigerstar is my father. I would lose my posistion, my respect, my Clan, you. Everything that I’ve worked so hard for my entire life.”

“You don’t know any of that would have happened, just like you don’t know what Blackstar would have done if you didn’t murder that kittypet.”

“Those aren’t chances I was willing to take,” Hawkfrost fires back. 

Something in Stormfur deflates. “Clearly.”

Hawkfrost looks up at him, then, and his expression softens. “I’m sorry, Stormfur,” he says. “You have to know that I would have never targeted your father. I saved him once before, didn’t I?”

“I’m surprised you did it a second time,” Stormfur says bluntly. “You know there’s a possibility he could wake up and tell Firestar he saw you standing over him.”

Again, Hawkfrost can’t look him in the eye. “I know that. I’m not fish-brained.”

“Then why did you risk it? Why not run away and let ThunderClan assume it was an accident?”

Hawkfrost doesn’t say a word for such a long time that Stormfur thinks he might not respond at all. Then he says, quietly, “Same eyes. I just didn’t have it in me to stand there and watch the light die in them.”

The words trigger something in Stormfur. He had been doing pretty well so far, all things considered, alarmingly well as a matter of fact. He could tell Hawkfrost thought the same thing by the cautious looks he was sneaking him. Now, though, it felt like somebody had dragged him up from the bottom of a frozen lake. He was cold, numb, but gradually he was thawing out and fear was starting to set in.

“What aren’t you telling me?” He asks abruptly.

Hawkfrost looks at him then, confused. “What could I possibly be hiding from you right now?”

“You’re always hiding something from me. Hawkfrost, please, just be honest with me.”

Maybe it’s the raw desperation in his voice, maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s been physically weighing him down for days, but Hawkfrost cracks. A look of resignation spills across his face, and Stormfur is practically holding his breath as he waits for Hawkfrost to spill his guts.

Hawkfrost looks away again, eyes focused on something off in the distance that only he can see, when he whispers, “I hear his voice in my head.”

Stormfur blinks. “What? You hear-- whose voice in your head?”

Hawkfrost doesn’t respond. He just keeps staring off at that invisible thing. Stormfur tries to be patient with him, but he’s never seen Hawkfrost this unnerved before. Whoever he’s referring to, they must be--

The fur along his back starts to bristle. “Tigerstar?”

“I didn’t know it was him at first,” Hawkfrost murmurs. “I thought it was my brother, Tadpole. I thought Tadpole was-- watching out for me. I asked Mothwing if she ever talked with him, but she told me she didn’t believe in StarClan.”

“How-- how old were you?”

“The first time he spoke to me was right before we joined RiverClan.”

“What did he say?”

“It was mostly one worded stuff for awhile.” His voice sounds very far away. 

Stormfur doesn’t know what to do with this information. He’s only ever heard of StarClan warriors communicating with the living through dreams, never through thoughts.

Dreams. Something Brambleclaw said to him comes rushing back.

“Has he ever visited you in a dream?” Stormfur asks.

Caught off guard by the question, Hawkfrost turns to face him. “Twice,” he answers.

“Recently?”

“Right before the Gathering.”

Stormfur’s heart drops. I should have asked him that night. I should have quit avoiding him and mustered up the nerve--

“The first time was after you left on your quest.”

“What?”

“Yeah. That was when I found out it was him all along, and not Tadpole.” A strange look enters his eyes. “I thought he was Brambleclaw at first. They’re nearly identical; just fewer scars.”

“Is that why you were so obsessed with Brambleclaw?”

“No. Well, not at first. But, honestly,” Hawkfrost sounds almost defeated, “he’s been in my head for such a long time that sometimes I don’t know which thoughts are his, and which ones are mine.”

Words die on the tip of Stormfur’s tongue. Is that why he killed the she-cat? Did that idea truly belong to Hawkfrost, or was the seed planted by Tigerstar? When he said she was “just a kittypet”, was that Tigerstar talking? Or does he really believe that?

Does it even matter if he can’t distinguish between the two? Stormfur laments.

And then, a new question comes to mind.

"In the mountains, when you were hunting with the Tribe, did you see the eagle or not?"

Apprehension makes Hawkfrost stammer, "I-I..."

"Were you hoping it would grab Squirrelflight?"

