Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a hard season.

Bluestar paced feverishly in the back of the leader’s den, nestled in the rocks at Thunderclan camp. Her pawpads were starting to wear out, like she could feel the bone rubbing beneath the flesh. Stopping to rest was still unthinkable, however. She had to figure out what to do, and her body wanted to be moving.

Things had been difficult for all the clans in the forest, yes, but Thunderclan had surely borne the brunt of it. Greencough had just ripped through her clan with a fickle sort of malice, dooming young and old, strong and weak alike. The air was still cold, the trees still mostly barren of leaves, and there was an unease as to whether the illness might come back. There had been no new kits in moons, and the ones born prior to the epidemic were missing parents, siblings, facing a shortage of warriors to train them. Sunningrocks had been lost to Riverclan again, in another wave of the endless cycle which haunted the place. No efforts so far could successfully regain the territory. Now she worried that they hadn't the numbers to make another attempt.

And now there’s Brokenstar’s erratic behavior, the grey cat thought. The last thing she needed was to lose more territory, more resources. Prey had been scarce. She didn’t know what the Shadowclan leader was planning, but heard he was unstable: a danger she couldn’t afford to turn a blind eye to.

She could sense a general malcontent among the clan. Grumbling behind her back, if it had not already begun, was long overdue. It reminded her of the circumstances in which she’d gained her own ranks, ascending to deputy, and later to leadership. She felt like Sunstar would’ve known what to do. He had given her a life dedicated to courage during her leadership ceremony so long ago.

All I did was squander it, she brooded. He had wanted to make Thunderclan magnificent. He had been snuffed out. What sort of a successor was she?

A cat was approaching. Her den gave her a line of sight straight through camp, all the way to the gorse tunnel entrance. Someone loped towards her from the warriors den: it was Redtail. Her deputy had a strange knack for appearing whenever she reached her wits end.

“Bluestar,” he hailed, stooping at the shoulder to peer into her den. “Has the greencough got you, too? You haven’t come out of your den yet today, and it’s sunhigh.”

“No,” she croaked, unconvincingly. She hadn’t spoken to another cat since she’d woken up; her vocal cords betrayed her. “No,” she managed a fuller meow. “I’m quite well.”

“Would you come hunting with me?” the lithe warrior’s bushy, red tail flickered about his paws as he sat outside the entrance to her rock hollow.

“I suppose,” she said. She knew there would be no prey out in the open at this time of day, especially when there was no ground foliage to hide them. But Redtail knew that, too. He was here for something else, and perhaps wanted her away from camp.

Maybe a mutiny has begun already, she thought grimly.

The sun hurt her eyes when she left the shade of her den, and Redtail was gracious enough to pretend he didn’t notice her hard blinks as she acclimated. He led the way back across camp, through the gorse tunnel, and into the wood beyond.

“What do you suppose we’ll catch?” Bluestar asked, once they were far enough from camp to be unheard.

“I thought you might catch some sunlight and fresh air,” Redtail replied. “You’ve been keeping to yourself lately, and the clan is worried. I’m worried. I thought I’d get you out of camp and stretch your legs, at least.” She avoided returning his gaze. He loped beside her, stubbornly keeping pace with her every step. She could feel him still looking at her, searching her face. Her whiskers twitched, betraying her a little.

“I’ve never been much of a stoic.” She finally sighed. “Redtail, I’m fine. Really. This Leafbare has been hard on the clan, you know that. I’ve been trying to think about what to do so we can prepare for better days. Make the most of them. Especially when the prey is running again.”

“Have you thought about visiting the Moonstone?” Redtail asked, no hint of reproach in his voice. There was an optimism behind the suggestion which stung her.

“Spottedleaf hasn’t heard from Starclan in moons. I know if I sought them out, they’d answer me, but I think it’s likely our bad luck needs to run its course.” She crafted her response as honestly as she could manage. She knew her deputy venerated the fallen warriors and their power, their wisdom. She didn’t necessarily disagree, but as of late, she had caught stray doubts at the edges of her mind. Did Starclan care about what was happening right now? Even if they did, even if they had an answer, how much could they help? How much power was in their paws? She was afraid to confront them when thoughts like this plagued her. Though she hadn’t done anything to break the warrior code, though she hadn’t broken faith in them, her guilt kept her at bay.

“I see.” Redtail’s delay in response set her on edge. Did he suspect?

“Besides, I’m afraid to leave the clan unattended. I don’t want anyone to know I’m gone, especially having lost so many warriors to greencough. Besides, crossing Windclan territory always sets me on edge, ever since the battle. I think it’s too vulnerable; Starclan will send help to Spottedleaf in a vision, if they have something they need us to know.”

Redtail could remember the battle well; he had been there himself. Bluestar had wanted to forget it, but the thought of crossing their windswept moors to reach the sacred stone called it all back to mind. There was truly no clan they were on friendly terms with right now. Until the bad blood with Windclan washed away, until Sunningrocks was back in Thunderclan control, and until Brokenstar had proved himself one way or another, she couldn’t go away. She couldn’t leave her clan for even one night.

“I see the dilemma.” Redtail sighed. She wondered if he really did. Bright, cheery sunlight in the blue sky filtered down on their coats, keeping them warm in the late winter season. It cast everything in a vivid glow, nearly mocking their worries. It would have been a beautiful day otherwise. Redtail gave a twitch of his ears and spoke again. “I have hope for greenleaf. I think you’re right to prepare. So please, let me help you. What have you decided while thinking it over for yourself?”

“Well, we need more warriors,” She said. “I know more mouths means more food, but as soon as that’s plentiful again, everyone will forget their worries about having enough to eat and instead begin to worry about whoever else is lurking in the bushes. We need strong patrolling presence; we need to put up a brave front for the other clans, until we’re not bluffing anymore.”

“Tigerclaw and Goldenflower are having kits soon,” Redtail smiled. “Lionheart and Frostfur as well.”

“I pray good health for their litters.” Bluestar said. “We need trustworthy warriors to apprentice those kits, too. They’ll be ready for training before we realize it.”

“We do.” Redtail replied without venturing into the territory Bluestar had been hoping: Who did he trust? Was there anyone in the clan to be wary of, in the meantime?

“Do you have any recommendations…?” She looked at him for perhaps the first time during their conversation. This time, it was he who averted her gaze. “I trust you. Your perspective is valuable.” Though he was the deputy, cats of the clan could still say certain things around him they might not around Bluestar. Since becoming leader, she had begun to feel that gradual disconnect. Status had placed her out of touch with her own people, in many ways. Now it felt worse than ever before. She needed to know what they were thinking, and what they expected of her.

“I think Runningwind would love the chance,” Redtail said. “Since he never…”

“Yes…” Bluestar relieved him from recounting, again, the tragic loss of the tom’s kits. That had been another blow to the clan, and part of what made her so fearful for the welfare of the little ones still on their way. There were fewer adults to protect them now, and more threats than ever. A part of her had already hardened her heart in preparation; not all of the upcoming kits were likely to survive to warriorhood. It was just a matter of who, when, and how.

“I’d love to take on another apprentice, too,” Redtail’s optimistic voice interrupted her thoughts. “And I wonder if it’s time for Spottedleaf to begin training somebody to help her out in the medicine den.”

“Your counsel is appreciated, as always,” Bluestar tapped his tail with her own in an affectionate gesture. “I think I’ll give you jurisdiction over the mentorship assignments this time.”

“That’s a great honor,” Redtail bowed his head sheepishly. “We can revisit this topic when it’s time, to make sure you still want it that way. But I’ll think of good mentors for them in the meantime.”

Their walk had taken them aimlessly through the pines, towards Twolegplace. Now, the wooden fences and boxy twoleg dwellings were coming into view.

“Shh,” Bluestar said, suddenly, an edge of mischief to her voice. She hunkered low to the ground in a quick movement, and Redtail followed suit.

“What is it? Did you scent someone else out here?” He whispered urgently. His ears were flattening against his skull, his pupils darting back and forth.

“No, I…I want to see if we could startle one of the kittypets,” she admitted, already ashamed of her childish impulse. Sharing it with another felt reproachful. To her surprise, Redtail suppressed a chuckle and nodded vigorously.

“It’s good to see you acting like your old self,” he said. “We’ll see if we can spot any of them.”

They paced along the edge of twolegplace, crouching low and keeping quiet in the dry leaves, until they were certain no kittypets had ventured outdoors on this sunny winter day.

“Shame” Bluestar finally said. “It’s actually warm enough for those pampered creatures to see the sun today.”

“If they cared to.” Redtail corrected. “Let’s get back to camp. We can see if we catch anything on the way, but at least we’ve patrolled a little in the meantime.”

The way to camp was devoid of prey and conversation. When they returned, they were greeted with warmth and cheer by the few other cats lounging in the clearing, but Bluestar wondered how deeply those good feelings reached. The diversion at twolegplace had taken her thoughts away from the plight of the clan for a little while, but even that search had come up fruitless.

It had been a very hard season.

Chapter Text

There was a ruckus in the gorse tunnel, which called the attention of every cat in Thunderclan camp. Bluestar, who had been taking stock of the clan’s caught prey, found herself poised closest to the activity. She braced to meet the intruders, whoever they were.

When the cats emerged, she recognized the patrol she had sent out that morning, with an additional guest. A hunched she-cat with long, dark grey fur plodded behind Longtail as he ushered her in. Her ears were ragged. Bluestar knew this cat. It was Yellowfang, Shadowclan’s medicine cat—what was she doing here? Was there some kind of sickness in Shadowclan, and if so, had she brought it with her?

“We found her on the border.” Longtail explained, without needing to be prompted. He circled the prisoner, giving her a nudge forwards. She hung her head, wordless, while his tabby tail twitched in the air with anticipation.

“She was within our territory,” Robinwing corrected her patrolling partner gently. “We interrogated her, but we couldn’t get an explanation.”

“So you dragged her back to our camp?” Bluestar said, keeping her tone cool. It was suspicious for another clan’s medicine cat to appear within her territory without anything to say for themselves; this was true, but she feared already that the escalation of taking a Shadowclan member prisoner might create trouble for them all.

“What, were we supposed to let her wander our woods indefinitely? She told us she wouldn’t go back home, but she couldn’t be allowed to stay out there, either.” Longtail insisted. His hackles raised a little, as his gaze darted back and forth between Yellowfang and his clan leader. Yellowfang remained unresponsive.

“We also thought maybe she would be willing to speak to another medicine cat,” Robinwing said. “She came with us willingly enough. Didn’t put up a fight when we told her what had to be done.”

“Yellowfang?” Bluestar asked, realizing she hadn’t addressed the prisoner directly yet. Yellowfang gave a small shake of her head, which carried an air of refusal. Polite, or maybe fearful refusal, but a reluctance to engage nonetheless.

“That’s how she’s been the whole time,” Robinwing said. The brown she-cat couldn’t hide a tone of gentle concern. She balanced Longtail’s energy well, but Bluestar worried at times that the she-cat compensated with too much softness for the areas where others were sharp and unyielding.

“Very well,” Bluestar huffed. “Take her to my den and watch her. Keep her under guard at all times, until we know more about what’s going on. I’ll get Spottedleaf to have a word with her—but you can’t leave them alone when that happens, got it?”

“Understood.” Longtail gave a nod and shoved the prisoner forwards.

Bluestar thought she registered a wince glimmer across Yellowfang’s drooping face. Was it a twinge of annoyance? Disappointment? If Yellowfang wouldn’t speak for herself, Bluestar couldn’t simply extend the benefit of the doubt. She thought the older cat would understand this, having lived so long among the clans. The patrol escorted her away, to the rocky crag where Bluestar had crouched, sleepless, for the past several nights. She dearly hoped she wouldn’t have to share a den with Yellowfang for very long.

It was too late to undo whatever her patrol had done, and too late to protect the clan from whatever Yellowfang’s intrusion signaled. Bluestar’s best hope now was answers. Seeing the trio arrive at her den with no resistance on Yellowfang’s part, she found her way to the medicine cat’s lair.

Spottedleaf was preparing nests when Bluestar arrived. The smell of hay and dried plants filled the den, and dim sunlight filtered through the tightly-packed leafbare branches above.

“Bluestar! Isn’t it good that we’ll have more kits soon?” the brown-and-white dappled medicine cat greeted her with a purr. “It’s about time. I was just making Goldenflower’s nest.”

It seemed a shame to spoil Spottedleaf’s good mood, so rare in Thunderclan these days, but it had to be done. Bluestar did her best to return a lighthearted greeting before wrenching the goodwill away.

“I’m encouraged by your preparedness, as always,” she gave a gracious nod. It was true; the young medicine cat shone with anticipation at all times. Starclan had, perhaps, given her some prescience as a blessed gift for her healing work. Goldenflower didn’t seem overly-swollen with kits right now, but every time Spottedleaf had prepared a nest for expecting queens before, they gave birth shortly afterwards. Bluestar felt herself being carried away by the hope those kits presented. She’d have to keep her mind on the matter at hand—but perhaps Starclan would gift Spottedleaf with intuition once more, in her quest for truth.

“Spottedleaf, I have a serious favor to ask of you.” She watched Spottedleaf’s expression turn somber, as she sat down and wrapped her tail around her paws. She still had bits of dried moss and straw sticking out of her fur from the nest work, but she had read Bluestar’s tone of voice too accurately to waste time or attention on grooming herself. Her golden eyes met Bluestar’s, awaiting the information she had to give. “Shadowclan’s medicine cat arrived within our territory today.”

“Yellowfang? Why?”
“Yes, Yellowfang. And we don’t know. She was met by one of our patrols. They couldn’t seem to get any information out of her, and neither could I—but we all thought she might be willing to speak to another medicine cat.”

“I see.” Spottedleaf gave a thoughtful nod, already rising to her feet. “I’ll do my best. Where is she now?”

“They have her under guard in my den.” Bluestar said. Spottedleaf began to move towards Bluestar, who was still blocking the den’s tight entrance of bare twigs. Bluestar moved aside to let her pass, but not before extending a warning.

“Spottedleaf,” she said, “Don’t talk to her alone. I don’t trust this.”

“Yes, Bluestar.” The she-cat exited the den, and Bluestar was left alone with the empty nests and the sharp-scented herbs.

If Goldenflower’s kits came soon, they’d be born into a cold and uncertain time. The buds on the branches of the massive shrub that sheltered the medicine den didn’t offer a solid enough hope for Bluestar to place her trust in, quite yet. She left the den with a sigh. Redtail would need to hear about Yellowfang’s appearance sooner or later; she should be the one to tell him.

-

Spottedleaf was in Bluestar’s den for a very long time. The entire camp had heard of their new prisoner before the medicine cat reemerged, a look of weariness etched across her face. Redtail went to her, wanting to comfort his sister, had any terrible news been brought. Bluestar watched from a distance as she refused him, giving a sharp shake of her head, and stalked back to the medicine den. Her tail swished as she went.
Bluestar approached Longtail and Robinwing first.

“Did you overhear anything?” she asked, knowing Spottedleaf would come back to her whenever she had processed what she needed to. Bluestar didn’t want to wait that long, and she knew the curiosity within her guards would have overcome the desire for propriety.

“Lots of bad business over in Shadowclan.” Robinwing said, so quietly that she strained her voice. Bluestar could only barely see the prisoner's dark, fluffy shape within her den. Though Yellowfang was pressed back against the far wall, Bluestar knew that whatever was said here at the entrance, no matter how quietly, would be perfectly audible no matter how far back the prisoner was sitting. She had leveraged this herself many times. She would have to let the secret out, at least for now.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Bluestar said, gently. “She can hear you no matter how softly you speak.”

“She’s in exile.” Longtail said. Bluestar wondered at the restraint he must have exercised, to keep from saying this right away.

“For what?” Bluestar peered in again, casting her gaze at the prisoner. Half-opened yellow eyes glowed back.

“We couldn’t hear that part,” Robinwing said.

“Or she wouldn’t tell Spottedleaf at all.” Longtail frowned, the tabby tom’s ears twitching backwards.

“Well, she can’t go free until we know what’s going on,” Bluestar said, at length. If she was exiled, at least Shadowclan wouldn’t attempt retribution for taking her prisoner. But what had her warriors just brought into the camp?

She wondered if it would have been better to just give Yellowfang the run of the woods after all. Maybe then, she could have at least left clan territories altogether.

--

Her den currently occupied, Bluestar ascended the scramble of boulders and little rocks which formed the most striking piece of Thunderclan camp. It was in this rock pile that her own den was, and atop this rock pile that she generally addressed the clan. She would not speak to them just yet—she had to think of what to say, and hoped Spottedleaf would be ready to talk soon.

Spottedleaf came around after dusk, pacing awkwardly to Bluestar’s den, and, seeing a new set of warriors outside and only Yellowfang within, looked a little lost. Bluestar was still perched above, and called to her.

“I’m up here,” Bluestar said.

“Oh!” Spottedleaf gave an absent exclamation, disappeared around the corner of the nearest boulder, and then reappeared behind Bluestar. She settled into the space at the top of the rockpile beside her leader.

“Bluestar,” she said, in a hushed voice. “I could hardly get her to say anything. I sense she’s suffered a great loss.”

“Longtail told me she’s been exiled.” Bluestar hissed. “For what?”

“She mumbled…barely spoke of that part. I think she lost someone she was caring for.” Spottedleaf frowned. “She doesn’t want to leave the clans.”

“Where is she supposed to go, if she can’t be reconciled back to Shadowclan?” Bluestar searched Spottedleaf’s golden eyes with her own piercing blue. She knew what the medicine cat was getting at.

“I don’t have an apprentice right now, and with the new births coming up…we could use…”

“Not her.” Bluestar said, too loud this time. Bluestar scanned the camp to see if anyone had heard, as Whitestorm, from the prey pile, gave her an inquisitive and urgent once-over himself. Making eye contact, she shook her head at him, and he returned sheepishly to his meal.

“Then what will you tell them?” Spottedleaf whispered. “Are we going to keep her prisoner forever? Send her to another clan?”

“I don’t know.” Bluestar sighed. “I don’t know. Is that all you had to say?”

“Yes. That’s all she told me.” Spottedleaf said, rising to her feet.

“You are excused.”

“Thank you.”

The tortoiseshell left the way she had come, and Bluestar languished on the rocks once more. She would have to address the clan sooner or later. She would save it for morning, she decided. Tonight, she would sleep up here, and search the stars for answers.

--

It was moonhigh.

Bluestar had tried praying, at first, but found the words wouldn’t come. Silverpelt had entranced her for a time, as it came into view above. The way it glimmered reminded her of nights spent camping in the open, or returning to the warrior’s den at Thunderclan very late as everybody else was sleeping. It reminded her of the moon’s gentle light, glimmering on the river at Sunningrocks…of Oakheart’s glinting, sky-deep eyes, and of the code she had once broken.

Sleep had not arrived for Bluestar, but just now, Spottedleaf had.

“You startled me—“ Spottedleaf hissed as she crested the rock, which, in turn, startled Bluestar. Lost in thought, she had not noticed the other cat’s lithe approach.

“What are you doing up here?” Bluestar asked.

“I came to pray. I—“ Spottedleaf’s attention was wrenched away by something past Bluestar, something over her shoulder and far above. She turned to look, and in the sky, beheld a brightness she couldn’t account for.
It was a falling star.

She looked back to Spottedleaf, whose eyes carried the glazed unfocus of a cat barely awoken from deep sleep. Bluestar knew that this was how she looked, too, when she was convening with Starclan, nose pressed to the great Moonstone. She waited in silence for the expression to pass from Spottedleaf’s face.

As the light of the star faded into the horizon, Spottedleaf’s focus returned to her companion.

“It was a sign from Starclan.” As the medicine cat’s faculties returned, she gave a sleepy, off-kilter series of blinks.

“I know that. What did they tell you?” Bluestar said. And if I saw the star too, why didn’t they tell me? I’ve been up here to seek them, just like you…

“A simple message. I can’t make sense of it…” the small she-cat’s voice wavered.

“Tell me the message.” Bluestar pressed. “Please.”

“Fire alone can save our clan.” Spottedleaf repeated the words in a cadence that was not natural to her. Though, whichever departed warrior had been dispatched to give the message, Bluestar couldn’t infer by Spottedleaf’s imitation of their voice.

“Fire…” Bluestar frowned. More trouble is in store for us, most likely. This is a warning not to break trust. A fire might kill us all, in leafbare, when everything’s dried up, between snowfalls...It would kill the prey, too.

“It was a message of hope,” Spottedleaf said, pressing her forehead gently against her leader’s. Bluestar’s face had, apparently, betrayed the nature of her immediate conclusion.

“We need real hope,” Bluestar said, taking care not to raise her voice. “We need something to cling to, we need—“

“You saw that falling star, just as I. Cling to it. Cling to that sign.” Spottedleaf hissed, reprimanding her gently but with great conviction.

Bluestar sighed, hanging her head. Her whiskers twitched in annoyance, again without her permission.

“I will.” Bluestar said.

Long after Spottedleaf had left the rocks and returned to her own den, Bluestar studied the part of the sky where Starclan’s falling light had disappeared.

When it moved, it had been moving away from Thunderclan—away from her.

Chapter Text

A winter sunset painted the sky above the woods orange-red, and tinted the fresh snow dark blue in the bony shadows of the tree branches. In Thunderclan camp, those who weren’t hunting or on patrol were crouched in sullen groups, nerves wound up like tight springs. Goldenflower’s pains had begun this afternoon. It had only been a troubled labor from there. Bluestar half-blamed Spottedleaf for invoking the poor queen’s name yesterday.

Bluestar reappeared in the medicine den every few minutes in a haze of manic impulse, only to retreat and check on the camp again. It was taking too long for Goldenflower’s kits to emerge, and the light-gold tabby’s sides heaved with prolonged, bloody effort. Bluestar had always tried to forget about what this part felt like. The work it took, just to breathe.

There were no designated helpers for Spottedleaf, who bore the grisly task without complaint, and offered ceaseless encouragement to the struggling queen. The only other occupant of the medicine den was Goldenflower’s mate, Tigerclaw. He was crouched near the entrance wall on the hard-packed dirt. He looked uncomfortable, but could not be persuaded to move. He had only reached that spot after making a claustrophobic squeeze through the entry tunnel. He’d had to be coaxed: either come all the way inside, or stay out. Nobody could get around him when he was wedged half-inside the entryway, and Spottedleaf needed a clear path. With hollow amber eyes, the dark, bulky tabby watched Goldenflower now from the edge of the room. He never seemed to blink.

Bluestar found his surly presence and empty expression equally unsettling, and she passed him by quickly to leave the cramped den. This tom had been on her mind more than the others, as of late. Before she had become leader, she’d watched Tigerclaw assert himself as one of the finest and most ruthless warriors of Thunderclan. Bluesar’s own rival for deputyship, Thistleclaw, had been Tigerclaw’s mentor. A latent fear shrouded the younger tom in her eyes, a stain left by the shadow of his mentor. However much of Thistleclaw’s ambition and recklessness he’d poured into his apprentice, only time would tell. Bluestar didn’t want to be caught off-guard when it did.

Tonight, she was afraid. Spottedleaf wouldn’t say it, but Goldenflower was in peril; their first kits were, too. Of all the toms in the clan who might weather such a loss with grace, Tigerclaw was not one of them.

Passing through that dark tunnel and into the twilit camp, Bluestar willed the kittens again towards their own safe passage, and paced away from the medicine den. She would not check again tonight—not until the kittens had been safely brought out, or her resolve cracked again.

Redtail was watching Yellowfang, still confined to Bluestar’s den. He had brought the prisoner a mouse for dinner and the promise of unintrusive company. Now, though, an escalating disagreement sounded from the rocks, taking Bluestar’s attention away from Goldenflower. Redtail was standing rigid, tail lashing, and meowing into the den. As Bluestar approached, she could overhear:

“You are not coming out of this den without my leader’s permission! That’s final.” Redtail snapped.

“I can save the kits! Please! I know what to do. She’s all alone in there, she’ll lose them,” was the she-cat’s hoarse, but no less empassioned, reply. Yellowfang had served Shadowclan as a medicine cat for many seasons, and it was true that she had more lived experience than Spottedleaf. It was also true that someone cunning might leverage that experience to gain freedom under similar duress. Bluestar didn’t trust her for a moment.

“What’s going on?” She meowed, putting on a confident tone. Redtail turned to face her, a look of relief glimmering across his amber eyes.

“Yellowfang wants to help Spottedleaf deliver the kits.” He began. “I told her she couldn’t leave this den without—”

“You doomed your clanmate!” Yellowfang interrupted, her somewhat flattened features exaggerating the shape of her mouth as she yowled. The older she-cat had come all the way to the front of the den now; it was easier to see her in the waxing moonlight, and to assess her condition. Bluestar noted nothing suspicious—no new scars or scabs to suggest she’d brawled with anyone in Shadowclan before her rejection. No signs they had punished her further, either. Bluestar chastised herself for not making this examination the day before. How had she forgotten it?

“I can hear her suffering in there! If you don’t do something—” Yellowfang broke into Bluestar’s thoughts with another frantic plea.

“Yellowfang,” Bluestar snapped. I need to put an end to this, before everyone hears her. “There are other expecting queens in the camp. If you keep this up, you’ll kill them with fright before they get a chance to deliver. Spottedleaf has the situation under control.”

“You don’t understand. She needs help, which I can give. Let me out of here.” Yellowfang hissed, and Bluestar caught a glint of her claws coming out of their sheaths in her night-grey paws.

“I will not do that. And you don’t dare fight me in a camp where you’re outnumbered so severely.” Bluestar said. Redtail gave her a fleeting, pleading glance. She returned his gaze with cool regard, the unspoken command not to defy her here. Not out loud.

Yellowfang simply growled. She retreated into the shadows of Bluestar’s den, and hunched with her back to them.

“Suit yourself.” Her gravelly voice was muffled by the confined space of the den. “Suit yourself, but Spottedleaf will want to hear about this.”

“I’m sure.” Bluestar shot back.

By this time, a small group of warriors near the elders’ den had turned their attention towards the scuffle. Bluestar recognized Whitestorm and Longtail among them. She flicked her light grey tail in the air, twitching it to beckon them over. The toms jumped to their feet and trotted over, visibly grateful for the chance to occupy themselves while Goldenflower languished in the medicine den beyond.

“Please watch Yellowfang.” Bluestar said, giving them a warm nod as they arrived. “She needs to remain in this den. She’ll try to convince you to let her out.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Longtail said, ears flicking with an air of pride.

“That’s why I chose you,” Bluestar said. This pleased the tom more than it had a right to, but she would deal with that later. Keeping her tone congenial, she continued. “Redtail and I are going to patrol. The scent of blood is stronger now than it should be—since the kittens are taking so long—and so I thought we might catch any foxes, or anything else that has caught the scent, with a little surprise.”

“That’s a good idea,” Whitestorm meowed. “I can get a few others to patrol as well, if you think it’ll help?”

“Yes, please, in case something big comes along. We’ll wait here with Longtail until you return.” Bluestar gave a nod to Redtail, and she could sense an edge of wariness still lingering about him. If enough other warriors left camp, she would take him on a wider patrol, and get to the bottom of what had shaken his confidence. He was the last cat she could afford to lose.

The fluffy white tom returned to them shortly, after having sent out practically half the camp. Bluestar and Redtail rose to their feet, ready to go.

“I told the rest of the camp to wait on standby, and we’ll all be ready if anything comes charging into the clearing.” Whitestorm said brightly. Bluestar gave him a smile.

“Perfect. I couldn’t have done any better myself.”

Without trying, she and Redtail fell back into the same path they had taken on their last walk. Bluestar appreciated the familiarity; she hoped that once they were far enough from camp, Redtail would feel at liberty to share his burden, the same way she’d attempted to share hers. As they walked, however, the tom appeared to be fully engrossed in scenting for predators. She appreciated his vigilance, but wanted to know as soon as possible what had been on his mind.

“Redtail,” she prompted. He looked at her slowly, as if coming out of a haze.

“Did you scent something?” He asked. His voice broke mid-sentence, and she watched him flinch. His nerves were frayed by the events of the night. She realized, with sudden empathy, that he had been holding his emotions, his fear for the future, at bay.

“No, we’re safe right now. I want to know if anything is bothering you.” She said. “Anything you couldn’t talk about in camp.”

“Well,” the tom sighed, legs swinging a little faster through the underbrush as if to flee the question. Bluestar kept up with him, unrelenting. “Well, I was just thinking…why didn’t we let Yellowfang help Spottedleaf?”

“Why should we?” Bluestar tried to keep her tone neutral in response. She wanted to probe him, not upset him.

“Yellowfang was right. Spottedleaf is alone in her duties right now. And we can’t know for certain if any of these new kits will have an aptitude for medicine—or if we’ll be even able to spare any for that, if we’re short kits. I mean, if Goldenflower…” he stopped himself abruptly, picking up his train of thought elsewhere. “We wouldn’t even have to worry about that if we let Yellowfang join us as a second medicine cat. You were just saying that we needed more capable members, and then Yellowfang practically fell out of the sky for us.”

“Nobody has ever had two medicine cats at once.” Bluestar said. Feeling it was a weak excuse on its own, she continued. “Besides, we took her prisoner. I don’t know if the goodwill extends both ways anymore. This isn’t like a Fourtrees gathering; we’re no longer peers, and we’re no longer playing by peaceful rules.”

Redtail shook his head, declining a verbal response.

“She’s clever, Redtail,” Bluestar pressed.

“That’s why we need her.” He said.

“That’s why I think she was trying to trick us.” She replied.

“She wasn’t asking for her total freedom, not quite—”

“…But that would’ve been the next step.” Bluestar cut him off, feeling ashamed of the reprimand in her voice. She cleared her throat, hoping to start again with a civil tone. “We don’t even know why she was exiled. Not for certain, anyways; but Spottedleaf told me that she might have killed someone in Shadowclan.”

“Might have?” Redtail shook his head again, incredulous. “I could believe it, but I’d have to know for a fact. Should we send someone to verify it?” He paced faster again, as if carried away by the thought. A stray branch hit Bluestar’s ear as she sped up to catch him, leaving a stinging feeling. “Maybe send a patrol to wait at their border for someone to come along?”

Bluestar felt a glimmer of hope at her deputy’s suggestion; even if the Shadowclan warriors lied to them, carrying their story back to camp might provoke the truth out of Yellowfang. Or something nearing the truth, or anything nearing a cohesive explanation.

“We can do that tomorrow. You and I could even go together.” She agreed quickly, wanting to affirm his instincts. “But Yellowfang remains a problem right now, not a solution, and we have to figure out what to do with her.”

“Bluestar, the timing still bothers me…what with Goldenflower. Yellowfang could be a gift from Starclan, for all we know.”

Bluestar stopped in her tracks. Redtail paced a few steps, then, realizing she was no longer shoulder-to-shoulder with him, turned to face her.

“Did your sister tell you yet?” she spoke quietly.

“Spottedleaf? Tell me what?” Redtail’s ears flitted back in confusion, and the tip of his bushy tail twitched expectantly.

“She received a sign last night.”

“The same night Yellowfang came!” The tom brightened immediately, and Bluestar interrupted him.

“It wasn’t about Yellowfang.” She said. “Fire alone can save our clan. It was something like that. And a star fell across the sky.” Redtail’s expression faltered as she spoke.

“How can fire save us?” He thought a moment. “Fire, like a metaphor? Like Sunstar’s golden-red pelt?” The two warriors shared a moment of reverence for their former leader. It was a moment in which they were both peers again: in a time where they had been free from the disenchantment of responsibility, Sunstar had borne it all for them.

Bluestar had thought of him when the prophecy came, too. Sunstar had possessed a brilliant, fiery red coat. It was striking. It had given away his easy confidence almost as quickly as a moment spent in direct conversation had.

“He certainly would have known what to do.” Bluestar said, grief piercing her heart in a sharp way that she hadn’t felt since his loss was fresh. But it was not a grief for him. It was a grief for her old life, as fraught as that, too, had really been. “Sunstar wouldn’t be traipsing around the woods while one of us fought for her life in the camp.” She concluded darkly.

“Then, let’s patrol.” Redtail spurred her gently. “Let’s help Goldenflower. We’ll keep her safe.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Bluestar began to walk again, setting her own pace this time. Her companion held steady at her lead.

“You would get along just fine.” Redtail shrugged the compliment away, as he always did. “Whitestorm would make a fine deputy, with his bit of quick thinking tonight.”

“If only he could manage that consistently, then yes—” Bluestar was about to laugh at her own joke, but a breeze came from ahead, and she scented something new. Something acrid, something metallic. More blood.

A cat’s blood.

Bluestar only had to exchange a glance with her deputy, and they were running to the source.

Chapter Text

Nutmeg was so heavy with kittens that it was difficult to sleep much anymore. And when she stayed up late, she got to thinking.

Her people had tried to bundle her into their warm house for the night, but it was stifling inside. Their own people-kits, though polite enough, were far too loud and overbearing for Nutmeg in her late state of pregnancy anyway. Outside, in the still winter evening, the fawn-colored tabby could gaze at the stars. If she got cold, she knew there was a hot pad in the little box at the edge of the yard: a tiny stray cat sanctuary her people had created. They were good people; good to her. good to their young, and good to the other neighborhood animals. The hospitable garden was where she’d had her first meeting with Jake. That was another reason to stay outside a little longer—the father of her kits wasn’t allowed to come indoors with her. He wouldn’t have wanted to, anyways.

She used to sit on the fence and watch the woods. The quiet clattering of those barren tree branches outside had whispered to her over the past few nights. If she could hop the fence, she would. She wanted to stretch her legs again, to smell the wild scents on the breeze. Smells of small, warm creatures she’d never have the patience to hunt down for herself. Sometimes there were other odors: smells of big, wild things that made her feel she was the one being hunted. Smells that made her go back inside, where the windowpanes filtered out every bad thing from the outdoors, only letting in the sunlight. Jake had always talked of other cats in the forest; of a whole other world. She could never catch their scent, hard as she tried.

Something deep within her body could sense that the kits would be here in another few days. As certain as the sun would rise in the morning, her life would be brand new. At least for a time, she wouldn’t be able to sit out at night anymore. She wouldn’t see Jake as often, or the other neighborhood cats. She worried she wouldn’t even have time to gaze out the windows anymore; she’d have her babies to watch and teach. Though she also looked forward to that life, she held a silent grief for the old routine she had been waning slowly out of. If she ever wanted to see the forest, there wouldn’t be another chance for a long time.

If she could just hop the fence…

Last night, she had been afraid to. What if she didn’t have the energy to make the jump back in? But today she had remembered that the front gate had a loose plank. If she could find her way back into the neighborhood, she could always find her house and squeeze back in through the gap. Once she made it back to the suburbs, she’d be able to find help. She had heard from Jake that there were ways to re-enter the People-place from the woods fairly easily.

Just this once, Nutmeg thought, I might take the risk and get out. The air carried no scent tonight which she could identify: no hint of predator, peer, or prey. Gathering her strength, she wiggled on her haunches and just barely stuck the landing on the upper fence beam. Her nails dug in as she landed, gripping the wood for support. She was not prepared for the violent way that all her extra weight had yanked at her nailbeds when she scrambled up.

Am I in good enough shape for this?

But then, the sight of the forest filled her heart with pounding excitement. It smelled crisp and sharp as evergreen out there, and lanes of moonlight shone down between barren trees to make winding, snow-clad paths. There were bird tracks in the snow, but nothing else. She would have the kingdom of bushy pines and sleeping oak to herself. She would go.

She landed roughly. The place where her paws joined her legs sparked with a sharp pain as they met the ground. Her body had not hit the ground, though her legs would pay the price for it in aches later. She barely managed to remain upright. But the kits still felt safe inside, despite her poorly-checked drop. Shaking her front paws out to dispel the pain, she took her first steps into the crisp wild snow. It gave muted crunches underpaw.

I could just follow my own trail back home, since nobody else has been about in the snow, Nutmeg thought. Jake might be proud of me for thinking to do that, she beamed at herself, as she walked along. Her steps became less hesitant as the pain in her paws wore away, and as the new world among the trees failed to produce any unpleasant surprises for her. She still wished her mate, if she could call him that, was along with her for the adventure. He would know where the forest cats lived, and could even introduce her, if he was really so knowledgeable of them.

Though, I’m beginning to have my doubts. Her whiskers twitched reflexively as a new sound emanated from afar. It was a faint and high sound, clinging feebly to the air for only a few moments. There was no echo, and nothing more to follow.

It could have been anything.

Nutmeg kept walking, wholly focused on the way the stars blotted out when the dark fingers of bare trees passed between herself and the sky. A few big pines still occluded the heavens from her, but she loved the look of those, too: tall, evergreen guardians. A lasting promise that the forest would come back to life in the spring. How she loved the idea of coming back in spring or late summer, when the kittens were grown and maybe some of them adopted away to neighbors, friends of her people. How she might stretch her legs again…It would be so easy, now that she had taken the first step.

A kick buffeted her side from within. Familiar; the kick of someone she would be meeting face-to-face someday soon.

If you are good, I’ll take you here with me someday. She thought, willing her heart to them. But you’ll have to listen, and stay close.

Another kick, as if in reply, and then her whole body siezed with pain. All of her muscles had clenched at once, and it made her paws ache fresh again.

You can’t come yet, she willed. She paced a little slower, waiting to see if her body would produce another spasm. She hadn’t gone too far from her place just yet. She could run back to the other side of the garden if something happened. She could make enough noise, and her people would hear. They wouldn’t dare scold her now.

The pain did not return, so Nutmeg picked up the pace again. The snow smelled so cold and clean, with a hint of musty vegetation underneath it. No scent of any other living thing filled her nose. She was used to smelling lots of things all at once; in the woods, it was a welcome reprieve. She didn’t know enough to feel suspicious of the scent-blank world. Didn’t know that she wasn’t used to forest smells at all; would never have had the chance, staying on her garden fence for a few summers, to fully understand the woods.

The sound came back. Closer now, Nutmeg could hear it just clearly enough to identify it: a cat’s yowl of pain.

Without a thought, she turned to run. She pelted across the snow, at first, forgetting to follow her own tracks. When she finally looked down, there were more prints in the snow than just her own. Another set of cat tracks intersected her fresh path. Another one, farther away, walked almost alongside it for a few paces before veering off to the other side of the woods. She didn’t know enough about tracking to realize all these other prints were old, maybe even a full day old. She only knew enough to recognize them as other cats, and feel afraid.

The forest cats? She thought, as she loped, already out of breath. Her body siezed again midstep, throwing her off-balance. Her paw ached, but she kept herself from falling and continued on.

The kittens…

They were coming sooner than she had imagined.

She bundled along, though she still couldn’t catch a glimpse of the garden fences through the bark of the trees yet. Another set of cat tracks mingled with her own, and she worried that in her haste she had chosen the wrong branch. Her body convulsed once again, this time with a strength and urgeency that told her clearly: It’s time. Lay down. Pray for help.

Another convulsion came, just as strong as the last. She stopped running, whiskers trembling.

I don’t want to yet…

Another convulsion buckled her at the knees, taking her down to the cold, wet snow. She dared not make a sound; the other cats could be anywhere. Anything else in the woods would hear her, too.

I don’t remember what to do…

She had never felt so alone. She lay on her side as contractions bubbled out of her muscles and faded away, with no concept of how many had passed, or how many were to come. She gasped for breath. Soon, the muscles in her flanks siezed so frequently that the pain from the previous contraction didn’t have time to fade before the new one came. Her legs were wet, now, and she wasn’t sure if it was from melted snow or if her kittens were finally coming. Her flanks hurt too much to let her bend and look.

“You there!”

Someone had called to her. From afar, a cat approached. He was big, with a tail gleaming rust-colored in the moonlight.

“Jake?” Her relief gave way to horror when she saw that it was not him. As this cat approached, the dark fur and amber eyes glinted back at her: a total stranger. Another ran alongside him, a lithe cat who was blue as snow in the dark, who had nearly blended into the ground beside him.

“Are you hurt?” She meowed, face alight with concern. Pale blue eyes looked deep into Nutmeg’s green ones, sizing her up, probing for intention. She was too afraid to say anything. Her body siezed again, contracting harder.

“Are you having kits?” The male cat exclaimed, sparing frightened, short glances towards Nutmeg’s hindquarters. “Right here?” Nutmeg thought her flanks would give out. The wet feeling was getting worse, and she was getting much colder.

“We will help you.” the blue she-cat said. Her eyes had not left Nutmeg’s face until now, as she got to work. The certainty in her voice filled Nutmeg with warmth again.

“Bluestar, I don’t know how to help with this,” the tom said.

Bluestar…that’s lovely, Nutmeg thought.

“Get some dry... Can you…borage?…think Spotted…that for…” Bluestar’s voice faded in and out as Nutmeg’s head pounded. Her heart was beating faster every minute; she could feel it. The tom ran away. She screwed her eyes shut, the contractions coming so quickly that there was no time to breathe at all. A new kind of pain coursed between her legs, and she knew the first kitten was out.

“You have one!” Bluestar said. “One kit! Looks healthy!”

Before Nutmeg knew it, a tiny black kitten had been placed unceremoniously in front of her face. The tom had done it; at some point he had come back.

“I think you have to lick him,” he said, nudging the little one towards her.

“Another boy! This one is—” Bluestar’s voice faltered. Nutmeg moved her head to cast a weak glance down towards the new kitten. He was bright orange, just like his father. The sight cheered her, but she couldn’t keep her head in the air for long. She rested back on the snow again. Her body was trembling; there were still more.

“The firstborn…?” the tom said, gesturing towards the black kitten. It trembled in the snow, and Nutmeg felt bad for forgetting about him. She began to lick his sour, wet fur. She couldn’t tell if it was helping or not. He still seemed cold.

Where’s the rust-colored one? she thought, as she licked the black kitten. He had a little white marking on his paw. This one is charming, though, she admired him. She had carried them for so long, eagerly awaiting the sight of them. But who was licking the second kit…who was keeping him warm?

“And another!” Bluestar proclaimed, nestling a dark brown tabby beside the black one. “She’s big,” Bluestar said. “I think she’s the last one.”

“What about the other kit?” Nutmeg rasped. Her body had stopped clenching now; that was all. Three new kittens.

“The other?” Bluestar’s eyes wouldn’t meet Nutmeg’s anymore.

“My kit.”

“There were two.” Bluestar said.

“No, there were—” the tom raised his voice, but was interrupted again by the blue she-cat.

“There were two. You should be able to rest here safely.” She said.

“There were three! I saw him!” Nutmeg sobbed, too weak to scream, and too upset to speak.

“Two beautiful kits.” Bluestar said, turning away. She stooped to pick something up, and Nutmeg let out a whimper. The tom followed after his companion into the blue. Nutmeg could see flashes of her son’s red coat in Bluestar’s mouth as she bobbed away.

My son… Nutmeg shuddered as she tried to rise to her feet. One of the other kits, in their hollow in the snow, sneezed pitifully.

She knew she was too weak to follow the forest cats. She knew that if she left her remaining kittens here, they would freeze right away. She wished to tear herself in two. Wished that Jake was here. Wished she hadn’t left the garden tonight.

She licked her kittens, and she cried.

How do I carry them home?

She didn’t know, so she waited, huddled over them. The tiny kittens shook against the cold ground. Nutmeg sat with her kittens for a long time. She was too afraid to name them, in case they didn’t survive the night.

The moon had set when, like a gift from the stars, Jake appeared.

“Are you hurt?” as soon as he caught sight of her, he bounded to her. He was upon her, licking her and circling her in concern. “What’s all this blood in the snow?”

“Is it really you?” she mewed.

“Yes,” Jake pushed his forehead against hers. “It’s really me. I followed your scent here. What happened?”

“We have kittens,” she said weakly. Moving her aching legs aside, she let him see them, where they had been tucked beneath her.

“You’re so cold,” Jake meowed, barely casting a glance at the shivering whelps. “Let me carry them home with you.”

“Please.” Nutmeg said. “What should we name them?”

But Jake didn’t reply. Instead, he had taken the bigger one—the dark tabby girl—gently into his mouth. He waited for her to follow his lead. She picked up her midnight-black son, and followed.

In the vague way of a dream, they made it back to her garden. Jake left for the night once he’d seen them settled into the stray shelter. The kittens finally slept on the heated pad, but Nutmeg lay awake until the first rays of sun were upon them.

Midnight and Mallory, she decided. Jake had never answered the question.

Chapter Text

Bluestar’s ears were ringing as she ran. Her heart was beating so fast, with the combined effort of fleeing the scene and panic over what she’d just done, that she could barely hear Redtail’s harried voice behind her—but she could hear enough to know he was furious.

“Stop! What are you doing?” he yowled, panting. He was gaining on her, but the cold bundle of fur in her jaws couldn’t withstand a faster pace. She would not risk jostling the tiny kit more. He had made no noise of protest thus far. The kit’s silence frightened her in the bitter cold.

Redtail was at her heels now. Sharp pain coursed up her tail and along her spine. The ringing in her ears subsided as she skidded to a stop in the powder snow. Redtail was still spitting the fur out of his mouth. He had bit her hard.

She cast him a pleading look, unwilling to relinquish the kit so she could speak with a free mouth. He needed a warm den, as soon as possible.

“Give me that kit,” Redtail demanded. His hackles were raised, and he sidled towards her with his back curved in a slight arch.

Would he really do it? Would he attack? Bluestar thought. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the empty forest for some way of salvation, some means to escape this conflict. There was only snow, dead bark, and the unfeeling moonlight filling the void between the two.

“Hand him over.” Redtail demanded, again. Bluestar begrudgingly lowered the kit to the ground. She kept him underneath her belly, protectively wrapping her front paws in front of him. The tiny thing sneezed in protest at the sudden cold.

“Let me explain,” Bluestar pleaded. Redtail could swoop in and grabbed the kit now, if he wanted to. Bluestar had left enough of an opening that her deputy could still fight for it, if he was willing. But he hadn’t moved any closer. There was yet some hope of making him understand.

“There is nothing to explain. You need to return him, now.” Redtail hissed. The tip of his tail flicked madly, reminding Bluestar of the dull pain in her own. It would surely bruise.

“Redtail, this kit is the fire. I’m sure of it.”

“Take him back.”

“So he can die in the cold with the rest of them?” Bluestar snapped. Redtail flinched, grimacing at her words. “You know that’s what would happen. Kits need a warm den; they were far away from home.”

“If that’s true, then,” Redtail grumbled, “who gave you the right to administer life and death?” Bluestar opened her mouth to protest, to remind him of what was surely clear to see—This kit is the fire! As plain as the fur on his back!—but there was no opening to speak. He continued to scathe her. “If we go back now, we can help her carry all three back to Twolegplace. We can make this right. Bluestar, you are a fool if you believe this will solve our problems.”

“He’s shivering, Redtail.” Bluestar was not bluffing, though she knew it unfair to change the subject like this. She could feel the little one, bundled underneath her, trembling in the chill. She had failed a kit this way once. She would not again. “That queen won’t have the strength to carry a kit for a long time. It’ll be a miracle if all of them survive, and even if she has the energy to go home tonight, she’ll have to choose which one to leave behind anyways.” The words flowed from Bluestar in improvised fashion, but she believed them as they came forth. It was true; the kittypet they’d encountered barely showed the wits to rouse and warm her firstborn. Kittens, only a few hours old, could never follow her home in the snow; she would need to pick one up and abandon the other.

“We don’t even know if she can find her way back home,” Bluestar added.

“Bluestar, you’ll not convince me.” Redtail advanced towards her by one more step, latent with the promise of a fight, but went no further. Bluestar held her ground, feeling her fur beginning to raise. The tension leapt around her shoulders, her hips, like electricity; she already had taken things this far. She would fight for the kit, if she needed to. But she only watched, for now.

Then he spoke again, very quietly. “…but I won’t…I can’t fight you.” In defeat, he hung his head. His fur flattened slowly, and Bluestar allowed herself a sigh of relief.

“If we keep debating here, this kit will die too. We can save him, at least.” She tried to sound encouraging.

“Send out a search party as soon as we return.” Redtail glared at her through glinting eyes. The orange hues seemed to intensify in the moonlight, dancing like fire; it was the only warm thing between them right now. “You must do what you can for the other three.” Bluestar felt the kit as he shivered again. Hewas getting weaker.

“Nobody can know about this.” Bluestar shook her head, wanting to pick up the kit and run again, with no further explanation. She was willing to lose her tail if Redtail demanded another audience in the same fashion. “We’re taking him in. Do you know how they’d treat him if they knew where he came from?”

“If he really came to us at Starclan’s bidding, they’d follow him to the ends of the earth.” Redtail twitched his whiskers. “But this ‘Chosen One’ can’t even open his eyes right now. Their pity would warm them to him just as easily.”

“You don’t know that of everyone. And what of the other clans? How do you think that would look, Redtail?” Bluestar felt a new energy building inside of her as she considered the possibility. “Either they would deem us weak, for feeling like we needed a kittypet on our side, or they would hate us for receiving Starclan’s special favor. It’s been a bad Leafbare for everyone, but only we have this Fire.” She gestured to the kit beneath her. Redtail hesitated, seeming to weigh her words. Would he release her now?

“You have my secrecy,” he said, spitting out the bitter words. “But only Starclan could help you if this was the wrong choice. I will do what I have to do, for the sake of my clan and for the code. It seems you’ve forgotten how to consider these things.”

If the kitten had not stopped shivering, Bluestar would have lashed out at him for such harsh words. Feeling the tiny thing stop moving, though, sparked a great fear in her heart. They needed to get moving again; she scooped him up in her jaws and broke into a dead sprint towards camp. The sting of her deputy’s reprimand lingered in her heart long after she started moving. There was no longer any regard for how her speed jostled the pitiful thing; she just needed to get him to Spottedleaf as quickly as possible.

Entering camp was a new challenge. There was no alternate entrance to the medicine den that she knew of—but she had snuck out before, in the old days. The many routes she’d taken through the gorse and thick underbrush to meet Oakheart were abandoned, and somewhat grown-in, but not by much. She gave Redtail a nod before disappearing into the hedge.

I doubt he’ll follow, but if he cares to, I showed him the way.

Leafbare made it easier to wriggle through the nest of dormant twigs, and she emerged at a sheltered place near the medicine den.

Camp was quiet. No warriors were in sight, save for Whitestorm, who was faithfully blocking the entrance to Bluestar’s den. He had not seen her or seemed to hear her yet. Perhaps he was asleep. She only had to get inside the medicine now.

She realized that Tigerclaw might still be in there. Goldenflower would be sleeping—Please, let her just be sleeping—if she had withstood the delivery. If Bluestar lingered any longer outside, she risked being seen with the bright orange kit. Bracing herself in case Tigerclaw was still posted at his spot within, she entered the tunnel.

“Who’s there?” came Spottedleaf’s ragged and quiet meow, before Bluestar had made it halfway through the tunnel.

“It’s me,” Bluestar’s voice came muffled through the thin, newborn fur. She prayed his heart was still beating; Spottedleaf would rekindle the fire, so long as he still had some life in him. No other sound came from within; perhaps Tigerclaw really had gone. Perhaps Goldenflower was dead.

Spottedleaf was in view now, the lithe cat looking deflated against the den floor. She was hunched over something; she turned to look.

“Stars above—!” The medicine cat exclaimed, as she caught sight of the pair. Bluestar surveyed the room in panic, but the only other cat inside was Goldenflower, unmoving in her nest. Bluestar nearly opened her mouth to exclaim in fear, but caught herself at the last moment. She had nearly dropped the kit; she cursed herself.

Spottedleaf was approaching her rapidly now, gingerly taking the kit from her mouth and running to place him with two other kits on the far floor. Bluestar had not seen them before. She followed Spottedleaf closely.

So that’s what she was hunched over—Goldenflower was able to deliver them, after all. She thought.

“This kit—we found him in the woods,” Bluestar said. “Redtail and I, on patrol. I think he’s the fire.”

Spottedleaf was licking the kit fiercely, trying to warm him up again. She did not answer, nor did she deign to make eye contact. Bluestar felt questions piling up inside of her like an overfull den of cats; Goldenflower lay still on the other side of the den, and the pile of kits hardly moving. For her fear, she could not keep quiet.

“Did…did anyone survive?” Bluestar whispered.

“Get down here and lick if you want the answer to that,” Spottedleaf hissed. Bluestar ducked her head and began to groom the kit, the obedience coming to her automatically. The little thing stirred beneath her, and she thought she might burst with relief. She had gotten him here in time.

“Goldenflower is alive, but I don’t know how much longer—I just don’t know. I think she’ll make it, but I’m afraid. She was unconscious by the time I could really get to work on these two.” Spottedleaf gestured to other two kits with her paw. Bluestar observed their forms closer. One was orange, too, like her Fire—but a dirty, splotchy orange, mottled with dark brown and black patches. The other was black with white splotches. The black-and-white one was breathing; the calico… “One of her kits didn’t make it.” Spottedleaf concluded, and her voice broke.

“Do you think she would raise this one?” Bluestar paused to ask.

“Probably.” Spottedleaf said curtly, licking the tiny bundle again.

“Does she know that one of these ones didn’t…Well, do you think that if we told her…” Bluestar didn’t know how to make the suggestion without sounding like a monster. Or, more of a monster than she already felt she was. “If we didn’t tell her, rather…” She let the words trail off weakly again, hoping Spottedleaf would utter the detestable concept on her own.

“Tell her this is hers?” the medicine cat said, bluntly. “Oh, and Tigerclaw too? You think he’d believe that? This kit isn’t even a day old and it stinks of Twolegplace. It’s in his blood.”

Bluestar’s heart dropped. How did I miss that?

“I hadn’t noticed,” Bluestar said, meekly.

“I need to talk to Starclan.” Spottedleaf said. “If they will hear me, that is. I don’t want to know where this kit came from or what you did to get it, but Starclan might make me aware, just the same.”

The sudden feeling of suspicion from her medicine cat set Bluestar’s heart to ice. She doesn’t trust me…? What does she think I did? Bluestar wasn’t sure if any of the possible scenarios running through Spottedleaf’s mind right now could be worse than what she had done, but she feared just the same. Not even Spottedleaf seemed to recognize this kitten as the answer. Maybe she had lost touch with Starclan, after all. Anger flared up inside of her, catching her off-guard with its raw intensity.

“Starclan can do as they wish,” Bluestar said, the words holding more venom than she had intended. They really had brought the kit for Thunderclan, hadn’t they? What were the odds of a kittypet venturing into their forest to give birth? Would Bluestar now be punished, just for bringing him to his rightful place? “I just know that as soon as I laid eyes on this kit, I sensed he was the answer,” she added.

“We’ll see.” Spottedleaf went back to grooming the kit. She pulled the black-and-white one closer to herself as she worked, and Bluestar inferred that she was trying to share warmth with both of them.

“I can sit with the other one,” Bluestar offered.

“Please. I have had no help, all night.” The words felt like an accusation.

Bluestar padded around the medicine cat anxiously, settling onto the dirt floor beside the black-and-white kitten. She allowed herself to relax a little, knowing that, tiny and new as it was, the kitten would sense her anxieties—and perhaps become ill as a result. Kittens had done that before; refused to nurse for a nervous mother.

Spottedleaf’s eyes were closed, and a tranquil expression had covered her face as she continued to lick the orange kitten. Bluestar wondered if she was attempting to convene with Starclan even now, in her thoughts. She wondered what Starclan would tell her.

She wondered if she had made a mistake.

—

Redtail didn’t follow Bluestar into the hedge. His chest hurt; there was a heaviness he couldn’t bear to hold. He had to run, had to move, in hopes he might work it out of there.

Outside the entrance to camp, he paced and deliberated: who could he tell? Could he bring Spottedleaf back with him, to lend her skill? Could he justify possibly robbing Goldenflower, and her kits, of his sister’s much-needed care?

He had sworn his secrecy to Bluestar, and that was a mistake. Her actions had frightened him tonight; it was as though another cat had taken her place. He had seen glimpses of that other cat in Bluestar’s quiet, withdrawn moments, and in her bouts of solitude, but never so clearly. Was he losing her? Was Thunderclan losing her?

There was nobody he could talk to, but that didn’t mean he was powerless to help. He went straight back towards Twolegplace.

It took him a long time to find the right set of tracks and follow them to the right part of the forest. In their mad dash towards the blood-smell, he had lost his orientation to the surroundings. In the desperate bid to stop Bluestar on her way back, he hadn’t had time to remember the details. When he found the spot, it was nearly sunrise. He could tell he had succeeded by the clouds of red seeping into the snow. But the kittypet queen, and her kittens, were gone. He could smell the fresh scent of another cat here, a scent not quite like Twolegplace nor like the clan territories; probably a loner—possibly the father—had found her. There was no more blood in the snow, nor any sign of a struggle. All he could do was hope that she’d had some kind of ally in the tom who had been here. He lacked the stomach to follow after them, especially after what he had participated in.

The cold had sunk into him through his pawpads long ago, and it was rotten company for the walk back home.

—

When Spottedleaf opened her eyes again, her pupils were already focused directly on Bluestar’s. It sent a little shiver of fear through her; it was not the far-off, dreamy look of one who had just been among the ancestors. It was attentive, almost searching. It was uncanny.

She knows what I did.

But Spottedleaf said nothing. With a slow blink, she returned her attention to the little orange kit in front of her. Between licks, Bluestar wished she would say something—anything. So she broke the silence herself.

“Do you know what to do now?” Bluestar ventured, trying to keep the tremor out of her words.

“Goldenflower will raise this kit,” she replied.

We already decided on that, Bluestar thought.

“I need to get the Twolegplace smell off of him, so she thinks he’s her own,” Spottedleaf continued. Her tail swished slightly back and forth. Irritation, barely concealed in her voice and body language, lingered beneath the surface. It was the only giveaway Bluestar needed.

I think she knows what I did.

Chapter Text

It was Bluestar who went out to bury Goldenflower’s dead kit. She took him far away from camp, so nobody might catch scent or sight of it. The work was sickening, and she felt it was appropriate retribution. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the kit as she buried him, scooping the earth as carefully as she could without really seeing what she was doing.