“No! I mean, I didn’t have time to think--”

“Hawkfrost,” Stormfur presses.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I was going to sound the alarm, but then the voice…” He trails off, looking so small and meek underneath the twilight sky, so unlike the Hawkfrost that Stormfur has always known. “He told me to stay quiet, and I hesitated a heartbeat too long, and then Mudclaw saw the eagle and he pushed Squirrelflight out of the way. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t of been in my head."

“And the sign you faked for Mothwing? Was that your idea, or was it his?”

Shrugging defensively, Hawkfrost says, “My sister becoming a medicine cat adds shine to my reputation when it comes to picking a deputy. It might not have been my idea, but it was still a good one.”

Another conversation comes rushing back to mind. “You said Blackclaw punished you for leaving Mistyfoot behind.”

“Blackclaw only speaks to me when necessary these days, and he certainly hasn’t endorsed me as deputy. That wasn’t a lie.”

“But it’s not the whole truth either, is it?”

Hawkfrost snorts, staring at the blades of grass. “Look at you, connecting all of the dots now.”

A broken laugh leaves Stormfur’s maw. “I can’t believe this. Hawkfrost, I--I can never trust you again!"

Hawkfrost flinches, but some of that familiar anger pulls back into his face. "You never have, anyway."

“I’ve always wanted to,” Stormfur defends himself, because Hawkfrost has to know that he tried. “Every misgiving I had, every time there was a stirring in my gut, I’ve always pushed it aside because I love you.”

“Right. You just don’t trust me.”

His frustration spiking, Stormfur snaps, “Can you blame me?”

Hawkfrost’s mouth pulls into a tight line. "I guess not. Sorry you were right about me, then.”

"Believe me, I wish you had proven me wrong.” He hopes Hawkfrost knows how much he truly means that. He’s still praying that any moment now, he’s going to blink awake and find himself in the warriors' den with Hawkfrost’s head resting in between his shoulder blades, and that this will have just been a bad dream. 

It’s a familiar prayer, at this point. Stormfur always finds himself starring in the worst scenarios a cat could imagine, and just when he thinks he’s finally found peace, it turns out that Tigerstar has been living inside his mate’s head for as long as he’s known him. It’s so, sickingly unfair. 

“So that’s that, then,” Hawkfrost starts, sarcastic. “What now? We go back to camp and pretend this night never happened?”

Stormfur takes in a deep breath, then asks, “You don’t really believe I can let you return to the Clans, do you?”

Hawkfrost turns to face him. “What?”

So, sickingly unfair.

“You killed a cat in cold blood just a few days ago. You attempted to kill Squirrelflight today. You admitted that Tigerstar lives inside your head. How am I supposed to trust you around anyone ever again?”

Hawkfrost stares at Stormfur like he doesn’t believe him. “You can’t stop me from going back.”

“I’ll tell Shadepelt everything,” Stormfur threatens. “I won’t leave out a single detail, and whatever punishment she decides fits you, neither of us will have any say in.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t execute me,” Hawkfrost snarls.

Stormfur forces his voice to remain steady. “Then you shouldn’t risk going back.”

Ringing in his ears are Squirrelflight’s words: I need you to make the right decision, here. Please. Don’t make me do it for you. He doesn’t know how to articulate that this is the only way he can protect Hawkfrost, now. 

“You’re-- you’re only doing this because you want to be deputy! We agreed we wouldn’t sabotage each other's chances!”

At that, his resentment spikes. “You’ve sabotaged your own chances, Hawkfrost. I didn’t have to do anything.”

Hawkfrost shakes his head, and when he stops to fix Stormfur with his ice-blue eyes, some of his anger has dissipated, but the disbelief rages on. “You’re serious?” He demands, and the disbelief is weighing his voice down now, too.

Stormfur swallows, nearly choking on the words. “You almost killed Graystripe today, Hawkfrost. I can’t let you return to the Clans.”

It was never going to work out. I should have known. A son of Graystripe and a son of Tigerstar, it’s not even a sweet dream, it’s a deranged joke--

“He gets quiet when I’m around you,” Hawkfrost says abruptly. “When I first met you, he was dead silent, and then whenever we would have those petty competitions or, or rescuing Dawnflower, it was so nice because I was the only voice in my head, and it was just me and you.” His eyes are wide now, pleading. “After you disappeared, he got so loud, and that’s when our thoughts started to become tangled, and I was so angry at you for leaving, but then you came back.” Hawkfrost swallows, then repeats, “He gets quiet around you. When I’m with you, it’s just me.”