When she returned in the first light of day, something dark was blocking the gorse tunnel. Yellow eyes flashed out at her, and she wondered if it was Yellowfang somehow.

“Bluestar,” came the other cat’s greeting: it was the voice of Tigerclaw. He shifted, his silhouette wavering like a ghost before he spoke again. “Where have you been this morning?” His voice was husky and tired. Had he slept?

Bluestar was close enough now to make out his dark stripes and glinting whiskers. She realized she couldn’t enter camp with him blocking the way. So, she sat down just within the entrance, wrapping her tail over her front paws and bracing for the inevitable conversation.

’Where have I been this morning?’ she thought, choking back the guilt. I was burying your son.

“I wanted to clear my head before the day began. I was just on my way to check on Goldenflower. Is she…?” She allowed Tigerclaw an opportunity to interrupt, which he took.

Good. The less she spoke, the better.

“She’s not awake yet. I’ve just been with her. At least she survived the night. But you would know that—I scented that you’d been there, in the medicine den. So thank you for checking on her already.” The timbre of his voice lilted in a quizzical way as he spoke: was he offering a challenge, or simply gratitude as genuinely as he could manage? Bluestar imagined the stress he’d undergone. It made her feel cautious, more than anything.

“Yes, I checked on her after I came back last night. Did Spottedleaf tell you the good news?” Her tone was gregarious, intentionally chatty. She would ignore any implications he may have intended, responding in-kind to the face value sentiment. She also hoped to find out: what had Spottedleaf said about the kits, if anything?

“I need to ask you something,” Tigerclaw continued, ignoring her question. Bluestar felt herself flinch a little. Am I afraid of him? She trusted that Spottedleaf wouldn’t reveal where the orange kit had come from, and she had just buried the only other evidence that something had gone amiss. Neither thought quelled her apprehension.

Sharp, white morning light was now trickling down through the dead branches above. The light painted patches across Tigerclaw’s face and body, creating places where his sleek dark fur shone pale. She pushed away the memory of Thistleclaw’s patched-white appearance. Tigerclaw spoke again, seeing that she had neither consented to the question nor denied his chance to speak.

“Last night, why did you leave camp unguarded?” He pressed. Bluestar blinked pensively. This was not the question she’d expected.

I left Whitestorm in charge…!

Before she could defend herself, Tigerclaw continued. “My mate was left alone, and drenched in blood-smell, while you and your deputy were nowhere to be found. Why didn’t you at least leave Redtail behind to maintain order? When I left the Medicine Den last night, Whitestorm was traipsing around, ordering warriors like he was in charge—even dispatching patrols—did you authorize this? Because nobody would have known, and nobody would have been able to ask. You had already left.” Tigerclaw shuffled on his paws a little, as if feeling some discomfort for letting his tirade draw out. But he was not finished. “I would have thought you’d stay to look after her…”

“Tigerclaw, I—” Her interruption was barred.

“It just seems I was mistaken. And what’s more: Yellowfang had wanted to help Spottedleaf.” He kept on.

Bluestar's stomach dropped. She hadn’t yet reflected upon how she’d handled Yellowfang. She was sure in her decision, but she hadn’t articulated a defense for it yet. Such had been her habit since taking the post of leader: preparation against the critic, reassurance for the self. Everything she did, she usually revisited later on. Tigerclaw had caught her unprepared. He continued his address.

“You might as well have let her! Did you think an honorable medicine cat would harm a mother with her kits? And if she escaped, after having assisted, wouldn’t she have repaid her debt for trespassing?” Tigerclaw now kept his voice calm and even, having recovered some composure.

“We still don’t know why Shadowclan exiled her,” Bluestar began as gently as she could. “I don’t think she would’ve harmed Goldenflower, or her kits; you’re right about that.” She felt it was important to acknowledge the good points he had made. There was no reason to deny him entirely. As more words, more half-baked strings of logic swirled around in her mind, a defense came: “However, if we’d let her out, we don’t know if she would’ve even gone to the Medicine Den.” Bluestar paused for a moment to see if he would interrupt. He kept quiet, so she embellished the scenario even further.

“She might have bolted from camp as soon as we released her; we’ve kept her as well-fed as we could manage, and well-rested to boot. An escape isn’t out of the question,” Bluestar said. The tom moved his eyes back and forth, but she could tell he was merely thinking. Looking into nothingness far beyond her, weighing her words for their merit.

“Queens give birth all the time. Spottedleaf has dealt with it alone before. To Yellowfang, who never directly saw how awful the situation was…I just don’t know how easy it would be for any of us to choose servitude over freedom. I wanted to trust her, but think of the chaos if she had really just escaped.” She concluded her thought, hoping it would be sufficient. It was a part of her unspoken reasoning the night before. What Redtail had said to her about taking on a second medicine cat…she would pay that further thought now that the moment of crisis had passed. That was entirely another consideration. Not one to voice now, but to silently mull over until she was sure.

“Something else has occurred to me,” Tigerclaw said. There was no hint of argument in his voice, a small comfort to Bluestar. “What if she’s not really in exile?”

Bluestar wondered at the tom. For a moment, however brief, she felt she had overlooked a grave detail; neither she nor Redtail had considered the possibility. Both of them had taken Yellowfang at her word: Yellowfang was a medicine cat, one bound to Starclan in honor, while Brokenstar was still a relative unknown, a new leader. It seemed only natural to assume that a rash decision, a clearing out of clan leadership, might’ve been made at the expense of the old guard. She hadn’t considered how the circumstances might have been used as a mask, a clever trick to fool the other clans.

“What if she’s here to spy on us?” Tigerclaw voiced Bluestar’s own conclusion aloud, echoing to her.

And aren't they related somehow? Or am I getting things mixed up...? Bluestar had heard so many rumors about other cats, living or dead, Thunderclan or not, that nothing was certain anymore. It had always just been another clan's business or another cat's problem.

“That’s not out of the question,” she replied, not wanting to admit that she hadn’t thought of it before. Though, she knew, her expression had probably betrayed her all the same. Tigerclaw gave a satisfied tilt of his head, twitching his whiskers.

“I have a lot to learn from you,” Tigerclaw said. Bluestar had no idea what he meant; she had failed to consider an obvious possibility, had failed to communicate effectively with her clan last night…he had begun this conversation with a list of her weaknesses. “Thank you for the explanation, Bluestar.” She’d seen the tom argue heatedly with other warriors in camp for much less. He wasn’t totally unreasonable, but his temper rarely cooled so quickly once it had been stoked. Still, he kept a friendly tone as he spoke to her. “I’m sorry to confront you like this, but I’ve been beside myself with worry. It may have clouded my judgement of you.”

And mine of you… Bluestar thought. He was not all she had reckoned him for. Perhaps fatherhood was already softening the rough edges? She decided to tread lightly with her response.

“I appreciate the apology, Tigerclaw, but I’m not above reproach as a leader, and I don’t want it to feel that way in the clan,” she said. He had been one of her prime suspects for dissent so far. Whether criticism was hidden somewhere in his heart or not, she knew that the best defense for herself was to let him feel free about voicing it.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving on with Redtail. I would have considered you an auxiliary leader here in camp, but I didn’t want to put more responsibility on your shoulders while your mate was in crisis.” That idea hadn’t really crossed her mind last night, but she hoped he would understand the sentiment behind it. He had just given her a valuable insight; she wasn’t merely saying this to mollify him, but to extend a small vote of confidence.

I need to keep a less fearful eye on him. she thought. Maybe I’ve been right to be suspicious, but maybe my focus on Thistleclaw’s protege has also kept me from seeing things true.

“Thank you, Bluestar,” he said. His voice rumbled in a genuine way; perhaps he believed her. Without another word, he turned around in the tunnel and walked through, finally granting her access to camp. She followed through the branches, wishing that Greenleaf would come again and shroud the camp in protective foliage.

Entering camp during daylight washed her in relief. Everyone was going about business as usual, Goldenflower’s peril seemingly forgotten. Her clan had grown strong in the face of loss; had learned the knack for keeping on. The tension lifting from her mind was enough to send her paws on the path to her den, forgetting that Yellowfang was still there, forgetting everything, only wishing for sleep. When had she last slept, anyways?—but this tired, blissful illusion was interrupted.

“Bluestar?” Tigerclaw called. “I thought you were coming to see Goldenflower.”

“Right,” she said, veering sharply from her course, taking a few steps, and then pausing. There was a strange, inarticulate resistance to following his suggestion. It was the desire to save face. To make it look like she had meant to deviate. “I just wanted to speak to Whitestorm first. About last night.”

“I understand,” Tigerclaw meowed. Swishing his tail, he made his way to Spottedleaf’s. Bluestar sighed.

“Everything went good last night, Bluestar!” She could hear the white tom calling to her from behind. So, he had woken up at last. “Yellowfang is still in your den!”

Yellowfang grumbled her confirmation from within the rock hollow. Bluestar turned and nodded a quick “thank-you” to Whitestorm, then hustled off to the Medicine Den. She would relieve him of his duties after smoothing everything over with Goldenflower and Tigerclaw—after knowing that Spottedleaf would only tell them what they needed to know.

Inside, Goldenflower’s faint voice lilted between Tigerclaw’s gruff, sparse interjections. Spottedleaf spoke little, and was inaudible as Bluestar approached, to her frustration. Her mellow tone rounded out the auditory cues, and everything blended together into pleasant chatter. As Bluestar emerged from the entryway, Spottedleaf was placing the orange kit between Goldenflower’s front paws. He joined the black-and-white kit which was already there.

“Bluestar,” Goldenflower purred, eyes sparkling with relief to see her leader. Bluestar smiled back curtly. “Aren’t they beautiful? Come and see!” The queen radiated with trust, with joy. It felt just as good as a claw-swipe across the nose. Bluestar blinked calmly, hoping it would look like an expected response, willing away the tension that was twisting around her heart.

“You did so well,” Bluestar said, drawing nearer now, and pressing her forehead gently to Goldenflower’s. The queen was purring so softly that Bluestar could only hear it in that moment. Could feel it, too, through her own skull. Tigerclaw watched, with warm golden eyes, a slight smile lifting his whiskers. Spottedleaf, small as she was, almost seemed to disappear against the background beside the big tom. Her expression was impassable.

“Have you named them?” Bluestar asked, glancing between the proud parents. Hoping for Spottedleaf to volunteer anything.

“Yes—Tigerclaw thought of ‘Swiftkit’ for this one,” Goldenflower gave the black-and-white kitten a tender lick on top of his head. “…since he was the firstborn!” Tigerclaw gave a small grunt of assent. “And I knew from the moment I laid eyes on his little brother…” she nudged the orange kit lovingly as she spoke. The infiltrator, the outsider Bluestar had brought into the clan. “…I knew he would be Firekit.”

Bluestar glanced to Spottedleaf for just a moment—had she heard the names already? Had she influenced them at all?—but Spottedleaf seemed to share in her pleasant surprise.

“I think these kittens are a good sign,” Bluestar said. “A gift from Starclan, to you.” Her head was buzzing. Confirmation, she hoped? The name had not come from her own mouth, nor from anyone who had heard of the prophecy.

A good omen to all of us, I pray…

“They are,” Goldenflower fawned, voice thick with emotion. “Hard-won, and well worth it.” She set to grooming her sons again, delicately, the purrs growing louder now. She seemed to have forgotten all about walking at the edge of Starclan the night before.

If anyone else in the Medicine Den had spared a moment to think beyond their own concerns, they might have caught Tigerclaw’s expression dampen as his mate spoke. But Bluestar and Spottedleaf both were consumed in prophetic wonder, and he recovered his stoicism in time, so that when he said:

“Just don’t scare me like that again!” approaching a tone of laughter, it was only a tender entreaty.

Spottedleaf had still said nothing, and Bluestar wished she could ask what had been said already, but now was not the right time. A flurry of niceties were shared, congratulations and warm wishes, before Spottedleaf mercifully opened her mouth to shoo Tigerclaw and Bluestar away from the new mother.

“She still needs her rest,” Spottedleaf said. “Tigerclaw, I’ll come fetch you later so you can spend time with them.”

Bluestar left the den feeling ill at ease, and more weary than she’d been in a long time. She would need her own den back for a proper rest. Whitestorm’s release from guard duty was paired with a request: find some strong toms to keep watch over Yellowfang, and allow her outside to see the sun, and to interact with the camp if she so wished.

It was to be understood that, after Bluestar rested, there would be a long, personal conversation. And after that, a report would be given on what Yellowfang had said and done during her morning of relative freedom.

If she was a spy, it would be found out. If not, perhaps Bluestar could make it up to Redtail by following his counsel. Two medicine cats, before the next queen gave birth, could be a mercy after all.

Chapter Text

Her people had been so enthusiastic when they found her in the box that morning, their happiness transcended the barrier of species. She wished she could share in their joy. Their words of praise unleashed a tide of stinging goodwill towards her, and they were none the wiser to the loss she had suffered.

When Nutmeg stood up to move her kittens, for she would not let the people touch them yet, they shushed her back to her place. They lifted the cat shelter and carried it across the yard, over the threshold into the house. There was a lurching feeling when the shelter rose, not unlike the jerky, unstable feeling of being carried in the arms of the very young people. It set Nutmeg’s frayed nerves ablaze. The kittens showed no signs of disquiet, thankfully.

Once in the house, she kept close to her children. The people had prepared a nest for her in a cardboard box—her favorite cardboard box, actually—with old towels and assorted cloths that stank overwhelmingly of their human odor. It was a blunt smell, a smell heavy and ill-defined, and she had never noticed it so strongly before.
Whenever she left the towel-nest, either to use the sandbox or lap some water, one of the young people stayed behind with her kittens as if to keep watch. This set her on edge all over again; she would have rather they pretended her little box didn’t exist.

Nutmeg didn’t sleep again for a few days. The second hand of the ticking clock on the wall, though its sound mostly masked the rustling of the real trees outside, still made a noise eerily close to bare branches clicking together in an unnatural wind. The pale moonlight bathed wooden floorboards and glared off the smooth surface, emulating a field of white snow. Lingering behind the people-smell of the box, she still imagined the tang of blood, and the sharp, musky smell of the cats who had taken her son.

Chapter Text

Bluestar awoke in a sour mood, at once hallucinating the sensation of another cat in the den with her. The nondescript Other’s long fur seemed to choke her, and she could imagine it shifting in its sleep to carelessly pin her against the stone wall. Bluestar bolted out of the den and into the clearing, just missing an impact with a group of shorter cats outside. It was the almost-apprenticed kits, born in the few litters prior to the greencough epidemic; they protested in squeaks as Bluestar regained her footing. It was sometime past sunhigh; she had slept for longer than she'd intended to.

“I trust all is well, Bluestar?” came the sage voice of Patchpelt, at the head of the group.

“I’m fine. I…woke from a bad dream,” she admitted, selecting the words carefully. To admit such a frivolous weakness in front of the warriors would be one thing, but in front of these young ones, perhaps it would be a welcome joke. Something resonant with their imaginative dispositions, she hoped.

The kittens beamed. One of them, sandy-brown, lashed her gangly tail and spoke:

“You mean grown-ups still get nightmares?” Sandkit meowed, a teasing glimmer in her eye.

“They do, and when the leader gets one, it may be a fell sign from Starclan!” Bluestar replied, making a show of her ominous voice. “So watch out, or a badger will steal your tail tonight.” Sandkit balked a little, but Bluestar felt she had not quite overdone it.

“Was that the dream?” jet-black Ravenkit asked.

“…Yes.” Bluestar replied, giving a puff of her hackles to sell the warning. The adolescents squeaked again, running off in a series of tumbles and tackles.

“I had been attempting to tell them a story,” Patchpelt said dryly, having watched the exchange. The black fur of his muzzle was growing whiter, to match the patches of white on his belly and paws. Bluestar knew he’d be joining the elder’s den soon, and warmed at the quaintness of a not-quite-elder regaling some not-quite-apprentices with a tall tale.

“My apologies,” Bluestar tilted her head earnestly. “I’m sure you can catch up with them.”

“I was just trying to cheer them up, anyways. They all went to gawk at the new kits, but didn't even make it past the Medicine Den entrance before Tigerclaw sent them away.” Patchpelt chuckled. “I feared they’d turn to delinquency if they didn’t have a distraction from the letdown.”

Now the older kits were sparring and playing, seeming to have settled upon a game of tag.

“Greykit’s the badger now!” shrieked Dustkit, running on long legs like a baby deer. The others had grown out of their leggy phases already, but Dustkit had the advantage of speed now. The little group of four whirled about, and Bluestar watched them with Patchpelt for a little while.

She had chosen mentors for these kittens before the greencough epidemic, and had never revised that decision after the illness ripped through the clan. Sandkit and Greykit both had lost a parent to the plague. They'd been fine warriors, and Bluestar would have liked to each take an apprentice in that age group. She realized now that, though she had briefly toyed with the idea of assigning Redtail to train the brand-new Firekit, she hadn’t settled on definitive mentors for anyone else yet—not even the kits who were due to begin training very soon.

Tigerclaw should train one of them, she thought. He’ll understand it as a gesture of trust. Plus, it would be unnatural to prevent him from mentoring any longer—he’s been a full-fledged warrior for seasons now, and never had an apprentice yet. Cats will think it’s strange if I still won’t give him a chance.

The decision had come to her easily, reminding her of how automatic this kind of thinking had once been for her. It had been since Greenleaf, at least, that she hadn’t felt as certain of anything. Cheered by the small bit of progress, Bluestar would revisit the other assignments later. For now, Patchpelt had finally walked away, leaving her alone outside her den. There were other, more emergent tasks for her.

The den still carried Yellowfang’s musty, toadish Shadowclan scent, which had made it difficult to fall asleep this morning in spite of her exhaustion. That was the likely source of the foul hallucination; another cat had been in her own den for too long. She would hopefully have means to reclaim it soon.

That’s really the only reason I can think of, Bluestar frowned, thinking it over a little longer. Yellowfang was surely the inadvertent cause. Bluestar would find the she-cat and interview her.

Her stomach growled when she stood up. Maybe we’ll chat over a meal, she thought.

A small cluster of cats was already eating peacefully near the prey pile. To Bluestar’s delight, Yellowfang’s shaggy form was among them. Bluestar selected one of two remaining mice in the dwindling food reserve, resolving to go for a hunt after the business with Yellowfang was sorted.

“Yellowfang, have you enjoyed stretching your legs today?” Bluestar meowed pleasantly, approaching the she-cat. Though Yellowfang was eating amongst the warriors of Thunderclan, she didn’t appear to be engaged in any conversations for now, her back mostly turned towards the others.

“Almost as much as I’ve enjoyed that cold rock den of yours, Bluestar. I was wondering when you'd come and talk with me.” Her answer felt like a miracle. Bluestar had heard very little from her since she’d come to Thunderclan camp. It was not much of a surprise for her first meaningful exchange to be a hidden barb, and admittedly, it cheered Bluestar more than it insulted her.

“It’s not even the coldest part of Leafbare,” Bluestar meowed, settling down with her mouse. "You should try it then." She noted that Yellowfang had taken something even smaller than her own mouse from the pile, and appeared to be eating it slowly, to make it last longer.

“If you can believe it, the prey isn’t running half so good in Shadowclan these days,” Yellowfang said, noting Bluestar’s interest in her meal of choice. “I’m used to making something small last. I wasn’t about to impose on your hospitality.”

“I’m sorry it hasn’t been much for hospitality, Yellowfang. I’m sure you understand,” Bluestar began, taking a small bite of her own and chewing a little extra before she went on. She was hoping, as with Tigerclaw’s conversation this morning, that she wouldn’t have to say much of her own to get the information she needed.

Yellowfang did not take the bait, but pretended she was chewing her own miniscule bite, long after it must have dissolved completely.

“We’ve just heard enough concerning things about the situation in Shadowclan, and we weren’t sure what to make of you. It didn’t help that you wouldn’t speak for yourself,” Bluestar made sure her voice was appropriately empathetic as she spoke, “though most of the clan took that as a reason to worry for your wellbeing, not necessarily their own.”

“I’ll tell you what happened if you’ll just speak plainly.” Yellowfang huffed. “I know you’re trying to get information out of me. Just ask.”

“We already tried that; you wouldn’t say anything to us.”

“Was it the same case when you sat down to eat?” Yellowfang’s bright eyes glimmered, and she gave a twitch of her nose, which moved her entire short muzzle in a quizzical way. There weren’t many cats among the clans with a flatter face like hers, but if memory served, Brokenstar was one of them. Bluestar once again thought of the rumor she had either remembered or fabricated this morning about their family ties. It seemed less like a figment of her imagination now, in broad daylight. Medicine cats had done worse than to bear kits of their own, after all. “Well, was it?” Yellowfang spoke again, pulling Bluestar out of her personal conspiracy.

“I guess it wasn’t.” Bluestar said. “Before you tell me what brought you here, I’m actually more interested in your outburst last night.”

“The cause is one and the same.” Yellowfang’s low voice tremored for a moment, and Bluestar believed it was from true emotion. “Brokenstar put me out of Shadowclan, because he accused me of killing kits.”

Bluestar regulated her own subconscious intake of breath, trying not to show her emotion. A heavy accusation to level, and a difficult one to prove. A situation where an accident could be easily misinterpreted, she knew.

“I thought if I could help Spottedleaf save your kits, especially before the next Fourtrees, where he’ll inevitably slander me in front of all the clans…I thought you’d see that I would never do such harm. I wanted to convince you before you knew what he had accused me of.”

“I would have done the same, I think,” Bluestar said. She allowed herself to voice this one unfiltered thought, feeling an unexpected empathy for the old medicine cat. She felt the need to temper this empathy with suspicion, to force the conversation onwards, so she asked: “What actually happened to those kits?”

“I found them outside camp. It looked like a fox had gotten them, most likely.” Yellowfang’s voice brimmed with grief, and Bluestar looked away from her out of simultaneous discomfort and respect. It was a short answer, a simple answer. Comprehensive, but without context—how did a fox get into camp, or otherwise, how did the kits get out? Why was Yellowfang one of the only witnesses? Bluestar had made up a fox-story before. She wondered if she would know, then, how to discern if this one was true.

“I need more information. Do you want to go somewhere more private?” Bluestar lowered her voice. None of the cats eating nearby had indicated that they were listening, but she knew they could hear every word of it so far.

“No. Your clan needs to know this, too,” Yellowfang said. “There was more going on with those kits. They were only two moons old, but they'd already started training.”

“What?” This was not the answer to any of Bluestar’s questions, but it gave more context—if true—than she could’ve ever reasonably asked for.

“Brokenstar wanted to start training kits younger, much younger. He…we had greencough troubles, too, but much earlier in the season. It took a lot of us. Then Raggedstar died, and we were gutted.” Yellowfang dipped her head for a moment, regathering herself. “Brokenstar told us he would make the clan strong again. Nobody imagined he’d try to change the code to do it.”

“Change the code? He’s breaking it!” Bluestar hissed.

“How can he break it, when ‘The word of the leader is the warrior code?’” Yellowfang recited the truism with venom in her voice.

“If they already had mentors, does that mean the fox got them on a training patrol?” Bluestar asked, wanting to steer the conversation back towards its original subject. She had no rebuff to the point Yellowfang had made; it was easy to imagine that this loophole was the same way Brokenstar was coercing Shadowclan. Something Yellowfang had heard him say, something she held against him now in captive frustration.

“That’s the part I don’t understand. It was just after sunrise that I found them, so it seemed like they had left camp in the night. I think, if a mentor had gone with, they would've tried to defend against the fox. It didn't even happen that far from camp; they could have cried out for help. So, I think the kits just got out alone..." Yellowfang sighed, her voice choking with emotion as she spoke. "Brokenstar was always telling them that they were the pioneers of a new way, the first of a new kind of warrior. They were too young to understand what half of that even meant. It makes me wonder if he filled them with a false confidence, made them feel like they could do anything, when it was far too early for that.”

Bluestar was chilled by Yellowfang’s rasping voice and the picture she had painted. It made sense; it was a cohesive explanation, not presented as the absolute truth, but revealing much of Shadowclan’s climate all at once.

But for all she’s revealed to me of Shadowclan, she’s been able to observe much more of Thunderclan... Bluestar thought. Yellowfang seemed safe enough, but her existence as a tragic figure was unfortunate in that it complicated everything. If Yellowfang had simply left Shadowclan in a show of protest, that would be one thing. To assert that Brokenstar framed her for the murder of kits, and then sent her away personally? It was impossible not to feel grief, deep outrage, on her behalf. It was impossible not to want to take her side. And that’s what worries me. The claims she made were outrageous, but possible, especially given other rumors leaking out of Shadowclan. What was the worst possible consequence of trusting Yellowfang when it wasn't appropriate to do so? What was the worst possible consequence of simply sending her far away?

“You wouldn’t go back to Shadowclan, I assume?” Bluestar said softly, knowing that she was driving a claw even further into the wound by presenting the idea. But she needed to know that it wasn’t a possibility for the medicine cat. Yellowfang’s reaction to this, whatever it was, would betray the truth.

“I can’t imagine it now,” Yellowfang said quietly, bowing her head again to stare at the gristly bones of her finished meal. There was no emotional outburst, no trace in her of rage or indignation. There was only a deep grief. She finished her thought at the volume of a whisper: “it is not the clan I once knew. I have no home to go back to.”

She’s not lying. Bluestar knew it now.

“I’m sorry I barred you from helping last night.” Bluestar said, softly. “I wouldn’t presume your offer to help Spottedleaf is still standing, but…”

“Extra paws wouldn’t hurt?” Yellowfang finished, looking back up at her. Gratitude mingled with suspicion in her eyes. “I know you had me under watch today. I don’t blame you. But will you make Spottedleaf your informant, now?”

“No. You’ve endured enough of our suspicion.” Bluestar said. “However, I want to keep your presence here a secret from the other clans—especially Shadowclan—until we know if it's appropriate to share that information. I’ll watch Brokenstar closely at the next Fourtrees, and I’m sure his behavior will tell us plenty.”

“I would prefer the other clans never know I was here,” Yellowfang said. “I’ll live quietly here. I’ll serve your clan by healing. I’d only fight for you if I had to, but I’m telling you now not to ask me."

“It’s a liability I wouldn’t risk, and a burden I wouldn’t place on you. You’re a refugee, which is a special case.”

“Thank you, Bluestar.” Yellowfang rumbled. “Am I dismissed to my duties?”

“Yes, I’ll walk with you so Spottedleaf knows why you're out,” Bluestar said. They rose and stretched their legs again, the chilly air feeling nice against Bluestar’s sore wrists. She’d been walking, digging, running so much…and soon she’d be hunting again, with her dirt-dulled claws from this morning, her weary bones from the days prior. Living was endless labor.

“Bluestar,” Yellowfang added, keeping pace with her. “You can tell Longtail he’s not a very subtle informant, by the way. That tom’s gaze never left me, not from the moment I left your den.”

Bluestar laughed, feeling a budding kinship towards the old medicine cat. Though an edge of mistrust lingered, a deeper peace began to settle into her heart and mind. Somehow, the pendulum was swinging away from misfortune. Shadowclan, the scarcity of prey, tensions rising inside and outside of the clan—these trials would all be faced in time, but for now, all was in its right place between the borders of Thunderclan camp.

Chapter Text

“Oh Tiger, I wish you’d go get some rest,” Goldenflower yawned next to him. They were still in the Medicine Den, as they had been all day. Spottedleaf had gone away to eat something, but TIgerclaw had ignored his own need for food. He had stopped being able to smell the overbearing spice of the stored herbs a long time ago. It left a reverberating numbness within his nose and mind that dulled even the pang of hunger. As for Goldenflower, she’d claimed to have no appetite when the lithe medicine cat asked if she wanted any food brought back.
She’d said she wanted a nap instead, but had never actually fallen asleep, and this was the first she’d spoken in a little while. Tigerclaw had been lost in thought, otherwise.

“Lingering here just makes me nervous all over again.” Goldenflower shifted a little in her nest, the kittens stirring with her movement. He hadn’t expected it to be a complaint against him personally.

“Goldy,” he mustered a purr, trying to soothe her. “I would’ve hoped my being here would make you feel the opposite way.”

“It usually does,” she rushed to reassure him. “I know it will again,” she added, though noncommittally. He could feel her breathing grow faster next to him. The kits at her belly stirred and wriggled, put off by her unrest.

I’m doing something to make her nervous, he thought, but I wish she wouldn’t make me guess what it was.

“I can’t stop thinking of last night,” Goldenflower finally said with a sigh. He felt her breathing return to something closer to normal. “You were here during the worst of it…” she said, seemingly searching for words.

“That was a terrible business.” He agreed without giving her a chance to find them. This was the time to push back on what she had said earlier—about having more kits—and he hadn’t dared hope for a chance so soon. “I don’t know how you endured it, my dear. It was terrible to see you suffer,” he began.

“No, I’m talking about you.” She interrupted, sharpness in her voice that set him on edge. “Sulking in the corner over there, staring off into nothing like you were paralyzed. I didn’t even know if you’d be there to comfort me on my way out of the world if I…” she sighed catching her breath, “…if I hadn’t made it, is all.” There was a layer of accusation hiding under the worry in her voice, and he could tell she had layered it in carefully. The outburst had sounded like fear, but had felt like anger.

“Of course I would’ve come to comfort you, but really, did you expect me not to be afraid?” He said. “This is our first time, but I still knew enough to see that it wasn’t going well. And Spottedleaf wouldn’t let me help.” He shifted now, hunkering down to shake some of the frustration out of him. He’d felt unable to move during the most intense of Goldenflower’s pains, which made him burn with embarrassment now.

“Because you wouldn’t have known how, that’s all,” Goldenflower said, “and I’m sure she was afraid to waste time explaining everything.” His humiliation intensified at this; it was the worst possible way she could have responded.

“I know how to fetch moss,” he scoffed. “I know a few herbs by smell—sometimes they sent us out for them as apprentices, during Greenleaf. I was great at finding them. I know how to—"

“Tigerclaw,” Goldenflower hushed pleadingly. The kittens were squirming even harder now, and he felt her flinch as one kicked at her still-tender belly. “I know you could have helped. But Spottedleaf didn’t, or, maybe she didn’t know how much you remembered. It’s behind us now. We have two beautiful sons, and I’m still here with you.”

None of this did enough to ease Tigerclaw’s agitation. He still hadn’t had a chance to say what he’d wanted to. Further, he had been accused of something tantamount to cowardice in the meantime—an accusation which rung more true in his heart than he was willing to allow. He truly hadn’t known what to do last night. If Spottedleaf had spared a second thought for him, even to relay the most basic of instructions, he had no confidence that he could’ve carried them out. What had happened in this den was not like the usual tests of his courage.

Even in the fiercest battle, one can fight to save themselves until the last breath, he thought. Last night had not been like that. Tigerclaw had learned a new lesson: there was nothing he could’ve done to save Goldenflower, if it really had been her time to go. No act of his valiance, nor show of his strength, could have spared her and the kits. This was what he had been thinking about, all day long.

“Would you really do this all over again?” He finally said aloud, not taking the time to ask it artfully. He just wanted a direct answer. She can’t understand why I was so afraid. She was too afraid, herself.

“Maybe someday. I don’t know, it’s all still so fresh…I can feel a thousand emotions coursing through me all at once. Can we talk about it later?” She asked, shifting nearer to the kittens so they settled further into her side. This seemed to calm them. He wondered at how she’d known to do that for them. Her shift towards the kittens had taken her further away from him, however, so he squirmed closer to alleviate the gap.

I should’ve known she’d say something like that. He thought, bitterly. He still hadn’t gotten his answer. Though, he knew better than to push her now.

“We can save it for another day,” he agreed, urged himself to be patient. He liked to know what other cats wanted and what they were planning. This was especially true of his mate; they had never before discussed having more kittens after this litter. There was enough uncertainty to deal with already; the saga of parenthood, the work of rebuilding whatever had apparently been damaged in her perception of him, the eventual windfall of whatever his conversation with Bluestar had brought about this morning…

Bluestar has good reason to be so worried about everything, he thought. I had wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I know Thistleclaw never saw past his hate for her, even before she took deputy honor from him…but now I’m afraid he might have been more right about her than I’d thought. She’s cracking under the pressure. Tigerclaw had suspected as much from the look on her face most days, from her recent and prolonged retreats to her den…but Yellowfang's arrival, and that of the kits, had shaken her so thoroughly that he could be certain now. Something imperceptible had passed deep beneath her surface, and only the ripples were showing, but the ripples were enough. He wondered if Redtail had realized this yet, and, more concerningly, whether the other clans would notice it anytime soon.

If Redtail knows, would he even listen to me? Things had not been good between them in a while. Tigerclaw didn’t know what he could leverage to regain the deputy’s good favor; maybe saving him from another hawk would have to do. Even if he had felt at liberty to share his concerns, he worried it would only come across as mutiny.
This was the clan, the world, that he and Goldenflower had brought their sons into. A world dangling like the few ragged leaves which clung to the trees above, still left over from the last Leaffall. And she wants more?

Spottedleaf returned with a polite but clipped greeting, breaking him from his thoughts again. He meowed back. He knew she was perturbed by his lingering presence in the den, but she would have to tell him directly if she wanted him to consider leaving.

--

Goldenflower had finally fallen asleep, and Tigerclaw felt torn between his inner call to vigilance and the screaming ache in his legs. They were all pins and needles when he finally stood up. His side was cold, the air rushing through ruffled fur to exposed skin. He missed her warmth already, and wondered if his absence would be enough to wake her up. He had to go find something to eat, at least.

On his way to the prey pile, he passed by Bluestar and Yellowfang. The mood between them seemed friendlier than he would’ve hoped. He did not know with any certainty what the Shadowclan cat’s presence meant for his clan, but he would not fall to trusting her as easily as Bluestar, in her clearly diminishing faculties, had done.

There were only a few voles left where the prey pile was supposed to be. It had looked dangerously empty to him, even from afar. He wondered if Bluestar had noticed the scarcity. He’d have to go hunting if he was to earn his supper; it was the code, as he saw it. He stalked out of camp without a word to any of the lounging others.

Company would slow me down, anyways.

Chapter Text

The air had lost some of its cold bite tonight, and that felt like a promise: Newleaf was coming soon. Bluestar led her small embassy of warriors through the trees, over the packed earth on this snowless night. It was time for the Gathering at Fourtrees.

She had been careful to choose for her party those who would not volunteer information so easily. The reason for this was twofold; primarily, that this was the first Gathering since Yellowfang had joined camp. Secrecy was crucial to determine what her departure from Shadowclan had been like. Most of camp had welcomed her warily, but Bluestar had left it at Yellowfang’s own discretion to share her troubles. Her own announcement to the whole clan had been plain and simple:

“Yellowfang has left Shadowclan. Her expertise in medicine, and knowledge of our camp and territory having been a prisoner here, makes it beneficial for us to keep her with us. She wishes to serve Thunderclan now, and you must give her a chance with an open mind and a cautious heart.”

That was all she had said, those days ago. But the cats coming with her tonight needed to know more, needed to know what Brokenstar was likely to say, or they would not trust her again. Once she had left earshot of camp with her group, she had briefed them more transparently about Yellowfang’s possible controversy. It was impossible to tell, so far, how well they had each taken the rumor.

Her second reason for secrecy was more cheerful. Thunderclan had experienced a boon of good fortune in the previous days, completely unprecedented for this time of year. Bluestar was none too keen to let other the other clans know of their own bounty until she had determined the status of everyone else.

What a bounty it was! Prey was running again. The food pile seeming to stock itself. Two sunhighs after Yellowfang had joined Spottedleaf, Frostfur had given birth to her large and healthy litter: there were now four more mouths to feed, four more warriors for the clan. The abundance of food had made it somewhat easier for Thunderclan to welcome Yellowfang. And, Yellowfang’s help was largely a credit to the health of Frostfur’s four new kits.

Even Redtail had warmed back up again. He seemed to have made peace with Bluestar’s decision that fateful night, perhaps seeing all the luck that Firekit seemingly brought to the clan. It felt like a true confirmation from Starclan that she had done the right thing, after all.

Then, why am I so nervous? she thought, shrinking a little from the stars peering down at her now. For a moment, a few of their flickering lights were blotted out by the shadowy passage of a bird high above. An owl, or perhaps a hawk. She was thankful that she’d brought no youngsters with her. Her company tonight was only Redtail, Whitestorm, Robinwing, Mallowfoot, Patchpelt, and Lionheart. She would have liked to bring a few of the new apprentices, so as not to appear too weak, but she had not given them naming ceremonies or appointed mentors just yet. That time would arrive just before the next Fourtrees. At least, in the meantime, she had finally selected and notified mentors for each kit. Tigerclaw had been especially pleased.

She was optimistic that her small group would not feel out of place in Leafbare. Many cats had no desire to be so far from their dens in the cold. This would make surveillance somewhat easier, as there were less other cats to keep track of, but secrecy much harder. Without a large crowd to drift in, Bluestar knew that she and many of her warriors would be pulled into longer conversations tonight, conversations which might wind back around to the truth.

Redtail caught up to her, the flash of his russet fur glinting in the moonlight, moving like a river winding in her wake.

“Bluestar, Mallowfoot wanted to know how much is wise to share about the upcoming apprentice ceremony, in case any of the other cats ask after her family.” He glanced expectantly between her and the path as they walked.

“She can share as much as she wishes,” Bluestar said. “It’s only a small consolation in the wake of what she’s lost. I trust her judgement.” Mallowfoot had been among the ones who suffered the most personal loss during the Greencough epidemic; her mate and daughters had succombed, leaving her one remaining son in the cold world. Bluestar had chosen her for the group tonight primarily to give her some new faces to talk to, and a feeling of exclusivity in being chosen. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she had suffered the hardship Bluestar was trying to project from Thunderclan tonight.

I wonder if I’m making us seem too weak…undercompensating. The thought came too late to course-correct, even if she’d wanted to. Just ahead of them was the clearing, bathed in the light of moonhigh and swarming with a respectable quantity of warriors. They had arrived. Thunderclan might be the last ones here tonight.

They crested the clearing, coming into view, and a few of the milling cats greeted them.

“Bluestar! It’s good to see you,” Tallstar greeted her, his voice carrying over the crowd. He waved his black-and-white tail in a friendly way. He was already perched on the great boulder which dominated the far end of the clearing. There was a polite meow of agreement from Crookedstar beside him, his green eyes searching her intently. If Bluestar had enough self control, she would not be the first to mention the loss of Sunningrocks tonight. She didn’t have time to wonder if he was inwardly gloating about the addition to Riverclan’s territory, because her eyes were busy searching the boulder for the fourth leader.

On the edge of the rock’s flattened top, surveying the crowd like a bird of prey with his orange eyes, glowered the large tom which must be Brokenstar. His flat face scrunched as he greeted her, and she felt he was grimacing, maybe even snarling, when he spoke.

“It looks like Thunderclan has finally arrived,” Brokenstar jeered.

“Yes, we have arrived with the advent of moonhigh,” Bluestar meowed sweetly, twitching her blue-grey tail skywards. Thunderclan had not been early, but she had made sure they wouldn’t arrive too late, either. Less time for she and her warriors to dawdle before the meeting meant less of a chance at revealing anything sensitive by accident. She scaled the boulder in a leap, grateful her paws found purchase on the smooth top easily. She carried a lingering anxiety about failing the jump. What would it be like to scramble, undignified, into the seat of leadership? In front of everyone, no less? She did not want to know.

“Let’s begin!” Crookedstar yowled, and the cats that had mingled below them fell into a somewhat-orderly group. Bluestar noted that clans were keeping to themselves even more strongly than usual, sitting in clusters by loyalty. When feelings were most charitable between the clans, sometimes the clearing could only be separated by something more universal, like age groups—the elders being most ready to forget division and reminisce on the old days. Today it was about as clearly divided as she’d ever seen it. Her Thunderclan atache looked sparse in comparison to the groups Shadowclan and Riverclan had brought. Windclan seemed to be more comparable, bringing along only a few extra youngsters compared to her own group.

I should’ve brought a few more after all, Bluestar second-guessed with an inward curse.

“Cats of all Clans, thank you for your presence on this cold night.” Tallstar projected his voice well, and his words seemed to wreath the space between the four massive trees in friendly sound. “At least it’s getting warmer.”

A cat somewhere below meowed in agreement, though quietly. A few others nodded.

“Brokenstar has informed us that he needs to share an important announcement before we begin.” Tallstar meowed.

“Yes,” came the crackling voice of the big tom. “I have a grave warning.” Bluestar had ended up, unwittingly, filling the space he’d left between himself and the other two leaders. His dark, wild coat was so fluffy that it was difficult to know when his hackles were raised. From the sound of his voice now, though, it seemed likely. He continued:

“Two dangers have entered the territories: the first, a pack of stinking dogs, set loose by the Twolegs, which has been wandering ever-closer to Shadowclan’s territory. The second, and even worse, is a danger from within.” He swished his tail for effect. “One of our own has broken the code. One of our own has committed a heinous crime against the most vulnerable of all: against kits.”

Murmuring rumbled through the crowd below. Though every rational part of Bluestar’s mind told her that he was priming the audience for the news of Yellowfang’s supposed treachery, the bottom was falling out of her chest, and her heart plummeting with it. She was convinced that the next name to cross his lips would be her own. Somehow, he knew what she had done. Perhaps Starclan had revealed it in a dream. But Brokenstar said no such thing as he continued.

“We chased her out of Shadowclan, tracking her as far as the border with Thunderclan, but after that, we do not know where she went.” He cast a sideways glance at Bluestar. “Be warned; despite her ragged looks, she bites like Tigerclan.” Brokenstar tucked his chin into his chest of wiry fur, indicating that he had concluded his address.

With dread, Bluestar realized that, because Thunderclan had been mentioned, it was unlikely either of the other leaders would speak up until she had said something. She wanted more time to process. She wanted to store his words in her mind until they could be overturned for every possible hidden meaning or lapse in truth. He had been so vague in the first place, that she felt it wouldn’t hurt to be vague, herself.

“Thunderclan camp remains secure,” she addressed the crowd, all of whom seemed to beg her for a response in the glint of their eyes. She noted that even the Thunderclan cats wore a concerned expression, though she’d prepared them to hear this news before arrival. “We did scent some traces of a Shadowclan cat traveling through our territory on a recent patrol, but it was old scent and nobody was around to interrogate. None of our further patrols have found anything extraordinary.”

“You must patrol quite sparsely,” hissed Brokenstar, so only she could hear.

“We cover the ground as frequently as we need to,” she whispered back, giving a cool glare and then averting her eyes.

“Riverclan has found nothing, but we will remain vigilant.” Crookedstar added, his voice lilting a little.

“Windclan has neither seen nor scented a trace of her, either,” Tallstar meowed. “Thank you for the warning, Brokenstar.”

“Keep your kits closeby until she is found,” the tom grumbled. “I had also thought to offer Shadowclan’s services in tracking down the threat,” he added. “Perhaps our neighbors are stretched thin.” His pupils snaked over the smaller parties from Thunderclan and Windclan, and Bluestar bristled at the implication.

“One misplaced Shadowclan cat is enough for our territory, but thank you, Brokenstar,” Bluestar meowed easily, hoping to diffuse the tension and shut down the idea at once.

“Windclan needs no assistance.” Tallstar’s voice was firm. He attempted a placid blink towards Brokenstar, who would not close his eyes in return.

“Shadowclan does not offer this aid lightly. We may not be so generous in the future. Suit yourselves.” Brokenstar began grooming his foreleg pensively, and Bluestar felt an awkwardness growing in the silence which she cautioned herself against banishing. To speak now, out of a compulsion to just say anything, was the greatest risk of a secret.

“Well, with the special announcement concluded,” Crookedstar twitched his tail, beginning cautiously. “I may as well speak for my clan: Riverclan is managing itself as well as we could expect, for the season. The fishing is sparse, as it always is with Leafbare, but we have welcomed a few new kits, and the river sheltered us from the Greencough which, as I understand, passed through some other clans. All is quiet with our borders, and we wish it to remain so.”

That’s the closest he’ll get to mentioning Sunningrocks. I’ll not entertain it with a response, Bluestar resolved. She did not speak, forcing Tallstar to share his news next.

“Windclan escaped Greencough with few casualties. Though the prey has been huddled underground in the cold, we’ve already started to see some life come back. It’s good to know that Newleaf is on the way. We’ve yet to meet with prey we can’t outrun or threats we can’t outfight.” Tallstar gave his whiskers and ears a proud, coordinated twitch as he wrapped his tail around his paws. He sat with his head held high, making Bluestar feel small at his side. There was a smugness that came and went about him, and though he had been the one to greet her most warmly tonight, here the attitude was again: his head was held high with pride, and she felt herself bristling a little.

“Those dogs might give you a challenge if they break into the territories,” Brokenstar said abruptly. He had said it loud enough that it might be overheard from below, but not loud enough to be an announcement addressed to the clans.

Bluestar could feel the immediate blow to Tallstar’s ego in her own core. Had she only imagined the tom flinching beside her at those words? What could Brokenstar have meant by them?

It’s not a threat…no clan could control dogs… Bluestar reassured herself. So what, under Starclan, could that possibly mean?

Crookedstar shifted awkwardly on his feet, declining comment, but clearly wishing he could say something.

“Shadowclan is strong.” Brokenstar continued as if he hadn’t said anything rude in the first place. He was now, more clearly, addresssing the whole assembly. “The prey is running, and our many kits become stronger by the day. They will all make fine warriors.”

Bluestar wished she could make a snide remark at his boasting. The point about the kits, especially, would be so easy to swipe at. But they had sworn peace at all Gatherings, and the only way to keep it, in this case, was not to entertain his bristling personality. He was ill-mannered, which Bluestar found strange for his first meeting as a leader. It was her turn to speak, now, and she’d have to find something to comment on besides the new Shadowclan leader’s deficiencies. Hopefully, those were self-evident.

“Thunderclan bore Greencough with some losses,” Bluestar said, hoping she could conclude the meeting after her update. “Some of us here tonight can speak to the strength of a clan after disease has passed it over. The strength of a family, one might say.” She gave a warm blink to her small group, and especially to Mallowfoot. “We have some new kits, and some old kits about to start training—you may note an apprentice or two in our company next meeting. We, like all of you, are ready for Newleaf to ease the scarcity, but we only grow stronger with each passing day.”

Crookedstar and Tallstar gave charitable nods, while Brokenstar turned his head away from her.

“I think this concludes our business tonight. Please go home safely and peacably,” Tallstar said, giving Brokenstar a meaningful, searching look with the final word. Brokenstar pretended to pay him no mind, and was first to leap from the rock. He summoned his multitude, and slunk away from the clearing without permitting his cats to stay and chat. They slipped into the dense pine trees, moving like a subterranean river: dark in the shadows, and unified.

“That was certainly an impressionable first meeting,” Bluestar said under her breath, hoping either of the remaining leaders would take up a short conversation before excusing themselves. What had passed between the three other leaders before she arrived? Had Brokenstar’s manner been equally cold towards Windclan and Riverclan, or did he bear some special suspicion towards Thunderclan?

“He came in like a thunderstorm tonight,” Crookedstar frowned. “I had not heard of Raggedstar’s passing until now. It took me by surprise.” The Riverclan leader seemed grieved by the news, and Bluestar wondered how honest he was being. He hadn’t heard of something so important? What does he have to gain by admitting that, if it’s true—or by lying to me, if it’s not?

“It was sudden, as I understand.” Tallstar said, tentatively brushing his tail against Crookedstar’s. “Brokenstar must have done something to earn his blessing beforehand,” he meowed, though Bluestar could hear the forced optimism in his voice. “When he came through our territory to convene with the Moonstone, no notice was given.”

“Do you think Brokenstar was threatening you with the dogs?” Bluestar asked, still unsure how to interpret the mean-spirited interruption from earlier. Tallstar bristled a little, and she realized she had made a mistake in asking.

“Absolutely not. If he was, we’ll chew those dogs to pieces.” He pounced from the rock without another word, stalking to the Windclan corner of the clearing with a look of expectance on his face. He would not force his warriors out with him, as Brokenstar had, but he was ready to go whenever they were.

“Bluestar,” Crookedstar whispered, a chiding hiss in his voice. “Brokenstar doesn’t need to openly threaten Windclan to be a problem for them anyways. Tallstar won’t admit it, but I know he set us both on edge tonight. And it’s possible he was lying about what that traitor did—possible she had something to do with Raggedstar’s death, or worse. Keep your wits about you. I feel you’re not taking any of this seriously, and if that threat passes through to Riverclan territory, there will be blood on your paws.”

Bluestar wrinkled her nose, masking her embarrasment with indignation.

“I take the security of our border as seriously as the wellbeing of my own clan.” She meowed, her voice low and hard.

“Then why are you losing territory?” Crookedstar prodded, leaving the boulder before she could reply. Bluestar scowled after him, keeping her paws fastened to the boulder for now. She needed to quell the urge to fight him on the spot, lest she fall upon his back with claws out.

Her own clanmates were engaged in casual conversations, mostly with Windclan. It was easiest to be friendly towards those whose borders didn’t impose upon their own. Though, as she scanned the crowd of stragglers again, she noticed that Redtail was discussing something heatedly with a Riverclan warrior.

Oakheart.

She was grateful she hadn’t noticed him here before. He had not come to a Gathering since she’d been appointed leader of Thunderclan. Though she’d been afraid to indulge her imagination, she had unwittingly invented many reasons for this. Dearest was the unspoken inkling that perhaps he still cared for her.

It was better when he didn’t come. They didn’t speak anymore, and she could ignore him most days, just as long as nothing reminded her. Tonight’s Gathering had gone poorly, and she had been apprehensive on the journey to Fourtrees tonight. If she’d caught a glimpse of him before the meeting started, she might not have borne anything that followed with enough grace or composure.

Before Bluestar could arrest her gaze from staring any longer, Oakheart’s amber eyes flickered upwards towards her. Panic rose in her throat with a grave tightness. She floundered, seeing him without really seeing him, wishing she could take in his features, until Redtail turned his own gaze Bluestar’s way. She was then able to anchor herself to her deputy’s amber eyes, instead. Reason came back, and with it, an excuse.

I was only looking your way because you were talking with my deputy, she thought, giving her shoulders a nervous shake before leaping from the boulder. She never looked to see if Oakheart was still watching her, but simply trotted across the clearing to the Thunderclan corner and sat in wait for her clanmates. Her group must have been watching for the cue, because they disengaged from conversation very quickly, and all six were at her side before long.

“I think we need to double all patrols.” It was the only thing Redtail said to her on the way back to camp.

“I agree,” Lionheart added, from somewhere behind them.

“We’ll do that,” she said. “No picking fights just yet, though. Let the others, if they must.”

Chapter Text

Nutmeg’s kittens were growing well. Their eyes were open, but still an intense, azure blue, a color which Nutmeg knew was lovely, but reminded her uncomfortably of Bluestar’s piercing gaze.

She had committed the wild cat’s name to memory. She would find her remaining son, or whatever had become of him. She would use what she knew, what Jake new, she would find out more information…

Mallory was mewling again. A small, half-chirping noise that cried out for more food, even though she had just given them milk. Mallory was definitely still the larger of the two, though Midnight had put on some weight in the meantime. Was it normal for one kitten to outgrow the other so quickly? Even if one had always been bigger? She wished for a chance to talk it over with the other neighborhood queens, but there was no chance of her being let out again so soon. And she would not leave these kittens alone again, even if they were objectively safe while locked away in the labrynthian box her people lived in. No, they would have to come with her wherever they all went, until they were grown enough to fight.

That was one thing she'd come to think about in the passing days. Jake had told her that these wild, forest cats enjoyed fighting. They practiced it, trained for it like small militias. His friend—another “-star,” Nutmeg didn’t recall the whole name—but his friend had alluded to many battles, some of which Jake had summarized for her in sanitized terms.

Her son was out there.

He, too, might be thrown into battle.

She noted the irony in her new wish, to train her remaining children to fight well, but it was for the sake of defense. It was not for the sake of some nebulous collective, some allegiance to a lofty creed, but simply that they would have the skills to maintain peace for themselves and their own.

Maybe that was the other thing; the wild cats had some sort of creed, some sort of allegiance. Something that made them believe they were in the right. Something that justified any action against another cat, in battle or in theft, if they were not of the same, “correct” creed.

She thought of the strays around here. Not every cat was so open-minded towards them as herself. Jake had drummed up an especially convoluted reputation, and was avoided, on principle, by most of the cats who lived with people. She wondered if her kittens would meet the same reaction, simply for being his blood. She wondered if the other cats would bother to help them, if they suffered some kind of trouble. The rift between the cats in People-place wasn’t so different from being of the “wrong” creed.

Her children needed to know how to fight, and they needed to grow up in a society that valued taking care of one another. They needed to know that their mother loved them, and that their family would not leave them behind.

I can’t bring Ru—I can’t bring my son home again until I know he would be safe here, she thought. My son…I have to remember to just call him “my son…” She had unwittingly allowed herself to give him a secret, unspoken name: Rusty.

She would make the People-place into a good, safe place for him, and then she could call him by that name.

Chapter Text

The cats had come from the Gathering feeling troubled and hurried. Bluestar was still put off by the new Shadowclan leader’s combative behavior, and she herded Redtail aside to speak with him.

“I agree,” Redtail said, softly. “Brokenstar seems to be hastening towards something. Maybe expanding the territory a little—Lionheart didn’t say as much, but I think he got the same idea.”

“The coming seasons might strengthen his clan even more, to make such a move,” Bluestar agreed. “I’ll double the patrols, as you suggested.”

“We’ll see what he means to do, sooner or later. I’d rather not be unprepared.” With a yawn, Redtail nearly stepped away to go to the Warriors Den, but caught himself.

“Oh, by the way, that Riverclan tom I was talking to…” he began, and Bluestar felt herself swallow hard. “I had a skirmish with him a few moons ago, right after they had taken Sunningrocks...again.”

“Oh? You never told me,” Bluestar said, though perhaps he had told her, and she hadn’t realized exactly who had been on the other end of the fight.

“He seemed apologetic about it tonight. I couldn’t wrap my head around it; it’s just border patrol, fights happen from time to time. Did Crookedstar say anything to you in private up there? Anything to the same effect?”

“What, do you mean privately?” Bluestar asked.

“Yes, to you, I mean. I think maybe they’re having trouble covering the added territory, so there could be an opening for us here.” She understood, now. Redtail was probing for a weakness in Riverclan’s defense; a way to get the Sunningrocks back. Perhaps he had noticed the way she froze up when Oakhearts eyes had met her own, but he was not going to say as much tonight. This conversation was about the ebb and flow of the clans, not her personal attachments.

“Crookedstar didn’t say anything, no. He seems smug as ever about it.” She swished her tail in distaste. “Best to forget about it until we’ve got a few more reinforcements. We’ll train all the kits, and then make a campaign.”

“Oh—about that, I was thinking of mentors for Goldenflower’s sons, and for Frostfur’s new troupe.” Redtail beamed at her, Riverclan already seemingly forgotten. Hopefully, Oakheart would be, too.

“I’d love to hear your recommendations,” Bluestar returned his smile, beckoning him over to a more secluded place near the big rock at the head of the clearing.

“Swiftkit is growing very well already. I think Longtail would be a good mentor; seems he’s not long for the Elder’s Den, so let’s give him someone who will become a capable warrior as his lasting legacy.” Redtail said.

“You can’t tell so early,” Bluestar teased, though she had seen the family moved into the Nursery earlier that day, and Redtail wasn't kidding about the size of him—Swiftkit already had paws twice as big as his brother’s.

“Frostfur’s brand-new bunch are a little more difficult, since it’s so early, but Mousefur hasn’t had an apprentice in a long time, and…neither have you.” Redtail smiled, giving a placid blink, as if waiting for her to respond, perhaps to note a preference of her own.

“What of Firekit…?” Was all she could think to say. He had been, seemingly, passed over.

“I think…Well, Spottedleaf and I were talking it over, and I would love to oversee Firekit’s training myself.” Redtail became sheepish under her gaze, shrinking a little. Bluestar was, in turn, ashamed of herself for assuming anything.

“I see. I did promise you an apprentice out of that litter,” Bluestar attempted to ease him with the genuine softness in her voice. “I had only thought of it for myself in passing.” That was true—but those passing thoughts had been what made her feel the most hopeful as of late, and she left that part unspoken.

“Spottedleaf told me…well, maybe it’s better if she tells you. But Starclan told her something special about Firekit, and she encouraged me greatly when I told her I’d been thinking of training him myself.” Redtail wrapped his bushy tail around his forepaws, shifting his weight a little. He still, evidently, felt awkward. Bluestar felt herself balk a little, inwardly. Spottedleaf had never really told her what had passed between herself and the Stars that night, and now, with Yellowfang around, it was so much more difficult to get a moment alone. She itched to know, but Redtail didn't seem to know himself, or didn't want to let it slip. She respected that about him; his integrity had carried Thunderclan through hardship and diplomatic peril, but now it was costing her something she wanted. Still, a good deputy was more valuable than any knowledge...

“Redtail,” Bluestar said, now in a firmer voice. “Just because I’m leader, doesn’t mean I can get what I want—you know I understand that.”

“I know, but I hate to disappoint.” His voice sounded a little easier now, his eyes a little more willing to meet hers. She was cheered by this.

“I don’t…" Bluestar trailed off, deciding to let the rest of the thought flow from her mind unfiltered. Redtail had been true for her secret. She owed him her transparency. "...really, I don’t deserve to be involved with him anyways, after…”

“Bluestar,” Redtail lowered his voice, half-chastening and half-worried.

“I can train Cinderkit,” she said. “Out of Frostfur’s kits, I mean. If you were prompting me towards a choice, that is.” Now she shifted awkwardly on her own feet, feeling the call of her den just behind her. She wanted to sleep, so badly. The sky was dark and moonless. Her lids were beginning to feel heavy in the velvety dark.

“I think you’d be a good fit together,” Redtail said, affirming her without implying much more. “For the others…I’m not quite sure yet, but I’m working on it. I had almost hoped someone would want to be a medicine cat, but Yellowfang is here now, and I'm not sure there's room for three in that den…” He trailed off, his ears flicking backwards in the direction of the Medicine Den.