Hawkfrost takes small steps towards him, searching. “Stormfur, I love you.”

Stormfur’s heart pounds against his chest like it’s begging him to shut up. He asks, “Did Tigerstar tell you to say that?”

Hawkfrost stops. 

His heart feels like it’s shattering. It’s a strange sensation, because it’s split in half before, a dozen times actually, but it’s never shattered into so many fragments that it can never be repaired. 

“You think I would lie about that?” Hawkfrost asks, his features twisting into something angry and disbelieving. “You think I would manipulate you that way?”

“Maybe,” Stormfur responds. “You’re ruthless like that.”

The anger is what fades from Hawkfrost’s face first, leaving just the disbelief behind, and Hawkfrost has never looked as vulnerable as he does at this moment. “Ruthless,” he repeats. “Who knew you were, too?”

He wonders if Hawkfrost can see the way that Stormfur is splintering apart, piece by piece. He isn’t going to be able to hold himself together much longer. “I have to be back in camp by the time Shadepelt returns. You need to leave now.”

Hawkfrost clenches his jaw tightly. “And-- what are you going to tell the Clan happened to me?”

He hasn’t gotten that far, honestly. But there’s no reason to come up with a complicated lie. “I’ll tell them that I tracked your scent halfway to the ThunderClan border, and then it vanished, and I’m heartbroken over it.”

Hawkfrost scoffs. “Try to sell it, deputy.”

You have no idea. You think this is all over the deputyship, but you have no idea.

“I’ll do my best.” He swallows, then decides it might be corny, but it’s the closest he can get to saying goodbye without actually saying it . “May StarClan--”

Hawkfrost doesn’t let him finish the platitude. He whirls around and darts off towards the hills, where no one will ever bother to look for him, and Stormfur stays rooted to that spot long after the darkness has devoured him.

Mothwing and Shadepelt will return to camp soon. I should be there to greet Shadepelt. With the Stars’ blessing, she’ll have received her nine lives.

I’m going to be RiverClan’s deputy. The reality of that hasn’t set in yet, and part of Stormfur wonders if it ever will. This is the same Clan that once chanted for his death, except it isn’t anymore. Not in the ways that matter. 

He stands up and takes a step towards RiverClan’s camp. His paw feels heavy. His entire body feels heavy. His heart lies on the ground somewhere, fractured and the pieces scattered, but still somehow beating faintly, only because he’s been cursed to live.  

Another step, then another, and another, and every time he stops to look over his shoulder just in case, just in case Hawkfrost appears out of the dark and says, No, I’m not leaving you, we’re going to figure this out together--

He never does, of course. Stormfur made it clear what would happen if he did. Stormfur is getting exactly what he asked for, exactly what he never wanted.

He still prays this is just a bad dream, still keeps that hope alive. It’s the only reason he hasn’t collapsed on the ground amongst the scattered pieces of his heart. Any moment now, Hawkfrost is going to prod him awake and tell him they’ve got a dawn patrol to join, and Stormfur is going to ask him if Shadepelt called for both of them, and Hawkfrost is going to smirk that heart-twisting smirk that Stormfur has never stood a chance against, and he’s going to say, Well, I just know how you can’t live without me--

He walks home, alone.

Chapter Text

Six moons later...

Dusklight pours through holes in the clouds and turns the river a sparkling shade of amber. Stormfur pauses to admire the scene and thinks, I need to get back to camp before Shadestar announces the Gathering patrol.

“Aha! Got you!” He turns around and watches as Hazelpaw climbs off Reedwhistle. “I win!”

“Fish-brain, it wasn’t a test for you,” Reedwhistle retorts, exasperated, as he stands to his paws. “It was meant for Minnowpaw and Graypaw!”

“Oh yeah? Then why did Stormfur bring me along, too?”

“To be on my side! Stormfur, your new apprentice is breaking the rules again!”

“Stormfur, your old apprentice is being a killjoy again!”

Purring in amusement would set a poor example for these young, impressionable cats. He clears his throat and says, “Hazelpaw, you know you were supposed to be hiding, not tracking.”