“I think I believe Yellowfang's story, by the way,” Bluestar said. Brokenstar's conduct tonight had been enough of a witness in her favor, at least for now.

“I think I believe her, too. It shouldn’t be that easy, though…” he stood, adding, “and that’s what worries me.”

“She proved herself in helping with Frostfur…four kits is quite a lot. More than any queen has produced, at one time, in many moons.”

“Yes,” Redtail nodded, swishing his tail. He seemed eager to get to sleep too, so Bluestar excused him to the Warrior’s Den with a “Goodnight,” and went her own way.

—

She was asleep in her den. There it was again: the feeling of another cat’s weight, pressing heavily into her, the same as what had awoken her before. There was the smell and warmth of other cats inside her den, crammed together within the cleft of the rock.

She opened her eyes to see brilliant yellow eyes peering back. There was a dreamlike haze about the dark walls. All else was obscured or blurry, but the slit-pupils in the other cat’s face.

“Spottedleaf told me what you did to get that orange kit,” Yellowfang hissed, and Bluestar swore she could feel the she-cat’s hot breath against her nose.

“You stole him. Thief!!” Yellowfang hissed.

“I didn’t! He was given to us—he must have—” A paw descended heavy over Bluestar’s neck, silencing her with a croak. Then, like dappled light falling across the flat-faced she-cat, Spottedleaf’s features began to emerge around those yellow eyes. It was no longer Yellowfang atop her, but her own medicine cat.

Is this a vision? Bluestar could barely articulate the thought. Spottedleaf’s visage had come into full view now, and no trace of Yellowfang remained—except that the Other’s eyes were still pale yellow, not the deep amber Spottedleaf’s had always been.

Bluestar was still pinned beneath the shadowy attacker, whether it was a dream or not, whether the Other was Spottedleaf or Yellowfang or Someone Else, and her frozen limbs would not obey any impulse to move. She felt her breath now, accumulating painfully in her chest with nowhere to go. She was choking steadily as the Other’s paw pressed further into her throat.

“I told her everything you’ve ever done,” the Other meowed, assuming Spottedleaf's sweet, almost sing-song voice. "Everything...!" The paw on her throat threatened to press harder, but faltered for just one moment. Bluestar gathered enough strength to let out a yowl, and the cat on top of her faded to mist.

Bluestar awoke violently, this time in the real world, panting and overwhelmed by the watery thump of her heartbeat in her ears. She could hear nothing else outside of herself for long, painful moments.

Did I make that noise in the dream, or here, too? Her thoughts were jumbled. She didn’t have nightmares very often; this one, especially, had made her sick. She wondered if she had spoken in her sleep, had said anything to give herself away.

When she peered outside her den to check for observers, she almost thought she saw someone’s eyes peering back at her from the Warriors Den. Yellow eyes, pale like dead moons.

Starclan, help me.

Chapter Text

Screen Door [Nutmeg POV]

“I’ve missed you, Nutmeg.”

The words were sweet and welcome, but the circumstances less than ideal. It felt like Jake was taunting her by simply being on the outside of the house’s screen door. He had been so bold as to linger on her peoples' back porch, though they often scared him away when they came too close. Now he was reuniting with Nutmeg as well as he could, in spite of the barrier the people had left. The couple sniffed each other through the worn mesh screen, and Nutmeg held up his son and his daughter in succession for him to marvel at.

“They’re growing very well. I know they’ve been shy today, but they’re always asking about you,” Nutmeg reassured him, as Midnight and Mallory began a wobbly tussle behind her. They felt conveniently hidden from their father, the stranger, when Nutmeg was between them.

“I can’t wait until you can bring them out in the yard. We can sunbathe together…you and me can go for walks again…” Jake began to purr. It seemed he was momentarily charmed by the fantasy, though Nutmeg knew he was not really the domestic type. Maybe having children had tamed a part of him…?

“Would you stay with us?” Nutmeg allowed herself to hope.

“I…oh, your people…they wouldn’t like me. They’d take me to the vet to get poked and prodded, and besides, I’d grow fat on kibble.” Nutmeg was accustomed to Jake’s constant hedging. It still discouraged her. This time, at least, he had seemed closer to seriously entertaining the concept.

“You’d grow fat and happy with me. And your son, and your daughter, and maybe even more kittens someday.” She ventured, though she feared the last idea might repel him away from the whole concept again.

“Not after I’ve been to the vet,” he chuckled nervously. That was probably the sticking point. Not the lack of future children, but the lack of agency.

“They’ve left me untended this long,” she shrugged, gesturing towards the kittens.

“They might have learned their lesson now,” he replied matter-of-factly. If he felt either regretful or relieved at the idea of no more children with her, nothing in his voice or manner gave it away. That would have bothered her, before. After what had happened, though, she had begun to feel differently as well.

“Jake,” she wanted to start the conversation over again, fearing she had soured whatever goodwill had directed him to her backyard today. “Let’s not worry about the future too much. Thank you for coming today.”

“I couldn’t keep ignoring my best girl,” Jake’s eyes glimmered, though, with some worry, Nutmeg noticed that the endearment hadn’t made her feel like anything special. “...Or my kids,” he added, seeing her blank response.

He's still getting used to the concept, she thought.

“Have you been able to chat with any of the neighborhood cats about what happened?” She asked. “I had somewhat hoped…maybe you’d be out there warning the others.” Another question burned, though she wanted to save that for later, because it was even less likely to earn a straight answer than the one she’d just asked. Had he been to visit those wretched forest cats again?

“Anyone who was asking after you, I kind of gave them an idea of things,” he said. “Everyone has been concerned. But I’m careful about spreading information that could put the whole neighborhood in an uproar, you know?” He shifted back and forth on his paws. She hoped he wouldn’t be leaving soon.

“Jake…” she decided to ask him. Whether it made him go away or not, she wanted to know. “Did you talk to those…wild cats about this? Have you been to see them?”

“I haven’t,” he said, and then a long pause followed. Nutmeg wasn’t sure which of her two questions he had meant to answer. It was hard not to interrupt, but she could tell he was still thinking.

“I haven’t talked to the forest cats about this. And I’ve gotten the sense that things are changing in that forest, so I feel like it’s a bad idea to fraternize right now, until the situation settles.”

She had no idea what that was meant to imply, but it filled her with a sickness of heart. Their son had been pulled into a world that even her own roguish Jake was afraid to enter now. Not even for the sake of their child, apparently.

“Please keep telling the neighborhood cats. They deserve to know what happened to our son.” Nutmeg made no attempt to hide the terseness in her voice. The kittens had stopped playing behind her, and were now watching with bewilderment. She was unwilling to say more in their company, and her mood had turned irreparably to disappointment—doubtless, Jake’s had, too.

“Midnight, Mallory, do you want to come and see your father again?” She attempted to brighten her voice for them, putting them at ease, and at the same time, making it clear to Jake that she was done with the conversation.

“Yes please…” Midnight mewed, his voice sounding tiny against the ambient noise of the outdoors—the birds, the trees, rustling leaves of spring, and the sound of Jake shifting back and forth uneasily on the wooden porch planks. Nutmeg nuzzled the kittens, urging them back to the screen door.

Each kitten had to stand on their back legs, propping front legs against the bottom apron of the door, to touch their tiny noses to Jake’s through the screen. Midnight was only barely tall enough.

“I’m so happy to meet you both,” Jake beamed at them, and Nutmeg’s heart softened a little.

“You can stick around as long as you want, though I’m out of conversation topics for now,” Nutmeg said, offering the ultimatum in a soft and inviting voice, hoping he could catch its full meaning. When their eyes met, she knew he had understood.

“I…had a few things to get to this afternoon, but I will see you again soon.” He rose to his feet, the kittens shrinking back a little in uncertainty as their father stood to his full height. “I promise, Nutmeg.”

“Okay.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Mentor, Father [Tigerclaw POV]

Ravenpaw trembled a little when they touched noses at the apprenticeship ceremony. Tigerclaw could only chuckle; Firekit and Swiftkit, too, seemed a little intimidated by him. They were all so small, so young…it was hard to believe his own sons would be training when they reached Ravenpaw’s still-diminutive size.

“You’ll do great,” Tigerclaw had told him. Was it faith in Ravenpaw, or confidence in his own mentorship abilities? He confessed, he had barely made time to see beyond his own family during the most recent Nursery visits. Ravenpaw had been a peripheral object, a kit too old to properly befriend his sons and too young to answer to the demands of a warrior, a drifter in some strange transitional state. Tigerclaw could only barely remember what that had been like for himself, but he recalled enough to feel some vague pity for the kit. Now, his apprentice.

Bluestar had confidently carried out the ceremony, speaking without faltering, and it had given him a measure of faith in her as well. It was faith she had earned, for finally seeing the potential in him, but his misgivings still remained. She seemed to drift further from the clan as time went on. With Brokenstar making threats, and Crookedstar holding Sunningrocks over their head as a perennial taunt, Bluestar’s detached, contemplative style was the last kind of leadership they needed. They needed action. They needed secure territory in the immediate future, and beyond that, a path away from the pointless tribalism which had spilled too much blood. Strengthen Thunderclan, and then strengthen the whole forest. Secure peace, at the price of force when necessary, but with the allure of unity as an incentive. Good change occurred when there was not only an incentive at the leading edge, but also consequence following close behind the trailing edge. Tigerclaw thought of these things frequently.

But for now, he could only shape the minds of his sons, of his apprentice, of his fellows. Perhaps Starclan would grant him the chance to create an even grander change, maybe even sometime soon, but he would be faithful to himself and his capabilities in the meantime.

Star-split [Bluestar POV]

“Starclan have heard you,” it was the voice of Spottedleaf at the entrance to her den. “Though, I wonder how, since you’re always holed away within this rock. Hiding from the sky...”

“I come out from time to time,” Bluestar defended herself with a feeble almost-joke. The apprenticeship ceremony had gone well today, Ravenpaw paired off with Tigerclaw and Dustpaw paired with Darkstripe. The clan had rejoiced, there had been an impromptu feast of the prey pile, and the afternoon’s patrol parties had gone out in a cheerful mood. It had left Bluestar feeling strangely tired, and ready to retreat to a quieter place for a spell.

“You’ve been having troubles.” Spottedleaf invited herself in, seeing that Bluestar made no move towards the sunlight. “It’s plain to see, even for those of us who aren’t communing with the stars very regularly.”

“I wish they would speak to me,” Bluestar said.

“Do they not? Did they not, after all, send us the fire?” Spottedleaf gave her a gentle and loving nudge with her nose, though the words she spoke almost sounded like mockery. "Didn't I come here to give you a message?"

“Something troubles me about Firekit, still,” Bluestar said. Now was as good a time as any to finally ask – what had passed between Starclan and her medicine cat on the night Firekit had come to stay? She hadn’t had a chance, still, in the past few days. “What did they tell you about him that night? I know you heard something.”

“You don’t want to hear about why I came here today?” Spottedleaf made no attempt to hide her surprise, fidgeting her weight back and forth, tail lashing. Bluestar knew she had put her on the spot, but she needed to use this moment alone. “I told you, they have heard you—“ Spottedleaf tried again.

“First things first,” Bluestar interrupted. “I will be grateful for their response, but I have to know what you’ve kept from me.”

“I see,” said Spottedleaf. Finally, she lowered to a sitting position, though it was the tense stance of a cat ready to stand up again and run. Only her paws were still really touching the floor. With some hesitance, she spoke. “They told me that I am to watch over him. To kindle the fire, as it were, to keep it away from...any sort of thing that might snuff it out.”

“You? Not his mother, or his mentor? Did they mean for him to become a medicine cat, perhaps…?”

“No. I don’t think that’s their full meaning,” Spottedleaf shook her head. “If they had wanted only to send us a medicine cat, Yellowfang would have sufficed, and then some. She has great skill—thank you, again, for bringing her to the Medicine Den.”

“I should have done it sooner,” Bluestar said bitterly.

“You still didn’t know if it was safe,” Spottedleaf reminded her. “To the matter of Firekit, I think Starclan wants to keep him away from any overwhelming influence. He needs to remain true to himself in order to be the one who can help us. That is my belief.”

“How can he be true to himself if we can’t reveal his lineage? He must become a warrior of Thunderclan, and that's certainly not what he was born as, so we've already taken him away from himself.” Bluestar meowed, feeling puzzled at Spottedleaf’s interpretation.

“A cat is much more than lineage,” Spottedleaf frowned. “For all he knows, he’s no different from us. I think that may be key. We can’t go…propping him up, into someone above us, nor can we afford to denigrate him for his parentage.” Spottedleaf huffed, feeling frustrated and incoherent. “He has to have a normal life, is what I’m saying. Until it’s time for him to do…whatever it is he’s come to do. To save the clan.”

“And you think Redtail can give him a more normal life than I could, as a mentor? I suppose that makes sense.” Bluestar couldn’t disagree, though it still disappointed her to think she may not have the reward of training him, after what she'd done to get him here.

“Any cat mentored by the clan leader is bound to garner attention.” Spottedleaf said. “I want to keep him humble.”

“The deputy’s apprentice would come to feel special, too, though. And isn’t your desire to keep him humble also an influence? Perhaps a misuse of guardianship—?" Spottedleaf seemed to take offense, and interrupted her here.

“It’s not the same. Redtail isn’t you—he isn’t chosen of Starclan, blessed with nine lives, given authority over the code and the clan. Someday in the future, things will be different, but until then, he’s just like everyone else. Yet, giving Firekit to Redtail keeps him close to my watch and yours, just the same.” Spottedleaf attempted to nudge Bluestar again with her nose. “I shouldn’t have to explain this for you,” she said. “I’m very concerned.”

“I am too.” Bluestar sighed and turned away, feeling defeated.

“But Starclan still gave me a message for you.” Spottedleaf said. “It was simple, but unmistakable: I saw Featherwhisker in my dreams last night. He told me, ‘Bluestar has no cause to fear.’”

“Does he know what I’m afraid of? Do any of them?” Bluestar lamented. She had no reason to doubt Spottedleaf, or even, really, to doubt that Starclan had seen her anguish as of late. Yes, they had sent Firekit, and yes, had supplied Yellowfang, and yes, prey was running again and kits were healthy again and all seemed tentatively salvageable in the world...but Bluestar had come to fear this bounty, because it felt like punishment loomed shortly behind. Punishment for her theft of another cat’s young, for her transgressions of the code in her youth…surely they wouldn’t just turn a blind eye?

A vague concept had come to rest, in Bluestar’s mind, that her efforts in bringing Firekit to the clan would be the final daring thing Starclan wanted from her before she was replaced or deposed by the youth. It would be a fitting consequence, for what she had done. It seemed like Starclan’s justice to her. She had turned it around in her head overe and over, and could almost accept it now.

That was the problem; if Starclan was telling her that she had nothing to fear, yet her own conscience told her that she had wronged others, had incriminated herself, then who would she believe?

Spottedleaf had made no reply. Bluestar searched her face for any indication of more: more to the message, more to say to her leader and to her friend, but Spottedleaf didn’t seem to know what to say.

“You may go,” Bluestar finally said. “I’m not sure if I understand Starclan’s message in the context of all of our troubles, but I appreciate your coming today.”

Spottedleaf left warily, feeling that her presence had only done harm, but uncertain what else Starclan would have bid her to do.

Chapter Text

The Nursery was warm and big, and full of his friends. Though he missed Sandkit and Greykit, who had been the last of the older kits to leave the den, there was still his brother, Swiftkit, as well as Frostfur’s four kits to play with. Besides, Greykit—no, Greypaw—still came around to say hello to Firekit and the others once or twice.

“Will we go outside today, mama?” Firekit’s tiny tail pointed straight up in anticipation as he tottered around the dirt-packed floor in circles. Swiftkit usually asked this same question every day, but Firekit thought that this time, he might be the one to ask first. He was vaguely aware of his brother’s frustrated huff from somewhere across the room, where he was playing near Frostfur’s kits, but was too interested in Goldenflower’s response to care about any offense he might’ve caused.

“Of course, Firekit,” Goldenflower smiled at him from the spot where she had been lounging all morning. “You get to go outside every day now that it’s warm.” She rose, seeming to tower over him, arching her back and stretching her long front legs. It had never yet occurred to Firekit that someday, he would be as big as her, but an inkling of the concept found its way into his mind now.

To be big…to be grown…

Then he could choose to go outside whenever he wanted, and never worry about being carried off by a hawk. His mother had warned him about that, along with many other things. Especially with his rusty-red coat, which clashed so strikingly with the green and brown-grey forest floor, she feared for him. But he loved the color of his fur in the sunshine, even if it was something of a danger. Someday he could be big, and fight a hawk…

“Dad killed a hawk once, didn’t he?” Firekit blurted out, lost in his stream of consciousness.

“Your father is very brave, and very reckless,” Goldenflower responded testily, and the tone of her voice made Firekit suddenly feel embarrassed. “But yes, he did that.” Her tail began to flick at the tip, the way it did when she was displeased, but it presented such an irresistible plaything when it was twitching around like that…

From across the nursery, Cinderkit beat him to it, pouncing on Goldenflower’s fluffy, pale tail and catching the tip in her little mouth.

“Ouch! Cinderkit, don’t bite so hard, please,” Goldenflower exclaimed with a jump, making Firekit feel even more on-edge. What had he done, that everything had turned so chaotic just now? “You are too old to be biting like that, dear,” his mother continued to scold.

“Sorry…” Cinderkit mewed, having backed away now. Her big pupils still tracked the twitching of Goldenflower’s tail with interest.

“Tigerclaw’s bravery won him a friend in Redtail,” Frostfur purred from her place. “And he saved our clan’s finest deputy yet.” Frostfur’s voice lilted in a way that was at once soothing and kind, and Firekit hoped it would calm his mother as much as it had calmed him.

“Yes. I am very proud of him for that…even as much as it made me worry.” Goldenflower said, and the mellowness seemed it had washed over her too. Firekit was relieved. Cinderkit had grown tired of playing with Goldenflower’s twitching tail and went bounding towards the Nursery entrance, now blinking hard in the bright sunlight at the threshold. Her long, white whiskers rustled a little in the gentle breeze blowing past the den entrance. She stuck out her tiny black nose and smelled the camp, keeping her paws within the boundary line of the Nursery entrance. It was a trick of technical obedience she had learned. Frostfur seemed not to mind it yet.

“Are we going outside now?” She mewed, seeming tiny to Firekit, even though they had really been born around the same time, and weren’t all that far off.

“Can we visit Ravenpaw?” Firekit asked, remembering the young apprentice as he contemplated on the brightness of the sun and the way it hit Cinderkit’s dark grey fur. If Goldenflower’s pale pelt was as bright and warm as the sun, then his old friend Ravenpaw was as dark as the night. He wondered where he was today, and what his dad, Ravenpaw’s own mentor, was teaching him.

“Dad took him out for hunting practice, silly,” Swiftkit emerged at Firekit’s side rather suddenly, and it made him feel jumpy again. Had he known that, and simply forgotten it? What had his father said, the last time they’d seen him…a day ago? Two days ago?

Firekit could not remember how long it had been, because Tigerclaw was very busy. Really, he wished to see his dad, too, not just Ravenpaw. Whenever Tigerclaw came to visit, his rumbling voice filled the whole nursery with a feeling of safety. He told them stories, sometimes frightening stories about great battles, and he brought them leaves and sticks to play with. His mountainous shoulders were fun to climb on—he had more patience for that sort of play than mama did.

“That was yesterday, Swiftkit,” Goldenflower padded towards her sons. She stood behind them and gave each a gentle lick atop the head. “I don’t remember what they’re doing today, but we can see if they’re in camp. Let’s go out.”

“Goldenflower, would you take Cinderkit out with you as well? The others are ready for a nap, but I can tell she’s not going to rest until she’s run around a little bit.” Frostfur’s voice came floating over again, and Firekit was excited. Cinderkit was an excellent playmate.

“Of course, dear,” Goldenflower purred, and she gently herded the three kits out of the Nursery into the bright sun.

Camp was abuzz. None of the apprentices were immediately in sight, nor was Tigerclaw, but Cinderkit gave a gleeful squeal when she caught sight of Lionheart—her father—across the clearing. Goldenflower urged her to “Be careful!” as she bounded away to him. Lionheart lowered his big, golden head to greet her, and Firekit looked away to fight back a surge of frustration. Why was he upset? He would probably see his father today, anyways. He would, he would.

Firekit realized he was now alone with Goldenflower. Swiftkit had already taken off towards Dustpaw, who was sitting, almost hiding, in the shade of the big, towering rock on the other end of the big camp clearing. The apprentice greeted Swiftkit, though without much enthusiasm, and Swiftkit began hunting for bugs on the rock face while Dustpaw licked his forepaw in mock-disinterest. He needed to be above such things now that he had gained a loftier rank in the clan.

“Mama,” Firekit said, though only vaguely aware of where the words were coming from. “Do you…get scared about dad?”

“Scared? My dear, what do you mean?” Goldenflower rushed to reassure him, licking him roughly and gently all at once, on the side of his face and top of his head. Her tongue rasped loud in his ear, and it took him a minute to gather his thoughts enough to try and re-explain.

“Because when he’s not with us, he’s doing…brave things,” Firekit tried again.

“Oh, I see,” Goldenflower said, and though she seemed calmer now, the licking did not abate. “I try not to worry about your dad. He is very brave, and very strong, and he loves us very much—so he will come back to us.” She said this as she looked away from Firekit, and it seemed to him that she was looking out into the big, wild forest itself, which encircled camp and defied his young comprehension. His dad was out there, somewhere, and it was almost like Goldenflower could see exactly where. Then, her soft eyes came wandering back to him, and it made him feel even warmer than the sunshine beating down on them.

“I don’t want you to worry, son,” she said. “Worrying—when we think that something bad might happen to someone we love—it does not really protect them. It only makes your heart sad.”

Firekit nodded, because he did understand. But understanding didn’t replace the feeling in his chest, the feeling of wanting his dad to come and see him right now, the feeling of wondering where he was and what he was doing.

“You should go and play with Swiftkit,” Goldenflower narrowed her eyes at him in a reassuring way, making a small gesture towards the boulder with her nose. “You’re only so young for a little while. Look how Dustpaw won’t help him find any bugs! He needs a hunting partner over there”

“Okay, mama!” Firekit brightened at this, the feeling inside of him beginning to ebb now. The idea of catching a big beetle before his brother could make his own first catch spurred Firekit across the big clearing, to the towering boulder, where Swiftkit was now scraping at the dirt around its base.

As he ran, he caught sight of Spottedleaf’s dappled head poking out of the Medicine Den, peering at him. She was always looking around with those gold eyes, orange-gold like his own pelt, and he hoped that maybe she and Yellowfang would come and tell them a story today. Brightkit had been sort of sniffly, after all, and they had come to give her medicine a few times recently. She met his gaze as he ran, whiskers twitching and eyes blinking in a friendly way.

Being a kit was being watched, of course—the warriors had to keep them safe and out of trouble—but sometimes, it seemed to Firekit like the other cats in the clan were watching him the most. He was beginning to think it was his own imagination, but Spottedleaf was definitely one of the few he had noticed. Seeing her watch him now brought the possibility back in a way that felt real. She was still watching him, and he was trying very hard to look elsewhere and pretend he didn’t notice when—

“Firekit,” Swiftkit’s voice broke into his thoughts, and he realized he had already come to a stop at the boulder. His brother was digging with spirit. “Help me find a big worm.” Swiftkit continued. “We can lure a bird right down to the clearing if we leave it out on the ground.”

“The bird will see it?” Firekit wondered aloud, immediately lending both paws to the digging.

“Birds can see very well, and they’re not smart enough to recognize a trap like that,” Dustpaw said. He had said it in the same tone of voice as one might share a compliment, though he never even glanced their way as he spoke. His eyes studied the main clearing of camp before them, as if he were already imagining a bird coming down, none the wiser to its next and final moments.

Dustpaw scarcely spoke to them now that he had become and apprentice, unlike Ravenpaw, who had been elevated in status at the same time and remained quite friendly. Firekit didn’t remember much of the older cat anymore. Now, he was somewhat surprised to hear him speak. Dustpaw blended in so well with the rock face, and ignored them so doggedly, that it had been easy to forget his presence.

“If you bring one down, I’ll kill it for the clan.” He said, finally looking their way.

“We should get to kill it,” Swiftpaw protested without looking up from his digging.

“You never learned how,” Dustpaw said.

“Yeah, but we will.” Firekit retorted. He decided to purposefully ignore Dustpaw after that; they would show him. Switpaw’s plan was brilliant, and he knew he couldn’t have ever thought of it himself. It was sure to work. The dirt began to cake around Firekit’s claws as they broke down into wetter soil, and though it was uncomfortable, he felt even more hopeful now—worms liked the wet dirt better than the dry.

Maybe he and his brother would have something impressive to tell their dad when he came back home today.

Chapter Text

Midnight opened his eyes in a bleary way. Something had disturbed him. Looking around, the only other cat around was Mallory, who was still fast asleep. The sky beyond the windows wasn't light yet, so where had his mother gone? And why did he feel like this had happened before—a sudden absence of warmth from the bed beside him, a feeling of exposure to the cool night air, an ache?

Small sounds, too, like whispers and sniffles, carried to his tiny ears from somewhere above. It was so faint that Mallory’s tiny snores threatened to drown it out entirely, but something in him knew that it was mother, and that she was in distress.

His little steps were uncertain across the cold and slippery-smooth wood floor. His small frame came in handy now; he could move quietly, something he felt was essential, until he could understand what was happening to his mother. He had made it to the base of the wall, now directly below the faint breathing sound. She had disappeared into the window, that hollow in the wall very high above him. It didn't seem like anyone or anything else was there with her, but he couldn't see very well. It was an impossible jump. He was still getting used to the stairs. When he craned his neck backwards, he caught sight of her tail, grey in the night, angled out from the wall and snaking down towards him. The sniffling sounds were louder now, paired with uneven breathing, and he was afraid.

Placing both of his paws on the wall, he took a tentative stance on his hind legs, which were too short to let him reach mother’s dangling tail. Where was the rest of her? She must be hiding in the window above him, far above him, where he had seen her go in the daytime. But at night, and not having seen her jump there himself, everything felt uncertain now. He was afraid.

A tiny mew of his own was all it took to bring her back down to him, like an angel of comfort. Some kind of magic had summoned her back. He was scarcely aware he’d made the noise in the first place, and now here was Nutmeg, licking his face with her big, warm and dry tongue, snuffling at him to check that he was okay. A deep purr emanated from her chest, but he could smell something about her that he hadn’t ever smelled on another cat before; it smelled like his own fear.

Was she…? No, that’s impossible. Mothers are never afraid.

Teeth closed gently around the scruff of his neck now, almost halting his ability to think, but he got the word out before she could lift him:

“Mother—?”

“Yes, my love?” Her mouth disentangled to reply, in a quiet and gentle voice.

“What happened?” He wanted to ask her why, but he didn’t know what kind of why. He wanted to know why everything; why had he smelled that scent on her, why had she left her nest in the night to go to that daytime-hiding-place, and why did her presence now only barely reassure him? But he had no way to articulate any of these thoughts, so they swirled around in his chest and his head unspoken, and agonizingly so.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, moving as if to pick him up again.

“A nightmare?” He asked. Did mothers have nightmares, too?

“Something like that, my dear. Don’t worry, I feel better now that you’re here.” This time she did pick him up, and he knew she wanted him to feel better—that was why she had really said what she said—but it didn’t seem to work. Now he wouldn't get any more answers out of her until she was done carrying him. He tried again, regardless.

“What was it about?” He bumped against her legs lightly; her grip had faltered for just a moment with the temptation to reply.

When she set him down in bed again, next to Mallory’s still-slumbering form, she said,

“It was…about your brother. He’s not here, because he’s a little older than you.”

Midnight did not know he’d had a brother. Was he grown-up, then? Grown ups don’t need their mothers. So why was his mother thinking about someone who didn’t need her anymore?

“Someday I hope you’ll meet him,” Nutmeg continued, in a sweet and reassuring way. It was a gentle way that made him feel nice, that made him feel ready to sleep again, but he still thought it strange of her.

“Go to sleep, my dear, I won’t leave again tonight.” She gave him one last lick to the forehead, and again, like magic, it made him relax enough to let his eyelids drop. Sleep overcame him between one vague idea and the next, and he dreamed that his brother lived in that high, bright place in the wall where his mother had been. Someday he would be able to jump up and join them.

Chapter Text

It didn’t make any sense for the nightmares to have stopped, and yet, there had been no more after that final and particularly nasty encounter with the Other in her den. Bluestar had been sleeping more deeply than ever, waking up with a peerless clarity of mind and inexplicable determination for each new day. The turn in her luck frightened her, but in a way that now seemed small and manageable.

I know I won’t feel this good forever. I’ll just use up my luck as well as I can. This is what she told herself.