Her ears flatten. “I forgot.”

“Liar!” Reedwhistle accuses. “You just can’t pass up an opportunity to rub my face in the dirt!”

Hazelpaw does not bother stifling her amusement. “No, that’s just a bonus.”

“Stormfur!”

Before Stormfur can tell Reedwhistle to lighten up a bit, something slams into his back and knocks him off balance. It takes him a moment to catch his breath and register exactly who his attacker is, but once he does, it’s impossible to muster any real anger.

“Okay, so,” he begins, “I definitely told you to track down and sneak up on Reedwhistle and Hazelpaw.”

“We thought this would be more impressive!” Exclaims Minnowpaw.

“Besides,” Graypaw adds, “they already got each other.”

“Hazelpaw pounced on me. I did not partake in any of her nonsense.”

“Killjoy,” Hazelpaw grumbles.

Stormfur tunes the older two out and instead focuses on the pride warming his chest as he looks at the two young she-cats. “Well, I guess you both have a point. I didn’t even hear you sneaking up behind me!”

Minnowpaw’s amber eyes light up. “That means we get to attend the Gathering tonight, right?”

“I never said that.”

Graypaw juts out her bottom lip, pouting, and Stormfur needs her to never understand how effective a technique that is on him. “But Shadestar is going to announce our apprenticeships, and if we aren’t there, then we’ll miss all the Clans chanting our names!”

Stormfur feigns nonchalance, shrugging. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have hidden a red ant in Willowpaw’s nest a few nights ago.”

Graypaw’s tail shoots up. “Who told you?!”

Stormfur smirks. “You did. Just now.”

Graypaw groans, and Minnowpaw scolds her for ‘walking into that one’. They start back to camp, Hazelpaw bounding along. It takes Stormfur a moment to realize that Reedwhistle isn’t with them. 

He looks back, and Reedwhistle is lingering behind, distracted by something off in the distance. Stormfur follows his gaze all the way to the hills, where a figure is sitting on top, watching them. They’re too far away to make out any descriptive details; dark-pelted is all anyone can glean. 

But Stormfur can feel that piercing, ice-blue gaze even from miles away, as if they were standing nose-to-nose. 

He doesn’t bother hiding his scowl. “Reedwhistle,” he calls. “We’re leaving now.”

Reedwhistle pulls his gaze from the figure, opens his mouth to say something, but he stops when he registers the expression on Stormfur’s face. Instead, he stands up and hurries to rejoin their group.

Stormfur turns his back on the figure and leads them all to camp, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.

--

Upon their return, everyone splinters off in different directions: Reedwhistle joins Splashberry and Timberfall by the fresh-kill pile; Graypaw and Minnowpaw dart towards Dawnflower to begin recounting their evening; Stormfur orders Hazelpaw to check on the elders before stopping by the fresh-kill pile. He sweeps his gaze across the camp and makes sure everything is as it should be. 

Satisfied, he heads to Shadestar’s den.

The dark gray she-cat is grooming her pelt, but she looks up once she catches his scent. “I was starting to think you forgot about the Gathering tonight."

“The tracking assignment didn’t go quite as I planned it,” Stormfur explains, by way of apology. “Next time I’ll probably use Timberfall or Splashberry instead of Reedwhistle. Hazelpaw just can’t help herself whenever he’s around, and Reedwhistle isn’t much better.”

Shadestar grins. “Are they still competing to be your ‘favorite apprentice ever’?”

Stormfur shakes his head as he sits down. “I’m not surprised Hazelpaw is, but Reedwhistle has always been so mature. I don’t understand why he lets her rile him up the way she does.”

“It doesn’t matter how mature Reedwhistle is; he’s still young. And a bit clingy, besides.” Shadestar gives him a knowing look. “I’m sure that’s one of the reasons why kin don’t typically mentor kin.”

Stormfur flattens his ears. “I wasn’t going to say it…”

“I’m not worried about it, Stormfur. You trained a fine warrior. So, how did Graypaw and Minnowpaw do?”

“Great, if the stiffness in my neck means anything.”

Shadestar snorts, amused. “I assume you want them to attend the Gathering tonight, yes?”

“I can forgive Graypaw for putting the red ant in Willowpaw’s nest,” Stormfur agrees. “This one time, anyway.”