She’d gone patrolling today, a pleasant time in spite of the tensions around both borders. Joining Lionheart and his apprentice Greypaw had been a refreshing change from her usual company. They had wound their way through the pine trunks in the swath of forest by Twolegplace, and she hadn’t even thought twice about where she was. It helped that the scenery had changed from her last encounter with the area. The ground, once entombed under thick layers of snow and frost, was bursting with fountains of springy ferns and luscious catmint. Ivy crept around the bases of the greening trees. They startled a hare on their way, which sprang forth from the undergrowth with such a great lead that they knew they’d never catch it. Despite this, spirits remained high. Perhaps there would be another chance later on.

Another chance; that was what newleaf felt like, especially this time around.

Shadowclan’s border had been quiet. They had followed it all the way from the corner at Twolegplace to the Fourtrees clearing, pausing for a moment beside the towering oak which upheld their corner of the forum. Across the way, they could see the wide-open beginnings of Windclan’s lonely territory, and beyond that, a horizon’s worth of uncharted land. Bluestar wished for an excuse to visit the Moonstone again, just to be somewhere totally different for a little while. The journey she had undertaken to receive her nine lives reminded her of the wideness of the world, and the boundless energy which coursed through a new leader, blessed of Starclan. Yet, the wish came as a reminder of what had been good in her life once before, not an ache to escape the present. There was a small, meaningful difference between the two things, she thought.

She was enjoying the sun in the wide clearing of Thunderclan camp, keeping half an eye on the kits as they all wrestled and tumbled near the Nursery entrance, when Yellowfang approached.

“Bluestar, I trust all is well with you?” the old she-cat meowed her greeting. She paused to stretch, casting her back into a tight arch and sticking her legs straight out in front of her. She gave a yawn, revealing sharp teeth, a few missing. Her claws peered out from between dark, fluffy paws as she stretched and her toes splayed. Bluestar had no doubt she could still respectably take on a patrol with those teeth, and those claws, despite her age. She was grateful that Yellowfang had not chosen to use such assets against Thunderclan.

“Yes, and with you?” Bluestar fought off a yawn in her own response. The warm, midday light had already made her sleepy before Yellowfang came along.

“I was wondering if we might have a word,” Yellowfang ventured. There was an edge to her voice which only intensified as she lowered to a whisper: “I am…concerned about another member of the clan.”

“Certainly,” Bluestar said, feeling somewhat surprised.

I wonder what she knows…

“Would you walk with me in the forest? I’d hate to go back to my stuffy den at this time of day.”

“You had no qualms about keeping me in there, stuffy or not,” Yellowfang said, but Bluestar could hear a teasing melody in her voice and knew that, valid as the complaint was, all hard feelings had dissipated. “But yes, I think a turn about the woods might feel good. Only, let’s steer clear of my old stomping grounds?”

“Of course. I’ve already been on patrol there today, anyways.” Bluestar rose to her feet and gave her own stretch, shaking out her forepaws at the end. Wordlessly, both cats began their walk to the camp entrance tunnel. “All is quiet out there, if that gives you any peace of mind,” Bluestar added. Part of her worried that she was making things worse by even mentioning Shadowclan, but perhaps this could make it up.

“It does not, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Yellowfang’s eyes grew distant, and Bluestar knew better than to open her mouth again so soon. She would let her companion broach the next subject, whenever she was comfortable to.

They made a beeline towards Riverclan territory, where the forest grew thicker and crowded together on the moist, good ground. The undergrowth would eventually become hard to navigate, and Bluestar thought of one of her old hiding places. Such privacy would probably be appreciated on Yellowfang’s part, as it had been on Oakheart’s so long ago.

“I know a place we can talk uninterrupted,” Bluestar said, finally breaking the silence and her self-imposed oath to it.

“Lead the way,” Yellowfang said.

Bluestar made it all the way to the burbling river that formed the border before she realized she had overshot. She was thankful that this corner of the territory was far enough from Sunningrocks that nobody would oppose her for wandering into it; this was still Thunderclan’s land, as far as she could scent. A few careful zig-zags away from the stream brought them both to a boulder which stuck out of the ground at a slant, long ferns growing over the top of it and cascading in a way that protected an inner, shadowed hollow from most lines of sight and hearing.

“There’s stale fox-scent here,” Yellowfang remarked.

“I hope it crossed into Riverclan.” Bluestar said. Still, she gave a thorough sniff to the draping ferns before sticking her head through the curtain. There was nothing living inside, though a few scattered bones from what was probably a rabbit were left at the far back corner. A fox had definitely been living in here at some point; maybe Newleaf had spurred it on to newer lands.

“The place is empty, though the fox-scent is worse in here. It’s very old. We should be safe for today.” Bluestar pulled her head back out to give Yellowfang a nod, and then pushed her way in.

“It stinks to high Starclan in here,” Yellowfang complained, wrinkling her nose a little. “Are you sure your nose still works?”

“I lost a little of my senses to greencough this Leafbare,” Bluestar confessed. “…And that’s not all.” It still felt dangerous to tell Yellowfang that the disease had taken one of her lives. Though Spottedleaf knew, not many others in Thunderclan were aware. To tell someone who had once been an outsider, even if she was a medicine cat now, felt like a risk not worth undertaking. If Yellowfang caught the full meaning of her words, that would be fine, but it was best to keep it ambiguous.

“We lost some cats to the illness as well.” Yellowfang said. “I was lucky not to contract it.”

“Just as we’re lucky the fox has long-since moved on,” Bluestar said, nudging Yellowfang back to the present. Her head had been buzzing with curiosity since they left camp, and now that the distracting tasks of locating this hidden place and determining its security were taken care of, there was nothing left to keep her mind from probing Yellowfang’s many possible concerns.

“It’s Spottedleaf,” Yellowfang said, with a sigh. “That’s what I wanted to speak to you about.”

“What’s going on? Is everything alright between you?” Bluestar couldn’t imagine a situation where Spottedleaf would be a poor teammate, at least, not on purpose, though the younger cat did sometimes become detached in her own thoughts. Yellowfang did not seem like the kind of cat, practical as she was, to tolerate this unconditionally.

“She seems very…preoccupied with the kits. Specifically Goldenflower’s litter.” Yellowfang picked her words carefully, speaking slowly and without raising her voice. “I know their delivery was a hard one.”

“It was perilous,” Bluestar said.

“Anything has the chance to leave scars, even if they’re invisible to others,” Yellowfang said, as if she were convincing herself that Spottedleaf’s reaction was normal. “When I talk to her about that night, though, she doesn’t seem any more…emotionally affected, I suppose, than she does about any other task she’s had as a medicine cat. What I’m saying is, I don’t think she’s traumatized by them—I don’t think that’s the root of her fixation.”

Both cats shuffled their weight on their feet awkwardly. Bluestar couldn’t decipher any further implications in Yellowfang’s words, if there were any at all.

“Do you think she’s emotionally attached to them?” Bluestar probed, keeping her tone quizzical. She didn’t mean to imply anything, either. Not outwardly, anyways. She already knew the true motive behind the behavior Yellowfang seemed so concerned about; Starclan had charged Spottedleaf with Firekit’s guardianship. She could not reveal this to Yellowfang without risking the need to reveal the whole story. How much to tell? How much to hide?

“I think so, yes. It appears to be inappropriate, even if it is not.” Yellowfang said curtly. “What I mean is, if either of them is somehow hers, others are eventually going to notice it. They’ll put it together.”

“...Ah.” Bluestar had not quite expected this conclusion, though it was, now that she reconsidered, the most obvious one.

“Yes…I was going to have a chat with her, but first, I wanted to ask you if there was any true reason to suspect her of this. By the time I arrived, she would’ve already been carrying them. I don’t know if she had any attachments, or was ever missing for unexplained periods of time, or…” Yellowfang shook her head, seeming to will away the self-consciousness that crept into her voice as she went on. “Am I losing my touch for reading cats?”

“I don’t think she’s ever been close to any of the warriors in clan,” Bluestar said, “beyond what was appropriate and expected. Of the toms we lost to greencough, they already had mates to which they were loyal. Regarding toms from other clans, we’ve been so paranoid all Leafbare that not an intrusive whisker was found within our territory, beyond your own, of course. I don’t think she had any secret relationship.”

“I believe you.” Yellowfang said. She gave a sigh, lowering her eyes to her paws. “I just…know something isn’t right. I can’t think of any other reason she’d be so watchful over them.”

Bluestar’s doubts had begun to settle. Someone as sharp-eyed as Yellowfang, who had proven her loyalty by consulting Bluestar before directly accusing a clanmate, didn’t deserve to have her perception left in question. She needed to confirm as much as possible, without giving away Firekit’s origin.

“Before you came,” Bluestar began, “Starclan sent us a sign. A star, falling through the sky and burning brilliant. I was outside with Spottedleaf when it came overhead, and she went…blank, you know, the way she does when Starclan is in her head.” Yellowfang nodded. “She received a prophecy. She and I both think that Firekit is the object of the prophecy.”

“Why?” Yellowfang’s pupils scanned back and forth over Bluestar’s face, searching for any hint of exaggeration or embellishment. Bluestar remained stoic.

“Because Starclan told her: ‘Fire alone can save our clan.’ And Goldenflower had not heard of this prophecy when she named her son. I’ve never told the clan about it.”

“Starclan gave you a hope…and you concealed it?” Yellowfang narrowed her eyes, wrinkling her nose for just one reflexive moment. “I’m sure you two weren’t the only ones who needed to hear it.”

“I was…afraid to dangle that hope in front of the clan, only for it to…” Bluestar trailed off weakly. Only for it to never come true.

“Did you really think a prophecy of Starclan might fail?” Bluestar expected that question to come with all the burning sting a doubter like herself deserved. Instead, there was gentle sympathy in Yellowfang’s voice.

“I did. Or, I was afraid I might do something to mess it up.” Bluestar felt like cowering now, so embarrassed at admitting her own weakness and pride in the same breath.

“Bluestar,” Yellowfang said, wrapping her bushy tail around her front paws. “You have come through a hard season, and the future of the clans is uncertain, I dare to say, with Brokenstar in power. I understand your pessimism; I often share it.” Yellowfang blinked. Bluestar thought about the yellow eyes which had come to her in the night, the fear they had stirred inside her. Yellowfang’s eyes were not like that right now. They felt more like twin lights to follow towards safety than the eyes of an accuser to shrink back from. “But you have to trust that the plans of Starclan are greater than the sum of their parts.”

Bluestar nodded, though not entirely understanding.

“What I mean is,” Yellowfang meowed, “you are not big enough to stand in the way of fate.”

“But what if—“

“No, not ‘what if.’ Your actions, both good and bad, all contribute to a plan greater than either of us can see now. When we leave this forest to run with the stars, we’ll know it better, but until then…do what you know is right. Pick yourself back up when you’ve done wrong, and make amends to those you’ve harmed. Don’t worry that you’re in the wrong place; you aren’t powerful enough to put yourself there in the first place.”

Bluestar had nothing left to say. Though Yellowfang’s words felt true, and felt like a balm to her soul, to the tiredness she was not aware she still carried with her, something in her still wanted to resist accepting them.

“I wish you had come sooner,” she finally said. “I would have given anything to receive such advice during the worst of it.”

“There’s even a reason you’re hearing it now instead of then,” Yellowfang said, knowing she was now being witty for wit’s sake, and seeming to relish in Bluestar’s mild frustration. “I wish you had told me about Firekit, but I understand why you didn’t. I think I need to have a word with our Spottedleaf, though. If you still don’t want to share this prophecy with the whole clan, she needs to be less conspicuous about it.”

Bluestar weighed the benefit of announcing the prophecy to the whole clan, where one thought stopped her in her tracks. If Tigerclaw found out he was the father of a prophesied chosen one…what sort of ambition might that stir in him? Would there be a feeling of being passed over, or a bid for power? Now was probably not a good time to test her luck any further. The secret would remain.

“Please speak with her, if you would,” Bluestar finally said. “And…thank you.”

“All in a medicine cat’s work,” Yellowfang said. “Now, show me the way back to camp. I’m sick of sitting in this fox-stink. I’m sure my fur has soaked it up.”

“You can tell everyone you fought it without my help.” Bluestar said, pushing her way through the ferns and taking the lead back to camp.

“Yes. I fought a stale old fox, though it was already half-dead when we found it.”

“You’re a hero.”

“Spottedleaf,” Yellowfang called, entering the medicine den.

“Hi Yellowfang,” came her half-dazed voice. She was in the back, sorting herbs. “Did you go out for herbs? I just restocked yesterday.”

“That was two days ago you went out,” Yellowfang corrected. “And no, I went for a walk near Riverclan. I’m trying to learn the terrain.”

“Please be careful to steer clear of Sunningrocks. I’m not patching anyone up over that pointless patch of barren land again. Those rocks will turn red if we keep spilling blood over them.” Spottedleaf’s voice was fiery with a conviction Yellowfang rarely heard from the soft-spoken she-cat.

“Noted,” Yellowfang chuckled. “I’ll take someone big and strong with me if I ever go that way. Maybe Tigerclaw would like a chat with a haggard old cat like myself.” Yellowfang paused to lick her forepaw in a casual air, entirely staged. “He’s a nice enough cat. His kits are growing bigger by the day.”

“They are,” Spottedleaf meowed. “Firekit especially.” She never really looked up from the herbs as she pushed them around with her white-tipped paws, counting the dried sprigs of yarrow now.

“Yes. You know, if I had kits, I’d want to watch over them just as well as you do for Firekit.”

Spottedleaf froze, the intended effect. Her ears swiveled backwards, the left one twitching a little.

“Yes, well, I have to make sure they all stay healthy…” Spottedleaf said, attempting a casual tone. “You know.”

“I know it would be within our interests to look after all of the kits equally.” Yellowfang said. “If I tell you a secret, I would bid you to learn from me.”

Spottedleaf turned around, looking Yellowfang in the eye now. Yellowfang approached her, sitting beside her, as they both faced the back of the den. Her voice wavered into the thinnest whisper Spottedleaf had ever heard.

“I had a kit, long ago.” Yellowfang rasped. “Starclan has paid me back for the transgression every day since.” She hung her head, sighing and then adding, “and it would have been worse if I had given anyone a reason to suspect the kit was mine. The public ridicule, I mean. The scandal.”

“Yellowfang…I’m not sure how to take this,” Spottedleaf said. “That’s very serious. I’m sorry. I…wait, Firekit’s not mine! Is that what you’re trying to imply?”

“No. I’m just telling you to keep your vows to Starclan—all of them.” Yellowfang said. “And giving you a token of my trust. Telling you something that nobody else knows about me. You’re good at keeping secrets, I know, because you still haven’t told me what it is about Firekit that does concern you. Keep that in your own confidence, and keep my story there too, but learn from it.”

“You mean, ‘Don’t be so obvious?’” Spottedleaf said, a small waver in her voice.

“Yes, child. For your safety as much as his.”

Chapter Text

If Bluestar’s reclusive, somewhat paranoid tendencies over Leafbare had set Tigerclaw on edge, it was the way her confidence seemed to blossom now that made him feel even worse. He was spending the afternoon on hunting patrol to discuss it with Darkstripe. Ravenpaw, of course, had tagged along as well.

“Bluestar seems different recently.” Ravenpaw had actually been the one to say it.

“I’m glad you picked up on it, young as you are,” Tigerclaw chose his words carefully, hoping not to be overbearing. Just enough to stoke his apprentice’s suspicions, but not enough to instill mutinous thoughts or frighten the youth. Not yet, anyways. “I’ve been…uncertain as to how her shift in mood will lead the clan forwards. Any thoughts, Ravenpaw?”

“That’s just the way with she-cats. Can’t depend on them…always too prone to their ‘moods,’” Darkstripe had interrupted, tired of being sidelined in this conversation. Ravenpaw shot them both a dirty look and loped ahead, crashing through the underbrush and probably scaring off any nearby prey in the process.

“Guess he’s part she-cat.” Darkstripe huffed, looking to Tigerclaw to gauge his reaction.

“I was trying to see what he knew,” Tigerclaw hissed. “Then you had to open your mouth.”

“I know you were thinking it too,” Darkstipe said, lashing his tail. Often, Darkstripe was the only cat willing to put voice to the silent thought on everyone’s mind. Tigerclaw had come to value this in his friend, but there were times, like today, when the habit was purely irritating.

“With Bluestar, it’s beyond the usual,” he said, struggling to articulate quite what made him so sure of her unique situation. “I understood why she was afraid during Leafbare, because we all were. I can’t understand whatever it is that’s making her feel so high-and-mighty now.”

“Why does it matter?” Darkstripe growled. “She’ll run herself into trouble one of these days, and we just have to make sure you’re around to pick up the pieces. They’re all the same.”

“No, they’re not. Goldenflower’s different,” Tigerclaw said, as if wanting to prove it to himself. He still hadn’t forgotten how immediately she asked him about having more kits. Even after the nightmare ordeal it had been for both of them. The sting of anxiety and disappointment had lessened over time, but he still thought of her request when he saw her playing with their sons. It was all emotion, he knew. Emotion, probably, for Bluestar too—but about what? What had changed? Was it all the new kits? The kits—

“Darkstripe…” He lowered his voice, unsure of where Ravenpaw had ended up, or if the apprentice was coming back their way yet. It would have to be a quick conversation, just in case.

“What? Catch a scent of something?” Darkstripe’s eyes glimmered, and Tigerclaw knew he would be annoyed at the continued detour from their intended mission in the woods. He wanted to hunt, too, but this had been weighing on him. And with Ravenpaw around all the time now, there were precious few moments to commiserate with adults in private.

“Figuratively,” Tigerclaw said. Darkstripe replied with a short hiss of annoyance. “Just bear with me. Weren’t there rumors about Bluestar having…loyalties on the outside?”

“What, back in the day?” Darkstripe sat down, curling his tail around his paws. His dark fur shone deep burnt-brown in the sunlight, and his face turned pensive. “I can’t remember if that was her or someone else.”

“I just have to wonder if there’s something she knows about the kits, that we don’t. Maybe one of them is…”

“…You think one is hers?” Darkstripe seemed more incredulous than shocked at the concept, which only made Tigerclaw feel more self-conscious about hinting the speculation. It was unlikely. More than that, it was virtually impossible. She’d been holed up in her den half the season anyways, what time or opportunity was there for clandestine meetings?

“Well, I don’t know about that. I mean, maybe. What if none are hers, but some aren’t fully Thunderclan? Do you think she’s dumb enough to use that as leverage, in case another clan tries to attack?”

“Not likely,” Darkstripe scoffed. “That’d be a violation of the code. I’m sure the other clan would have no problem fighting those cats if something like our whole territory was on the line. The benefit outweighs the cost.” Tigerclaw’s tail lashed in frustration, though he knew Darkstripe was right. He could think of no rebuttal. “Who cares about some cat you didn’t realize was tied to your clan until moments ago?” Darkstripe doubled down.

“I just can’t understand what’s changed.” Tigerclaw paced back and forth, watching the scant grass bow at his feet. He toyed with an ant beneath his claws as he tried to think harder. The original tangent had felt worth exploring, but now he was coming up dry.

“Come to think of it, though, Spottedleaf pays an awful lot of attention to your son.” Darkstripe spoke in an ambling way, as if his words were wandering along with his mind. Tigerclaw whirled around, glaring, and flexing his claws on angry reflex. “Such a pretty little thing. Shame she went into medicine.”

“What are you implying?” Tigerclaw hissed. Darkstripe, now taking notice of the shifting mood, clamped his mouth shut. He stood as if to leave, but Tigerclaw's fiery eyes held him in place.

“I—I, uh, I wasn’t implying you did anything with her. That last bit was...ah, purely my own thought,” Darkstripe floundered for words. Tigerclaw advanced, letting himself loom over the other warrior. As big as Darkstripe was, Tigerclaw could make himself bigger. His claws were sheathed now, but he didn’t let on that his temper had somewhat abated.

“What do you mean, specifically about the attention to my son? Which son?” Tigerclaw pressed him again, wanting a real answer.

“Well I mean, isn’t it kind of obvious? It’s Firekit. She watches him like a hawk’s going to swoop in at any second and—”

“Spare me the thought of such a misfortune befalling my child, Darkstripe.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you noticed. I always assumed it’s because he’s so bright orange, you know, kind of visible from above,” Darkstripe muttered. “I’m sorry, Tigerclaw. I really didn’t mean to imply anything. For Starclan’s sake, would you stop looking at me like that?”

“You don’t think Spottedleaf…”

“Oh, no, absolutely not.” Darkstripe finished the thought he assumed Tigerclaw was about to voice. “When does she even leave camp? And it wouldn’t be with any of us. I’ve got a jealous heart, I would’ve noticed.”

The sound of someone approaching in the far undergrowth crept into their ears, and Tigerclaw knew that, whoever was on their way, it was best to end the conversation here. He wondered how much of their conversation had already been within earshot.

“Alright,” Tigerclaw’s voice lowered to a rumble. “We had better get some prey to bring back home.”

“If Ravenpaw hasn’t scared it all off. Can you hear him thrashing around in the bushes over there?” Darkstripe now quipped with a measure of caution in his voice. He eyed Tigerclaw nervously, the sclera showing a little in the corners of his eyes.

“Better make sure he hasn’t picked a fight with something he can’t kill.” Tigerclaw bounded off, and Darkstripe followed, reminding himself not to let his words get too far out of hand again. Not in such grave company, at least.

Chapter Text

“Do you think you can do this for me, Jake?”

“I just want to see you at peace again.”

“This will bring me peace.”

“They’ve already been talking about what happened. Most of them already know.”

“Everyone needs to know.”

-

The exchange echoed in Nutmeg’s mind as she rounded the corner to leave her street. It was the furthest she had wandered since the kittens were born. Mallory toddled in tow, big enough to walk by herself, but Midnight had already grown tired. Wanting a free mouth, she had scooped him onto her back and carried him that way.

There was no moon tonight. She had planned this meeting meticulously. In a more complete kind of darkness, the housecats would have an easier time sneaking away, and the street cats would not be noticed as easily in vast congregation.

Her heart was pounding stronger than the physical activity demanded. She had no way of knowing how many cats would show up for her tonight. She had been given a few opportunities to chat with the cats living on either side of her peoples’ house, and had asked them to spread the word, but had they done so? How seriously had they taken her? Jake’s influence was crucial. He could still go anywhere he pleased. More crucially, he had a silver tongue to sway anyone, at least to a point. Her word was backed by that standard. As long as he had brought her a crowd, there was a way forward.

“Momma, my feet hurt,” Mallory cast a glance upwards as she bounded to keep up. Her eyes, which had never lost their vivid blue, pleaded for a place beside her brother on Nutmeg’s back.

“You did so good, Mal,” Nutmeg purred as she crouched.

“Don’t push like that!” Midnight squeaked, as her daughter clambered onboard.

“I did nooot,” Mallory retorted.

“There’s enough room for both of you,” Nutmeg said, hefting them up. “You can chat all you want now, but can you sit quietly for momma when we get to the meeting?”

“Yes mom,” they said it together, but Midnight’s reply sounded a half-second before Mallory’s. Nutmeg could almost hear a twinge of self-satisfaction in his voice, and stifled a laugh.

“What’s the meeting for?” Mallory asked, with a yawn. “I’m already tired.”

“You slept all day, my loves,” Nutmeg said. Rounding another corner, she was closer to the vacant lot now, the one with all the construction equipment that never seemed to move. She remembered what it had been like to meet Jake here, before the kittens had been born. “Aren’t you excited to see your father tonight?”

“Dad will be there?” Mallory meowed, squirming on Nutmeg’s back.

“Can he walk home with us?” Midnight asked.

“Can we sit with him?” Mallory asked, cutting off the end of Midnight’s question with her own.

“You never said what the meeting is for,” Midnight said.

“I will ask your father to walk home with us,” Nutmeg laughed, shaking her head. “And the meeting is about…some important, grown-up things. But it’s also about you, and how to make the world safer for you.”

“About us?” Mallory purred. “So can we talk?”

“No, my loves, not at this one. But everything I do will always be about you. There will be a place for you both to talk, after we get things more…established.” She hadn’t used that word with them before, and wondered if they’d glean the meaning now. There was no reply. Instead, they discussed amongst themselves what games they might play while the grown-ups talked.

Nutmeg was tiring out with the added weight of both kittens on her back, but they were very close now. The fence that lined the sidewalk was about to end, and beyond it was their meeting place. When she reached the edge of the wooden planks, she was taken aback for a moment by the sheer number of cats gathered in the clearing before her. A few of those human machines, with scooped claws for digging and long arms for lifting, sat at the far edge. A few cats lounged on the tops of them, surveying the bustling party below. Nutmeg could see both of her neighbors mingling in the crowd, though they hadn’t noticed her entrance yet.

“That’s so many cats!” Midnight exclaimed.

“If there are other kittens, can we play with them?” Mallory asked.

“Yes…yes, you can,” Nutmeg said. “Just don’t get off my back yet. I don’t want to lose you in this crowd. I’ll tell you when it’s okay to go.”

“Okay!” they echoed each other, as they often did.

As she made her way through the clearing, there was still no sign of Jake. On a dark night, his orange fur stood out the least of all. Still, shouldn’t she be able to recognize her mate in a crowd?

If that’s what we even are, she pushed the unhelpful thought aside for now. Tonight was about something bigger than the both of them.

“Oh, it’s Nutmeg! Hey, Nutmeg!” A black-and-white tom broke through the crowd and walked beside her. He towered over her in a way that would’ve been frightening if she hadn’t known him.

“Tuxie, it’s been ages!” Nutmeg purred. She couldn’t gauge the kittens’ mood while they were behind her, but she hoped the warmth in her response would assure them that the huge tom was nobody to be scared of.

“Oh, I don’t uh…I don’t use that name anymore,” he chuckled. “My people tossed me out. I’m ‘Bone’ now.” Nutmeg felt a pang of sympathy for him. She had been so worried her people would do the same when she found out about the kittens. “Nobody took me seriously out here until I had a tough name. Sounded too pampered before, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Nutmeg meowed, not knowing what else she could say. The conversation lulled as they got closer to the big machines on the far end. Nutmeg’s ears still buzzed with the animated noise of the crowd.

“That’s alright. I get along fine on the streets, now that summer’s coming. They had the decency not to dump me until the snow had melted.” Bone narrowed his eyes in a friendly blink towards her kits. “But that’s enough about me. You’ve got little ones now!”

“Yes, mine and Jake’s,” she said. “They haven’t been this far from home before.” They had reached the big machines, and, with nowhere to keep walking forward, the conversation had come to a halt.

“Right,” Bone finally said. “Jake said he’d be here eventually. Want me to go find him?” his eyes were already sweeping the clearing.

“That’s alright, Tu—uh—Bone,” Nutmeg stuttered over the name change and pushed on to cover the blunder. “What I really need is everyone’s attention.”

“I know how to get attention,” Bone said with a mischevious twitch of his whiskers. He bounded away from her as suddenly as he had arrived, leaping up the bulging bodies of the construction equipment until he had reached the highest roof of the long-armed one. He gave a blood-curdling yowl, and Nutmeg felt the kittens startle on her back.

The effect on the crowd was immediate. All eyes were now on Bone, who stood and basked in the attention for a moment before he opened his mouth.

“My friend Nutmeg called us here tonight for more than just a party,” he boomed. “She’s got something important to say!”

“You can go play now, but promise you won’t lose sight of me,” Nutmeg whispered to the kittens. She lowered herself to let them down, and they hesitated before moving towards a few other kittens that were tussling nearby. Midnight looked back at her, his pale blue eyes glinting with a request for confirmation. “It’s okay,” she said, and only then was he content to move onward.

“Nutmeg, would you like to come on up?” Bone invited her, gesturing towards her with a forepaw. She could feel all eyes shift to her now, and she hoisted herself onto one ridged, long foot of the lifting machine. She was already a cats-height above the crowd, and felt no desire to climb further.

“I’ll stay here, if everyone can hear me.” Nutmeg did her best to project, feeling her own voice was still too quiet compared to Bone’s.

“We can hear you fine!” someone said at the far end of the crowd, and that fear was somewhat dispelled.

So many eyes watched her now, a shifting cluster of green and amber glints, the eyeshine glinting out of the cats at the right angle and distance, and she knew she could finally share what had burdened her these past months. Maybe the weight in her heart would diminish.

“Everyone,” she cleared her throat. That sounded too general…she felt the pull to engage them, to be persuasive, to be charismatic. “Cats of People-place, thank you for coming here tonight.” She cringed inwardly, the phrase "Cats of People-place" feeling far too unnatural. She decided to push forward, not ready to waste any more blunders on the introduction.

“I need to share a concern I have for our wellbeing.” The words came clearer now that they were her own, and no attempt to mimic Jake’s persuasion or Bone’s volume and presence. “I need to share something deeply personal, which happened to me, and could have happened to any of you. For your sakes, I am glad it was my own misfortune.” She shifted on her paws a little, gauging the crowd’s interest. It was impossible to tell what they were thinking.

“You all know that there are wild cats living in the forest beyond our territory.” A shifting, a rise of quiet murmuring, moved the cats before her like ripples in a water bowl. “These cats,” Nutmeg raised her voice, beckoning their undivided attention again, “have stolen something precious from me. While I was outside the safety of our fences, my kittens arrived early. It was unexpected, and I had encroached on their territory—I will take full blame for that—but what they did was inexcusable.” Nutmeg felt her voice break, but the captive eyes, the faces now intently studying her for the next piece of information, filled her with determination to push on. “Though they helped me deliver my kittens, my precious babies…they stole my oldest son, and ran off with him while I was still weak from the pains of labor. I had no strength, no hope of fighting back.”

A few cats in the crowd gasped, a few others shifted their ears backwards in distaste. Finally, scanning the crowd yet again, Nutmeg could see Jake. He was sitting towards the back of the crowd, poised atop a pile of rubbish. His green eyes were fixed on her, just as everyone else’s were.

“Those cats took him away, and left me with my remaining kittens in the bloody snow.” She doubled down. “If Jake had not found me and helped me carry my babies home, I might not be here today. They would certainly not be here today.” She gestured towards Midnight and Mallory, who seemed, blessedly, unaware of the meaning behind her words. They were engaged in a game of chase with the other kittens.

“They are my whole world. Tell me, if a forest cat came wandering into our home, if she were unlucky enough to deliver her kittens right here, would we steal them away from her?” She paused again, wanting to let the words breathe. “Would we leave her for dead in the streets—leave her to the people, as I was left to the predators of the woods? To their fickle mercy?” She thought of Bone, who had never complained of his people in all the time she’d known him, and the way they had betrayed him for no reason. She thought of how, laying in the snow on that night, she knew that any fox or owl could come swooping in to catch them, and she’d never smell them coming over the stench of her own blood.

“No!” cried a voice in the crowd. It was one of the cats on Nutmeg’s street—Princess, if she recalled.

“No, we wouldn’t!” cried another. This was a grizzled, ginger tom, someone she didn’t recognize, but must be a street cat by his appearance.

“Who’s to say it won’t happen again?” Nutmeg cried. The crowd was chattering now, saying indistinct things which Nutmeg could only catch the sentiment of. They were in agreement with her.

All but Jake, who, as she caught his gaze, rose to his feet and stalked away from the empty lot. He disappeared behind a fence. Nutmeg allowed her indignation to soak into her speech.

“We have a say. And we can’t let it happen again,” she yowled. The crowd quieted again. “We will protect ourselves.”

“How? What can we do?” a wide-eyed, pale grey tabby, who wore a collar with a jingling bell, had pushed her way to the front of the crowd to ask the question directly.

“Those cats have clans. They have an established system and a way of life. Jake knows,” Nutmeg said, wishing he had stayed for her. Wishing he would reappear now to affirm her words. Though, she knew, enough of the cats in the clearing had heard as much from Jake's own mouth. They would believe her now. “We need to take what they have, and make it even better.”

“What about our freedoms, Nutmeg?” Bone said, landing on the machine’s treads beside her with a weight that shook the platform. “Jake says they’ve got this whole…code of conduct,” he said. A few cats in the crowd murmured along with him.

“You will still have your freedom. We will not live at war with one another, as the forest cats do. We will not be bound to a rigid behavioral code. You will come and go as you please, with just one, simple oath: we will look out for one another.” Knowing this was too abstract of a rule, Nutmeg illuminated it before anyone could ask for more specifics, more practicality. She had spent so much time thinking of how to introduce the concept that she’d all but memorized the words. “If my neighbor is in trouble, whether she’s a house cat or a street cat, I will do whatever I can to come to her aid. If my friend is hungry, I will share my meal with him, even if it was hard-won. If any of you are burdened with grievances against each other, we will come together as a community and mediate. That’s what it means to look out for one another in our daily lives. You can govern yourself by the rule of compassion.” She paused, checking, again, how engaged the cats before her were. Some nodded agreeably, while others eyed their neighbors with suspicion or hesitation. “And, should other cats—cats from the forest, or from anywhere else—ever come to fight with us, we will give them hell in return.”

This elicited a cheer from many. A grunt of satisfaction from Bone beside her, and the way the eyes in the crowd lit up, confirmed that she had swayed enough of them to her cause.

“From this point on we are blood. I will treat you as my kin,” she concluded with a triumphant cry.

“As will I!” Bone meowed, giving her a nod.

Meows of agreement broke out around the lot, though, Nutmeg noted, a few cats took their leave quietly. Two or three individuals stalked away, and a few groups of cats splintered off of the crowd and melted into the deep shadows on the far end, where the rubbish heap was. She could only guess where Jake had gone. He’d never even greeted their children. Now she was left with the quandary of explaining why their father had gone away, or perhaps lying to them, telling them he had never even shown up. Neither story would soften the blow.

Perhaps he went to warn his forest friends of trouble brewing. Maybe that’s what was so important. Nutmeg would make her own clan ready for anything that came of it.

Chapter Text

Firekit had not slept well for two nights, and for all he could tell, neither had the other kits in the Nursery. How could they, when the largest apprentice ceremony in Thunderclan’s recent memory was coming soon? When that monument in clan history was to be their own ceremony?

Now he sat outside the Nursery entrance, panting in the morning heat of Greenleaf. Goldenflower vigorously groomed the top of his head down to his shoulders, trapping more heat under his fur with her warm tongue.

“We’ve got to have you looking nice for the ceremony today,” she purred.

Swiftkit was sitting as patiently as he could nearby. He had already undergone the beauty treatment, though Firekit thought his black-and-white pelt looked no different from usual. Perhaps it was the kind of difference only a mother could see.

“Mother, you have to tell us who our mentors will be,” the breathless voice of Cinderkit bounced out of the Nursery behind them. Firekit turned to see the grey kit bounding around her mother in circles. Not far behind, her siblings followed.

“Mother doesn’t know, or she would’ve already told you one of the first hundred times you asked,” meowed Brackenkit, his tail swishing back and forth. He had grown a little faster than the rest of them, with legs too long for his body now, and he was taller than the other kits unless they were all sitting down. Firekit was grateful they would all sit down for the ceremony, though if he’d been the one to stand the tallest among them, he knew he would feel differently.

Materializing like fog, Bluestar arrived on the edge of Firekit’s vision, coming to them from the great rock at the head of the camp. He turned his attention to the leader, who was smiling warmly at Goldenflower.

“Bluestar, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Frostfur hailed her from the midst of her own kits. Bluestar turned and gave her a nod of acknowledgement.

“I came to ask how you all slept last night,” she said mirthfully. Goldenflower and Frostfur laughed in unison, the kits unable to share in their amusement. Beneath the buzzing excitement in his head and his heart, Firekit was bone-tired, and he knew the rest of them were, too. His mother had once told him about how all new warriors must stand vigil the night following their ceremony, and he hoped that apprentices would not be expected to do the same. There was an opportunity to ask about it now…

“Excuse me, Bluestar,” Firekit’s voice squeaked, to his embarrassment. Now everyone was laughing.

“Yes, Firekit?” Bluestar regained her composure quickly, and it seemed like she was moving the conversation away from his blunder. He was somewhat relieved.

“Do new apprentices have to do a vigil?” he asked. Swiftkit was nodding, as if he already knew the answer, when Bluestar replied.

“Not to worry. You only get to do that for your warrior ceremony. Starclan knows you’ll need as much rest as you can get once you’ve begun training!” She turned her attention back to the adults, while Firekit sighed a breath of relief.

“Are the kits ready?” Bluestar asked. Frostfur and Goldenflower nodded. “Perfect. I will gather the clan very soon—I hate to make anyone wait.” She bounded away with a smile, heading off towards the warriors den, doubtless to prepare everyone’s future mentors. Firekit’s heart leapt. Who would his be? His father was already busy mentoring Ravenpaw, and Firekit somewhat doubted a father would be allowed to mentor a son anyway, but there was nobody he could think of who he’d rather train under.

“Oh, Goldie, don’t get sentimental on us now,” Frostfur’s sudden presence nearby startled Firekit from his thoughts. Goldenflower’s eyes had gone misty with sentiment, and Firekit rose to rub his side against his mother’s leg.

“I just can’t believe they’re already grown enough for this,” Goldenflower said, her voice crackling with emotion. “You two were my warmth and light in Leafbare,” she said, now directly addressing Firekit and Swiftkit. “I hardly noticed when Greenleaf came for the rest of us, because I had you all along.” She lowered her head against their foreheads, though they had almost grown up enough that this old gesture of affection no longer fit all three of them. Regardless, they rested their foreheads together. “Oh, my sons,” she whispered.

“We’ll always be your sons, mama,” Swiftkit purred.

“And I’ll always be proud of you,” she said.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own pray join here before me!” Bluestar’s voice rang out, and Goldenflower pulled her head away from her kits reluctantly.

“Let’s go!” Cinderkit shot away faster than a hare, and Firekit licked his mother on the cheek before he ran after her. Swiftkit overtook him quickly, but he was too overjoyed to mind it.

We’ll always be brothers, too, Firekit thought. As Swiftkit pushed on ahead, he surpassed Cinderkit by a few paces before the two crashed into the sitting position among the crowd of warriors. Firekit joined them not long after, and Brightkit and Thornkit weren’t far behind. Brackenkit walked between their mothers, taking slower, more graceful strides.

“We will be naming our apprentices today,” Bluestar meowed. “This is a significant day for Thunderclan, and Starclan has given us a substantial hope in these six youths.” Firekit found it difficult to cling to Bluestar’s words as she spoke, wishing he could remember it all, but feeling unable to fully grasp the moments as he moved through them. She spoke a little longer, and then the crowd around him cheered. Beside him, Swiftkit stood, and Firekit realized she must have announced his brother’s mentor—which he had completely missed. From behind the group of kits, Longtail made his way through the crowd. Standing before the great rock, the old warrior touched noses with Swiftkit.

“I know you will pass on the best of your memories and experience to Swiftpaw. Thank you for training one more member of Thunderclan before you join the Elders,” Bluestar said warmly. Longtail gave a nod to the clan, beckoning for Swiftkit to come and sit beside him. Swiftkit followed, yellow eyes glinting towards Firekit—

If Swiftkit was first, does that mean I’m next? Firekit thought. He focused on Bluestar now, hoping not to miss his name when it was called.

“Brightkit, you have reached your sixth moon,” Bluestar said. Firekit gave a twitch of his whiskers as she continued. “Please step forward. from this day until you receive your warrior name, you will be called Brightpaw. May Starclan lead you. Robinwing,” Bluestar beckoned, and the brown she-cat seated directly behind Firekit stirred. She touched her deep mauve nose to Brightpaw’s pale pink one, and the two took their places in the crowd again.

Firekit was no longer sure where he was placed in the lineup, and, anxious to get it over with, he squirmed a little on his feet. Swiftpaw was watching him with an amused look on his face.

Easy for you to relax now, Firekit thought. Longtail had a sharp, striking personality, and had entertained the kits with many stories before. He would have been grateful to learn from a clever mentor. He wondered how Swiftkit—no, Swiftpaw—felt about the choice.

“Thornkit,” Bluestar called. The ginger-striped kit beside Firekit stepped forward, and Firekit grew more apprehensive by the moment. Thornkit, now Thornpaw, touched noses with Mousefur, a she-cat Goldenflower seemed to be friends with. Training under one of his mother’s friends wouldn’t be so bad, either. The pool of available warriors—let alone recognizable ones—was that much more shallow now.

“Brackenkit,” Bluestar summoned the tall kit forward, and blessed him with Starclan’s blessing and his new name. Brackenpaw touched noses to Brindleface. Firekit did not know her very well, but there was a kindness in her eyes that would’ve made him feel at ease, if he had become her apprentice.

“Firekit.” By the time he heard his name called, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He had stopped expecting it. Cinderkit gave him a good-natured shove, and he rose to his feet, leaving her to await her mentor alone. He almost felt bad for her. His body moved while his mind lingered on the words Bluestar was speaking:

“Firekit, you have reached your sixth moon. From this day until you receive your warrior name, you will now be called Firepaw. May Starclan lead you.” Firepaw’s breath caught in his throat.

Now, who's to train me? he thought.

“Redtail, please come forward.” Firepaw felt his own eyes widen as he glanced towards the tom, approaching with a swish of his fluffy tail.

The deputy? Thunderclan’s deputy?

“You’ll do great,” Redtail said under his breath as the two touched noses. “Let’s not linger.” Firepaw followed the tom towards the other new apprentices, where Swiftpaw now watched with an interminable expression. “I’m sure Cinderkit is anxious to hear her assignment,” Redtail explained, as they took as seat. Firepaw could only nod in response.

“Lucky!!—” Swiftpaw hissed in Firepaw’s direction, and Longtail boxed him gently on the ear. Firepaw hadn’t heard Bluestar call Cinderkit’s name over his brother’s retort, but something new was happening now. Bluestar had jumped down from her perch. The great grey she-cat met the smaller grey-furred apprentice in the space before the crowd.

“Cinderpaw, I will be your mentor.” They touched noses, and Firepaw could see Swiftpaw’s jaw drop in his peripheral vision.

At least I’m not the only cat with a fancy mentor now, Firepaw thought. It made him feel less self-conscious. He scanned the faces among the remaining crowd. A few warriors seemed, rightly, crestfallen at the missed chance to train an apprentice. Others, especially those who already had an apprentice, seemed pleased by the selections. Goldenflower beamed with joy and pride, her eyes narrowed in complete joy. Tigerclaw’s eyes were half-lidded in satisfaction. His father must have approved of Bluestar’s choices for their mentors—he knew Tigerclaw well enough to know there was no contrary emotion hiding behind his current expression. All was well.

“Makes you feel less embarrassed, huh?” Redtail said with a nudge. Bluestar leaped up the rock face again, addressing the crowd to dismiss them. Cinderpaw waited at the foot of the rock, casting an uncertain glance back towards her siblings, who were smiling towards her.

“Nice, Cinderpaw!!” Brightpaw whispered. A smile finally crept onto Cinderpaw’s face. It had been she who carried the most exuberance into the ceremony today, yet her resulting mentor had left her in a rare state of speechlessness.

“Better than you’d hoped?” Mousefur laughed, and then nudged Thornpaw beside her. “Don’t be jealous. Your sister will likely be joining us whenever Bluestar is unable to train her.”

“And just because Bluestar’s training her, she won’t be taking my place as deputy—at least, not quite yet,” Redtail winked. “Apprentices, let’s gather with our mentors here,” he began walking towards the foot of the rock, where Cinderpaw still stood. Bluestar was back on the ground again, also padding towards them.

“Mentors, thank you, and Starclan bless you, as you guide these young ones. I leave it at your discretion whether you want to begin training today.” Bluestar said. “As for me and Cinderpaw, time is precious, so we will begin immediately.” She rose again, beckoning Cinderpaw towards the center of camp.

“Bye, guys!” Cinderpaw squeaked, bounding away after Bluestar.

“It’s a good thing she’s too friendly to get a big head about it,” Swiftpaw said.

“We’ll see,” Brackenpaw laughed.

“I think we ought to begin training, too,” Brindleface said to Brackenpaw. “Anyone else for sparring?”

“Firepaw and I will spar, too.” Redtail lifted a forepaw to groom it after he spoke, making it clear that he wasn’t ready to get up just yet. It seemed he was waiting for others to join in. Firepaw held still beside him, waiting to see who else might spar with him today.

“Ravenpaw and I will join,” Tigerclaw’s rumbling voice sounded from behind the group.

“Dad!” Swiftpaw jumped to his feet, ready to run to his father. He thought twice, giving Longtail a pleading look as if to request permisson.

“Run along,” Longtail grumbled melodramatically. Firepaw looked to Redtail, who gave him an affirming nod. Together, he and Swiftpaw ran to Tigerclaw, who pressed his head to each of theirs in turn.

“You both have good mentors,” Tigerclaw said, fixing his eyes on Swiftpaw. “I want to make that clear right now.”

“I got it, dad,” Swiftpaw meowed. “I’m not jealous.”

“Good. I’ll not have my sons compete,” Tigerclaw meowed. Goldenflower appeared at his side, beaming with emotion, but seeming unsure what to say. Wordlessly, she rubbed her cheek against Tigerclaw's shoulder.

“Dear, we’ve got work to do,” Tigerclaw meowed. He gave her a tired glance.

“Right, okay…be safe!” Goldenflower managed, stepping away tentatively. “I wish I had an apprentice of my own, just now.”

“I’ll put in a good word with Bluestar, now that your schedule has freed up,” Redtail meowed with an air of sympathy. “As for the rest of us, shall we go spar with Ravenpaw?”

A chorus of agreement rose up, and the group drifted to a clear spot in the camp center where mentors lined them up. Mousefur and Robinwing demonstrated a few simple swipes for everybody.

“It’s all about locating vulnerable points,” Mousefur had said. "As you get better, you'll learn how to spot them more quickly."

Next, Tigerclaw was Brindleface’s willing subject. She showed them how a smaller cat might sweep a bigger cat off his legs.

“You have to crouch low,” Brindleface said. “If all your weight is up high, it’s easier to topple you over. Shorter, smaller cats have this advantage.”

The apprentices were paired up to model each method now that it had been shown, with mentors drifting from pair to pair to offer instruction. Firepaw found his attention waning, wishing he could chat and play-fight freely with the other apprentices as they had done in the Nursery. Now they were learning the real ways to fight, with no room for chatter or camaraderie until the session was over.

Ravenpaw, being bigger than the other apprentices, rotated from cat to cat so they could all model Brindleface’s takedown maneuver on him. When it was Firepaw’s turn, he could’ve sworn the bigger apprentice was making it easier on him by loosening his legs.

“Try again, but fight me back this time!” Firepaw said, as Ravenpaw picked himself up.

“Ooh! Me next!!” Cinderpaw crowed.

“And me!” Swiftpaw meowed, tail lashing excitedly.

“Ravenpaw, you may use your best judgement,” Tigerclaw chuckled, eyeing Redtail.

“Firepaw, I hope you’ve used your own best judgement.” Came the voice of his mentor. “Begin.”

The two paced around one another, each seeming unsure of how to proceed. Firepaw wasn’t worried. Ravenpaw was an easy-going, sweet cat. Firepaw had always been good friends with him, even after he left the nursery. So it came as a complete surprise to Firepaw when the world went sideways and he could feel Ravenpaw’s legs pinning him to the ground. He had barely been given enough notice to crouch, or to brace, or to locate a vulnerable point. Dirt smudged against his nose, dry and grainy on the sensitive skin.

“Hey, wait!!” Firepaw protested, though he was stifling laughter. This was, at least, more like the Nursery play-fights had been. Sudden, unstructured, unpredictable…

“Ravenpaw has shown us one of the ways it’s advantageous to be a bigger, taller cat,” Tigerclaw meowed, “Which is that you can hold another cat down pretty easily. What Brindleface said about small cats is also true, but you need to determine how your strengths serve you in battle, while being aware of another’s strength. Ravenpaw has had more training, and could make his first attack with more confidence. Firepaw did no wrong in hesitating,” Tigerclaw continued, “...but as he gets older, he will have to learn to strike first.”

“Well-said, Tigerclaw,” Redtail meowed. “Oh—and let him up now, Ravenpaw,” he added. The two apprentices rose separately, shaking the dirt from their pelts. “Do you two want to try again?”

“Yes,” Firepaw said. He still went down this time, in the end, but not as hard and not as quickly. Ravenpaw took it in turns to spar each apprentice after him, some with varying levels of success—Brackenpaw's probably the greatest, this time—but it became clear how much there still was to learn.

Dinnertime began to remind Firepaw of how tired he was. Sparring had taken a level of physical and mental concentration which occupied his whole mind. Sitting still and chewing was more exhausting than the exercise had been, in its own way. Mercifully, the mentors all agreed that the sparring lesson had been enough for day one. The apprentices were released to do as they wished after the shared meal was ended. Though the others wanted to stay up and gossip, Firepaw found himself drifting away to the Nursery, muscle memory taking over now that he had determined it was bedtime.

“Wrong way, pal!” A voice sounded beside him. It was Greypaw, who had seemingly hit a growth spurt of his own since the last time Firepaw had noticed. As a kit, it hadn’t bothered him so much to feel small beside the older apprentices. Now, it was a little uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Greypaw, I’m really tired, I guess I just wasn't thinking.” Firepaw barely finished his sentence before a yawn came on.

“That’s okay. I’ll show you where your nest is.” Greypaw smiled at him, and he felt less small. “Sandpaw and I made some up for all of you today. Let me tell you, that was quite the task. Anyway, the Apprentice Den is over here…”

Chapter Text

“Ouch! Mom, she’s doing it again.” Midnight withdrew his tail from his sister with a lashing movement, licking the fur back down from where it had been mussed out of place in her jaws.

“Mal, you’ve got to give your brother some space when you’re playing,” Nutmeg called back to them from where she sat, outside on the porch. She and Jake had been there talking for a long time, and it had sounded serious. It had been difficult for Midnight to focus on his game with Mallory. It seemed his father only came around to complain, these days. He hadn’t even said hello to the kittens.

“Sorry mom,” Mallory mewed, though the mirth on her face showed that she was not very sorry. She bowed like the neighbor’s dog, requesting play, prancing about the hard, slippery floors inside their people’s cavernous den. Midnight wrinkled his nose at her.

“You move so clumsily,” he sneered. Mallory halted for just one moment, just long enough for Midnight to know he had checked her effectively, before her capering continued. Now, though, there was less vigor in her step. A flicker of pity passed through his heart. He knew, despite the brave face she had assumed, that Jake’s visit was bothering her too. It must, the way she talked about him every time after he left.

“You’d have better control if you balanced like this,” Midnight softened his voice, rising to his two hind legs. He stood in a half-crouch, not daring to stretch his legs any further. It was a trick he had learned recently. It was easier done with his small frame than Mallory’s, who had always been taller and more muscular than him. She outclassed him in terms of physical strength, and in this matter he knew never to delude himself, but their wrestling sessions had become a more even match as he developed his swiftness and cleverness.

“You’re showing off,” she said. And he had been.

“Only because I hadn’t gotten to explaining yet,” Midnight said, now shifting in a leap to balance on his front two paws. His forelegs gave more easily than his hind legs, and he felt his wrists wobble as the lower half of his body toppled to the floor.

“The peoples’ young can do that,” Mallory noted, with an air of admiration in her voice. “Have you been watching them?”

“Sometimes,” he said, testing his balance on different combinations of his feet now. “But mostly I learned how to land on my front paws from dodging you.”

“I should learn, too,” she said. “Then I can beat you again.” With concentration, she rose upon her hind legs, crouching at first like a rabbit in the yard. She extended her legs upward, just enough to be crouching above the floor, and Midnight saw her wobble as she came back down.

“That wasn’t too bad. Try again,” he said.

“Okay. Only, don’t let me get so focused that I miss dad leaving again,” she said. “I was going to ask him if—”

“If I’d take you out for a walk?” Jake’s voice interrupted them from the threshold of the peoples’ den. He did not like to come inside. He almost seemed to fear the space, except that Midnight knew that fathers were never afraid of things, especially when there was nothing in here to be afraid of.

Mallory bounced on her paws, running to the door to bump her head against Jake’s tall forelegs. Midnight stayed where he sat.

“Oh, yes please, dad? You promised!!” She meowed.

“I’m sorry, Mal, I…can’t today,” he said. Midnight used to be surprised when he said things like that. He had stopped asking his dad for little favors, but Mallory hadn’t quite grown out of it yet.

“Oh, ah…tomorrow?” Mallory squeaked. A look passed between Jake and Nutmeg—Midnight wished he could see his mother’s face, to know if her expression had matched the discomfort in Jake’s—and then his father gave a little shake of his head. His whiskers quivered white in the sun, like a ring of light around his face as he shook.

“I could try,” Jake said. “If I come by tomorrow, I will take you out for a walk.”

“And Midnight too?”

“I don’t want to go,” Midnight said. Jake looked up at him, looked into his eyes for perhaps the first time since he had arrived that day. His whiskers twitched again. They practically glowed in the brilliant sun. It was the best part of the afternoon, the part where the birds all nested in the trees beyond the fence, and Midnight was missing out on it because Jake was in the way of the door. Taking up the whole back porch, practically.

“Suit yourself, kiddo,” Jake said after a pause. “I know you’ve gotta be…the man of the house, while I’m not around. I’m sure you’re busy, too.” Jake said it like it was a good thing. He said it with so much kindness in his voice, so much understanding, and Midnight did not know why it made him feel so angry. He could think of no response, only held his father fast in his gaze. He imagined trapping Jake in place on the porch, just by staring at him hard enough. Jake blinked, flustered, and turned his face away.

“I just think you need to reconsider what you’re doing here, Nutmeg.” Jake said. Then he turned around and left again.

Chapter Text

When Firepaw awoke, he could see that Swiftpaw’s nest was right beside his own. His brother was still sleeping, black-and-white flank slowly rising and falling with shallow breaths. There was no mistaking, though, that they were no longer in the Nursery. This was the first time he had woken up in the Apprentice’s Den. Firepaw thrilled at the change in scenery. There was a feeling of inward momentum, of his life coursing like a stream of water down a brand new path.

He raised his head slowly, scanning the den to see who else was awake. Around him, many other young cats were curled in their mossy beds, fully asleep or half-dozing. Greypaw was snoring on the other side of Firepaw’s nest. Two nests were empty, however; Firepaw checked the pelts of his sleeping companions one more time and concluded that Sandpaw and Dustpaw must have already gotten a start to the day.

Arching his back in a quiet stretch, Firepaw got to his feet. There was no point in lying around if some of the other apprentices were awake. In the morning light, more clear-minded now that he’d had his fill of rest, he finally took in the scenery of the Apprentice’s Den. It was larger than the Nursery, a hidden space between clumps of fern, and the far wall made up of a large stump. This new den was large enough that sound wasn't dampened the same way it had been in the close and quiet nursery. Firepaw was acutely aware of his noisiness as he worked his way around sleeping apprentices. Every footstep crunched in the sand. With some effort, he was able to lessen the noise he made. He felt like he had a good sense of how to keep quiet, when, near the thick ferns' shadow at the entrance, his pawpads made contact with something soft and warm.

“Eep!” Sandpaw squeaked, jumping from the shadowy floor like a vision out of thin air. It was all Firepaw could do not to yelp in surprise himself, withdrawing his paw as quickly as if it had been struck by a snake. The tiny noise Sandpaw had made was loud enough to fill the den for a moment. There was a pause in the steady rhythm of Greypaw’s snoring, the sound of a few cats rustling in their nests, and then all was quiet again. It seemed like nobody had woken up. Firepaw’s ears twitched, the skin feeling hot with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he whispered.

“Shh!!” she lashed her tail, taking a few silent steps away from the den and into the clearing. She cast a long shadow across the ground, and Firepaw realized it was the part of sunrise that made everything feel the most exaggerated: the shadows, the light, even the scent of the air was somehow sharper. He followed her into the clearing, intending to apologize again.

“Sandpaw, I said I was sorry—”

“I heard you the first time, mousebrain,” she grumbled, licking her forepaw hastily. Firepaw thought it might have been that forearm he’d stepped on, but he wasn’t sure.

“Okay. I just…wanted to make sure,” he shrugged. He intended to walk away now. He recalled something Tigerclaw had once said to him and Swiftpaw—“Some cats make it a point to complain about every little thing. Learn to ignore them.” It seemed like this could be the kind of situation he’d referred to. Though, Firepaw wasn’t quite sure. Obviously Sandpaw had a real reason to be irritated with him. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the conversation hanging. Part of it was that he still felt guilty and foolish, and the other part was that he hadn’t really made a plan of where to go next.

“If you see Dustpaw, tell him the game is off because you blew my cover,” Sandpaw said, after she had licked her paw to an acceptable degree.

“What were you playing? Can—” Firepaw realized how silly it would be to ask if he could join mid-sentence, and abandoned the thought.

“We were trying to move around the camp without catching sight of each other.” Sandpaw sighed. “It’s pretty easy, since our pelts blend in with the dirt.” There had been the implicit reply. As expected, he could not join. Her pelt’s sandy color was mellow as the tame shade of blue in the morning sky. Firepaw’s pelt didn’t seem to blend into anything, by comparison. Unless it gets dark enough…

“Do you ever play at night? I bet Greypaw and Ravenpaw—” Firepaw began, hoping to wiggle himself into the equation somewhere. The game really sounded fun.

“No, we don’t usually have energy after a long day of training,” Sandpaw interrupted. “Which I’m sure you understand. You disappeared after dinner last night.”

“Yeah, I was pretty tired. Greypaw helped me find my nest,” Firepaw said, feeling dumb but unable to think of something more interesting to say.

“Greypaw is nice. I’m not surprised he’s already taken you under his wing.” Sandpaw rose to her feet, an air of impatience in her slightly jerky movements. “I’m going to find Dustpaw and tell him myself.”

She pranced away without another word. Firepaw watched, basking in the latent feeling that he had done nothing right throughout the whole interaction. Sandpaw was one of the apprentices who, though not that much older than him, had already left the Nursery for the new world of apprenticeship by the time he was old enough to form impressions of anyone outside of himself. Unlike Ravenpaw, or even Dustpaw, she kept her distance from the smaller kits after that. He’d never gotten a sense of what she was like, even during yesterday’s hectic training session. The impression she left him with now made him feel anxious. He didn’t like it. And, he still wasn’t sure where to go or what to do. Not wanting Sandpaw to think he would follow her around all morning, he stayed put, watching the clouds. It wasn’t long before the next apprentice woke up.

“Good morning,” Swiftpaw’s voice emerged from the den behind him, scarcely a mumble.

“Morning, Swiftpaw,” Firepaw purred and rubbed his cheek against Swiftpaw’s. “Did you stay up late?”

“We all talked for a little bit, but I wasn’t far behind you on the way to bed.” Swiftpaw stretched luxuriously in the morning light, which had lessened in its intensity, and was casting a softer light on everything now.

“Did any of the mentors leave us instructions for today?” Firepaw asked, secretly hoping they had. He felt strange about going to breakfast without a guardian’s presence. They had always gone with their mother, or with Frostfur when Goldenflower was too tired, so maybe there was a scheduled time to eat with one’s mentors.

“I assume they’ll tell us what to do when they want us,” Swiftpaw said, giving Firepaw a lick on the back of the ear before walking away. “Until then, I’m going to sunbathe.”

“Count me in,” Cinderpaw meowed from the entrance to the Apprentice’s Den. It seemed like everyone else was waking up now, so Firepaw searched for Greypaw or Ravenpaw to tell him what, if anything, he was supposed to do.

Ravenpaw was the first to emerge. He gave Firepaw a shy look, acknowledging him and then walking fast towards the camp entrance.

“Hey, Ravenpaw, wait up!” Firepaw meowed. “No hard feelings about sparring yesterday, right?”

“Of course,” Ravenpaw said, slowing down so Firepaw could keep pace. “Sorry, I felt bad about tackling you so often.”

“Don’t. How else am I supposed to learn?” Firepaw gave a friendly blink.

“You sound like your father,” Ravenpaw laughed. “By the way, I do have to run—I was supposed to meet him for an early patrol, and I think I overslept.”

“Oh, okay…! Tell him I say hi!”

“I will!” Ravenpaw called over his shoulder.

Well, that still leaves Greypaw, he thought. Even though I already needed his help, last night… Firepaw suddenly felt childish over his impulse to be guided, like a kit, through every moment of his free time. Ravenpaw had been told what to do and where to go by his own mentor. Redtail hadn’t said anything to Firepaw about his expectations for today, so maybe there wasn’t anything to feel nervous about.

I think it’s all because I had to go and step on Sandpaw, Firepaw thought, heading towards the prey pile. He wasn’t hungry yet, but something told him that waiting to get hungry wasn’t a wise choice if today held more rigorous training.

At the prey pile, Brightpaw and Thornpaw joined him. They ate in contented silence, until Robinwing and Mousefur came to pick up their apprentices. By the time Redtail came, Firepaw’s apprehensions had faded away.

“What do you say we go for a hunt, Firepaw?” Redtail said. “I’ll teach you how to track prey.”

—

Returning to camp, Firepaw held his head high, even though they hadn’t caught anything. He had seen strange trees, not like the ones near camp, but taller and darker, pointing into the sky like fangs. He had seen and smelled new plants, curling ferns by the wayside and pungent wild onions. He knew what all sorts of tracks looked like now, what living prey smelled like, and even the scent of fox. That scent had wafted in a sour, unpleasant haze across a quieter corner of their territory. It seemed to be moving towards what Redtail explained was Shadowclan’s border.

“Shouldn’t we warn them?” Firepaw had asked, knowing of foxes, and their great danger, from his mother’s tales.

“It’s probably only passing through. Our relationship with Shadowclan is poor right now, so we don’t really need to say anything,” Redtail had replied with a tense tone, as if he, too, was uncomfortable with letting the creature pass into other clan territory without so much as a word. “They would likely see it as an empty threat from us, or blame us for letting it get so far,” he went on to explain.

Redtail had seemed sad about that, and Firepaw had felt the same. Tigerclaw had told him so much about the sad and pointless things which happened when clans went to war with each other. It hadn’t been the time to share that sentiment, so he had kept quiet, but it still lingered in the back of his mind when they returned to camp. Overall, though, the trip had been an exciting, near-overstimulating glimpse of the world beyond the camp.

Now, Thunderclan camp was bustling. Cats were eating meals, most of them chatting and filling the air with the pleasant, cluttered noise of many voices at once. Some of the apprentices were wrestling at the Warriors’ Den as their mentors coached and observed. Bluestar was sunning herself on Highrock. Spottedleaf came pacing towards them, seemingly from nowhere, and Firepaw was happy to see someone he felt like he knew.

“Spottedleaf, is everything going well with you?” Redtail asked, headbutting his sister.

“I had wanted to ask the same of you both!” Spottedleaf purred. “No injuries on today’s hunting trip?”

“We almost saw a fox!” Firepaw said. Spottedleaf had always seemed interested in what the kits had to say whenever she visited their mothers. Now he could tell everyone real stories he’d experienced himself, not just things he’d heard from other cats.

“We scented it on the way towards Tallpines,” Redtail explained. “It wasn’t very fresh.”

“I see,” Spottedleaf said, though she didn’t seem very interested. Firepaw wondered if foxes were more common than he thought. “Firepaw,” she turned her attention towards him now, and spoke again. “I wanted to let you know that sometimes, apprentices can have special dreams, or see things that aren’t really there. It’s very rare, but I just wanted to tell you, in case anything like that happens to you. It’s perfectly normal, it’s just the way Starclan likes to communicate with us.”

“You might also hallucinate when you’re sick,” Redtail said, with an amused twitch of his whiskers. “Either way, Spottedleaf is the cat to talk to if that happens.”

“Or Yellowfang,” Firepaw said, recalling the grouchy medicine cat. He was quite fond of her, too; she was just as willing to let the kits climb on her back as Tigerclaw, and her fluffy fur made her almost feel as tall as him.

“Yes, you could tell her, too,” Spottedleaf said. “That’s all I had to say for now.” As Spottedleaf walked away, Firepaw made his way towards the prey pile. He noticed that Redtail had turned aside, heading in Bluestar’s direction.

“Aren’t you hungry, Redtail?” Firepaw asked.

“You can go ahead and eat, if you want. I’m going to talk to Bluestar about the fox. Maybe we can warn Shadowclan, but this is the sort of thing you ask the leader about when tensions are high.” Redtail continued on his way before Firepaw could ask to be included in the conversation. By the time Firepaw got to the prey pile, found he wasn’t actually that hungry.

The apprentices’ sparring match was still going strong near the Warriors’ Den, and Firepaw trotted towards them, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait long for his turn.

Chapter Text

From where Bluestar lounged, Redtail’s approach was the sound of soft paws on rough, grey rock. He made scarcely a whisper above the noise of the clan, even once he was right beside her. Without opening her eyes, even if she hadn’t recognized him by scent, she would’ve assumed it was her deputy who’d come to call. He had taken Firepaw outside of camp for the first time today.

“Good afternoon,” he meowed, “Firepaw’s first forest excursion went well. He kept himself quite composed, even when we ran across some old fox-scent.” The tom’s bushy tail swished around his forepaws as he took a seat beside her, gazing across the clearing of the camp. “He’s got a good heart.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Bluestar stretched against the warm rock one last time before sitting up. “What of the fox?”

“The same one I told you about a few days ago.” Redtail blinked meditatively. “Firepaw wanted us to warn Shadowclan, since it was headed that way.”

“That’s thoughtful of him. If only Shadowclan would respond in-kind,” she sighed. There was a Gathering coming up in just a few nights, and she did not relish the chance to endure Brokenstar’s vanity on full display again. All he did was talk. Crookedstar had confessed to her, after the most recent gathering, that it was all he could do not to box the haughty tom over the ears. Meanwhile, Tallstar and herself had been lucky to get a word in edgewise.

“It would’ve been a reasonable way to keep our noses clean, if we’d told them the first time we smelled it. But to do so now…” Redtail grimaced. “The scent is so stale, of course, Firepaw didn’t really know. But anyone else, anyone experienced, would notice. They’d assume we’ve been lax in our patrols, if it took us so long to find the scent.”

“But they know we haven’t been slacking,” Bluestar frowned. “They’re marking three times a day now, just like us, and Brokenstar’s got to know about that. Assuming he’s not the one who ordered it in retaliation.” Redtail nodded, though his eyes were on Firepaw, as the apprentice moved around the clearing. Bluestar watched him too, as he skirted the prey pile and made a beeline towards the scuffling mass of apprentices outside the Warriors Den. He was as small as a squirrel from up here, and if his tail had only been bushier, he’d look quite a bit like one. There was a bouncy energy in his gait.

“So, you’re thinking the same thing I am?” Redtail meowed. “They’d know we waited days to tell them, and they’d know we’ve been patrolling that way in the meantime, so they’d assume we intentionally withheld information?”

“Of course. So we’ll still keep quiet about it. And if Shadowclan does confront us, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume the fox was just passing through the territories. Only a lunatic would blame us for intentional sabotage by way of a random fox,” Bluestar huffed. “I know you didn’t come here to ask me to reconsider our silence on the matter,” she said, more gently.

“I came because I don’t know how to shape Firepaw’s opinion. I tried to explain why we wouldn’t warn Shadowclan about something like this right now, but the truth is that I wish we could warn them, too. I wish we could put our best paw forward with every clan, even if they’d only try to bite it off.” Redtail shook his head. “If Firepaw wasn’t…I mean, if he wasn’t the fire, I wouldn’t really care about shaping his opinion in any particular direction. Just one warrior can think anything he wants. But do I foster that natural sense of compassion, or do I try to temper it with realism? Or do I do nothing, leave it in Starclan’s paws?”

“Redtail,” Bluestar gave his shoulder a gentle nudge with hers. “Spottedleaf encouraged you to mentor him because she knows you, and she knew you would be the right cat for the job. I wouldn’t have agreed with her if I didn’t believe the same. It would be impossible for you not to influence him in some way, but we both know you wouldn’t abuse that power.”

Redtail sighed, and Bluestar watched his shoulders tense up. His paws fidgeted against the warm rock, and he drew them closer together.

“I know myself,” he said, quietly. “I know I have served this clan well, but that’s because I’ve relied on my sense of anticipation. If I know what a cat is likely to do next, or what a cat has the resources to do next, I can place us steps ahead.”

“Sometimes you seem to know all too well. I wonder if Spottedleaf isn’t the only one Starclan blessed with some prescience,” Bluestar meowed.

“I don’t know what Firepaw will actually do to save us, and I think that’s the trouble.” Redtail said. “I’m too smart to assume I know Starclan’s will for him, but to be told in advance that a miracle is coming, and then have to watch it play out, is perhaps the only thing I’ve ever lost my nerve over.”

“Take a step backwards,” Bluestar said. “Before Firepaw can be anything, he needs to be a clan cat. He needs to know who and what he is, and then he can do whatever Starclan chose him for. You said that ‘just one warrior can think anything he wants.’ Firepaw will be just one warrior, until and unless Starclan does something about it. So let him think what he wants. As for you, lead him the way you would any cat.”

Redtail seemed to be thinking on her words. Bluestar still was, too. She had surprised herself in how quickly she could articulate the ideas which had been meandering through her head over the previous few days.

I had wanted to mentor him so badly, she thought, and for all the same reasons Redtail is afraid to. Maybe it’s best that I entrusted Firepaw to his caution, but is he losing his determination?

“Bluestar,” Redtail finally said, “that was some much-needed wisdom. It seems like you’re coming back to yourself, after such a hard few seasons. I’m relieved.” She could see his shoulders lowering again, the tension seeming to dissipate.

“I have a suggestion about Firepaw, if I may make it?” Bluestar offered. Redtail nodded, after taking a moment of deliberation. “If you want to bring him to the upcoming Gathering, it wouldn’t be unheard of. I know he’s a brand-new apprentice, but if you can vouch for his discretion, I don’t see any risk. Someday he will meet cats from other clans face-to-face, and his sensibilities about how to interact with them will be put to a real test.”

“It would give him a chance to see how Brokenstar behaves,” Redtail said, nodding slowly. “It might clarify our decision to keep away from his clan better than a simple explanation could. I will consider it,” he said.

Below them, where the apprentices were playing, Firepaw was wrestling Cinderpaw. Bluestar watched them pounce and swipe, moving more like kits at play than real cats in battle. That was the only thing she felt bad to train out of them—the innocence, the hesitation to harm—it was a hard lesson. Cinderpaw was being remarkably gentle, even for a fresh apprentice.

Better their mentors to toughen them up than an enemy in battle, Bluestar thought.

“What do you say we take those apprentices to Sandy Hollow for some actual sparring?” Redtail meowed, practically reading Bluestar’s mind. She rose to her feet, giving Redtail a nod, and the two sprung from one rocky outcropping to the next until they were on the ground. They had neglected their wards long enough. It was time to work on the future.

--

“A Gathering, so soon? Are you sure it’s alright for me to go?” Firepaw gasped.

Mentors and apprentices walked in pairs along the gravelly path between Sandy Hollow and camp, dusty and worn from a full afternoon’s practice. They still fought more like kits than warriors, but until any of them had to face a real foe, that would be the norm. Fine-tuning their form and technique, however, was always better done in the company of friends than opponents.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me if I wasn’t sure,” Redtail chuckled. “Just don’t go bragging to the others, because I don’t know who else will be taking their apprentices with. We’ve been going in smaller groups lately.”

“Okay!” Firepaw beamed, walking stiffly beside his mentor. Redtail knew already that Firepaw could think of nothing other than what the Gathering would be like, and was afraid to imagine it out loud, should another apprentice overhear him. He left the youth to his own daydreams.

Just ahead, Sandpaw trailed behind Whitestorm, who was mumbling something that Redtail couldn’t quite make out. Sandpaw interrupted him to exclaim, louder than she’d been speaking before,

“No, I really heard there were dogs around here!”

Firepaw, without any subtlety, walked faster as his ears swiveled fully forwards. Even his whiskers were pointing towards Sandpaw now. Redtail fought back any outward display of amusement. He remembered how rumors spread among the apprentices, because it was no different among the warriors. The adults had already been discussing the alleged existence of these phantasmic dogs for a little while, and someone must have accidentally let it slip around the youngsters.

“There’s no danger,” Redtail said, quietly. Firepaw’s ear twitched in his direction. The apprentice gave his head a small shake and met Redtail’s gaze

“Danger? You mean about the dogs?” Firepaw whispered.

“Yes. The other warriors and I have been keeping tabs on it. I don’t know where the rumor started, maybe in another clan, but I don’t think there’s anything to it.” Redtail spoke loudly enough that, he hoped, Sandpaw would hear him and be somewhat reassured.

“I don’t really know much about dogs,” Firepaw admitted quietly

“Keep it that way. They’re like foxes, large creatures with long snouts and dangerous teeth. They tend to live with Twolegs. At best, they’re stupid. When we’re lucky, they’re no bigger than us. Sometimes, they’re not as fast as us. In every other case, they are killers.” Firepaw’s pupils now shifted between Redtail and the woods around them, checking, in fleeting glances, for signs of danger. “A wide range of possibilities makes for an intriguing rumor,” Redtail said, putting great emphasis on the word “rumor.”

“I understand,” Firepaw meowed tentatively, though he still glanced to and fro.

“If something sounds sensational, it’s probably not true. You can entertain yourself with stories, as we all do, but promise me you won’t believe everything you hear.” Redtail set his teeth, considering all the many things he had heard, had shared, and the veracity of any given tale. Sometimes, of course, a story was both sensational and true, but Firepaw would learn this for himself in due time, and hopefully not at his own expense.

I wonder if he’ll ever find out where he came from, mused Redtail. It wouldn’t be beyond Starclan to reveal it to the boy, and there were already quite a few mortal loose ends to speak of. Nobody among himself, Bluestar, and Spottedleaf had ever identified his birth family. Either way, I’m certainly not the cat to warn him about blind trust, Redtail thought, recalling his own compliance with Bluestar’s rash choice. There was still a feeling of bitterness in his heart. Fate had been decided in the moment she ran away with Firekit; that had been the true point of no return, and it had not been Redtail’s fault. He assured himself of this. What could he have really done? He had kept these thoughts buried for a long time. He didn’t know why they came back to him when they did, but it was always at an odd or inconvenient time.

“Redtail,” Firepaw said quietly, “are you upset with me?”

“No,” Redtail said. Firepaw watched his face closely, searching with large, green eyes. “Why would I be upset?”

“It just seems like you got really serious,” Firepaw said. “You might have thought I was foolish to be so afraid of the dogs. Since I’m supposed to become a Warrior, and all.”

“I hate to tell you this, but even the mightiest Warriors are afraid of dogs,” Redtail said. I’m sure even your father is, he wanted to joke, though his tentative interactions with Tigerclaw had always felt tricky, and he knew better than to say something that Firepaw might misconstrue to the other tom. “I’m not disappointed in you for trying to be alert to the situation,” Redtail continued. “I’m sure that chancing upon the fox-scent this morning was also a little frightening.”

“Just a little,” Firepaw admitted.

“Fear can be a protector sometimes.” The small caravan of cats had nearly made it to camp, and Redtail wished to be done with the heavier topics before dinner, so he could eat without getting carried away in talking. He thought of the best way to set his apprentice at ease, settling upon: “You can’t get rid of it, no matter how hard you train or how disciplined you become. You just need to learn when it’s appropriate to listen to your fears, and that’s a skill you’ll be developing long past your Warrior ceremony.”

“I understand, Redtail.” Firepaw seemed satisfied, and maybe a little comforted, so Redtail let the topic rest.

--

After dinner, though his legs ached from crouching and pouncing, and his pawpads were sore from the way the hot sand in the hollow had rubbed away at them, Firepaw felt wide awake. Swiftpaw and Longtail had dined with Firepaw and Redtail, and their mentors had left the meal deep in conversation to settle into the Warriors’ Den. Most of the cats who remained in the camp clearing were apprentices at this hour. The sun was sinking, and Darkstripe was ushering the evening patrol through the gorse tunnel.

“You’re chipper,” Swiftpaw meowed. “You got to leave camp twice today, paws tired yet?”

“I could still spar,” Firepaw bluffed, crouching playfully.

“I don’t want to spar,” Swiftpaw laughed. “I want to see what Brightpaw and Sandpaw are up to.”

“Oh?” Firepaw couldn’t stop his ear from twitching in mild amusement. “You’re in the mood for more refined company?”

“Something like that,” Swiftpaw meowed coolly.

“Sandpaw’s probably nursing that ghastly injury of hers,” Greypaw said, breaking into the conversation before Firepaw could think of a retort. Swiftpaw and Firepaw jumped a little as the grey cat strode towards them, seeming to solidify out of the dusky twilight air. “Firepaw, how could you?” He teased.

“She told you about that?” Firepaw’s ears were hot again, and Swiftpaw cast him a questioning look. Before his brother could ask, Greypaw interrupted again.

“Oh, yes,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I’m sort of the official conflict mediator in the Apprentices’ Den, so she had to let me know. It was the responsible thing for her to do.” The over-acted bravado in his voice was enough to directly confirm what Firepaw understood, now that the confusion of embarrassment had faded away. Greypaw was only joking around, and not in a mean way, either—not really at anyone’s expense.

“You know, it was kind of her to sort that out for me, since I’m so new…and didn’t know where to take the problem,” Firepaw tested his confidence, knowing it wasn’t the wittiest way he could’ve worded his response, but at least he was playing along. Swiftpaw wrinkled his nose.

“I do want more ‘refined’ company, if this is the other option,” Swiftpaw teased, but Firepaw could hear the laughter in his voice and knew that he wasn’t offended by being left out. He trotted away, doubtless headed to wherever Sandpaw was so he could hear the story straight from its other source.

“Well, I guess we got rid of that guy,” Greypaw smirked.

“Careful, that’s my brother,” Firepaw said. “You gave him a good excuse to talk to the girls, at least.”

“He’s not gonna have time for girls once you’re both in the thick of training,” Greypaw said, sitting down beside Firepaw. “And Sandpaw’s not gonna have time for boys until…I don’t know when. She’s a little prickly, huh?”

“A little,” Firepaw said. He always felt uneasy when it came to discussing other cats while they weren’t around. “It was my fault this morning, though.”

“Don’t let her beat you up over it,” Greypaw said. “Though, I doubt she will. She doesn’t hold onto small stuff like that.” Greypaw licked his forearm casually, his yellow eyes flicking towards Firepaw intermittently as he spoke. “Probably already forgot about it, now that your brother’s on his way to bring it up again.”

“You grew up together, right? You were in the Nursery at the same time, along with Dustpaw and Ravenpaw?” Firepaw wondered if he could get a better sense of the older apprentices by asking what their earlier childhoods were like. Would Greypaw want to open up about that? It was worth a try, since he was already on the subject of gossip.

“We did.” Greypaw sighed, looking downcast for a moment, and Firepaw felt like the easiness and laughter they’d just shared had worn away too quickly. “You weren’t born yet, and we were so little that we didn’t really know much about what was going on, but it was Leafbare—do you remember what Leafbare is like?”

“Not really,” Firepaw was telling the truth, though Goldenflower had taught him and Swiftpaw plenty about the seasons, about the cycle of the world, and the way it could be bountiful one day and cold the next.

“Well, I guess you’ll see what it’s like soon enough,” Greypaw said. “Sandpaw and I actually grew up like siblings, in a way…her mother was killed by Greencough, which I’m told swept through the whole clan. Though I hardly remember it now, we were both sick, too. I do remember having these crazy dreams…I woke up terrified, every time…” Greypaw trailed off, and Firepaw wished for a way to comfort his new friend. Tentatively, he spoke.

“That sounds terrible. I'm so sorry, Greypaw...”

“I lost my father,” Greypaw’s voice was gravelly with emotion. It seemed as though he hadn't heard what Firepaw had said. “I don’t think about him anymore. I had forgotten, actually, until you asked about how we grew up just now. I guess Lionheart has become like a father to me,” Greypaw explained, invoking his mentor.

Firepaw’s stomach dropped at the idea of forgetting about a parent. He thought of Tigerclaw, so big and full of life that he seemed to dominate every space he occupied. He thought of Goldenflower, and the warm reassurance in her melodic voice, the feeling of total security when he and Swiftpaw had curled up at her side every night. To think that Greypaw had lost such a thing, and that Sandpaw had lost the same, reduced him to silence. It felt forbidden for him to know such a painful thing about Sandpaw’s life without her direct confession, and deeply sobering to know it about Greypaw. There was a bond of shared understanding, it seemed, even if Firepaw had never experienced such a loss for himself.

“Don’t worry, Firepaw,” Greypaw had gathered himself enough to speak again before Firepaw could think of anything to say. “I lived. She lived. We’re here now, and we can just do our best for the ones who are still with us.”

“That’s very wise,” Firepaw said, feeling like he had received so much and given so little today.

“It’s just the way things go,” Greypaw shrugged. “Do you want to go do something fun instead of all this sob-story talk?”

“Sure,” Firepaw said, suddenly remembering something that might take Greypaw’s mind off the past. Perhaps he’d have a chance to finally play the game he’d interrupted that morning. “I actually heard about this game earlier today…”

Chapter Text

Now that the nights were short and blanket-warm, Nutmeg found she wasn’t as prone to insomnia anymore. Her people were allowing her, along with her kittens, outdoors more frequently. Though it was tempting, she couldn’t yet bring herself to sleep in the garden some nights, the way she used to. Jake hadn’t come around again since that fight after the first Neighborhood Watch, which was what she’d begun calling the meetings she’d started. There had only been two so far.

In Jake’s absence, Bone had paid a few visits, each time bringing two or three other cats Nutmeg was less acquainted with. They always met her gaze with an edge of hunger, and she always tried to bring some morsel outdoors for them. She didn’t need to ask to know these friends of Bone were from the alleys, not other homes.

“I took it upon myself to start a patrol route that comes this way,” Bone had said, “since it’s where I used to live.” She chose to believe him, though in his past life, ‘Tuxie’ had never hidden his penchant for her company. Jake’s opposite, aloof demeanor, which had once drawn her in, had only served as a predictable omen towards his distance now. The situation with either tom failed to live up to Nutmeg’s own preferences. In fairness, though, what she wanted out of her life now was very different from what she had wanted before the kittens arrived. Bone could do what he wanted, and so could Jake, so long as they mostly kept out of her way.

She thought on these things now, from the porch railing in the backyard. There was birdsong all about, and the sound of leashed dogs coming from the sidewalk on the opposite side of the house. It was late afternoon, and the dogs who didn’t walk in the morning were all outside now. Dogs were, from her understanding, largely apathetic to the interests of her own folk. She’d heard rumors that some cats shared their homes with them, but always, she got the sense that it was more like the dog was begrudgingly sharing a space with the cat. Still, she wondered what the forest cats could know, besides fear, with respect to the creatures. She wondered if they could be useful.

I almost wish we could enlist some of the more intelligent ones for neighborhood watch. It was an insane thought, her irrational subconscious poking its way into the sunlight for just a moment. The last time she’d allowed an irrational impulse to guide her, cosmic punishment had been close at hand and ruthless in its extent. There was no room for daydreams anymore. Only concrete, actionable plans.

“Mom?” Midnight squeaked from the deck below her, and she wondered when he had wandered outdoors. Mallory had come outside with her earlier, and was still entertaining herself with bugs in the blades of grass below, but Midnight had remained in the house to sulk. He had been brooding more than usual, even for him, and she wondered if it was just his age or something else. Something had told her not to push too hard for answers.

“What is it, sweetie?” Nutmeg said, preparing to jump down to where her son sat on the deck. Before she could move, he launched up towards her, finding his footing on the banister easily. “That was a good jump,” she purred.

“Thanks mom,” Midnight mumbled. He shifted his weight back and forth, looking as though he wanted to sit down, but wasn’t quite sure.

“Something has been bothering you, hasn’t it?” She had debated on asking him directly now, but maybe all he needed was an opening in the conversation, a voice of understanding. He finally made eye contact.

“Yes, something you said at the first Neighborhood Watch…”

“That was quite some time ago,” Nutmeg said.

“I know. I wonder if I misremembered, because me and Mallory were more focused on playing, and she said she doesn’t even remember what you were saying so I couldn’t really check with her, but I think I do remember. I think you really said it.” Now the words were spilling forth from her son, jumbled and emotive. Honest.

“Hold on, Midnight, what did I say?” she pressed gently, guarding the tone of her voice from any hint of defensiveness.

“You said…well, you told everyone else that our brother was stolen, but that’s not what you told me.” Midnight’s ice-blue gaze shifted towards the forest beyond their back fence for a split second, then back to her. Nutmeg did remember the lie she’d told him so long ago. Midnight had been so young that she’d hoped he would take the comfort to heart without actually remembering what had been said.

“I’ve been afraid that you were lying to them,” Midnight continued, “because Jake—Dad, I mean—has been so angry at us ever since you said it.” He seemed uncomfortable. Nutmeg knew that Midnight was no fan of his father’s, and knew that Jake’s behavior must have made her children feel as unimportant as it had made her feel in the past few months. Did they think she was to blame? Had they been feeling abandoned by not one, but both parents?

“I wasn’t lying to them,” Nutmeg said, finally gathering herself. “I’m so sorry, dear, but what I told you about your brother choosing to leave home when he got older… that was the lie.”

“But why?” Midnight shrunk back, and she fought every maternal impulse to close the distance again, to shower him with reassurances and hold him close.

“I thought you were too young to handle the truth. I thought it would be too frightening for you.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about it before the meeting, then?” Midnight raised his voice, attracting Mallory’s attention from the other end of the backyard. Nutmeg gave her a reassuring glance, hoping she would go back to what she’d been doing and accept an explanation later. “Why did we have to find out at the same time as everybody else?” He continued.

“You said Mallory still doesn’t remember what I told everyone at that meeting? Because she was too busy playing?” Nutmeg said, feeling bad for answering his questions with a question of her own. Midnight shook his head affirmatively. “I have underestimated you. Maybe it’s because you’re my first children, so I didn’t know any better, but I thought you could both play with the other kittens and ignore me. I was afraid to leave you alone at home, but I hoped you were still so little that it would go right over your heads.”

“Just like what you said to me the first time,” Midnight scoffed.

“You’re right, that’s the assumption I made. I’m sorry I did that,” Nutmeg said. “I have no excuse.”

“It’s bad enough that dad ignores us.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” Nutmeg sighed. She didn’t want to air out her grievances against Jake in front of his own son, so she attempted to bring the conversation back to just herself and Midnight. “Midnight, thank you for telling me what was bothering you. I know it wasn’t easy, but I’m proud of you…and grateful that you trusted me, even when I’m the one who hurt you.”

“I was tired of being angry at you,” Midnight admitted, giving her one more glance before rising to his paws.

“Are you going to go play with Mallory now?” Nutmeg asked, unsure of what to say to him next. “If so, could you give me a minute to go explain to her what’s been going on? I think she deserves the truth.”

“I was thinking of asking if I could go for a walk,” Midnight said, with some trepidation. He had never asked to go out on his own before, and the self-assurance he had carried into the conversation seemed to have left him now.

Walking alone? I think not, was what she wanted to say.

“Could you wait until Bone passes through on his evening rounds?” Is what she said instead. “You can join the patrol if you’d like. I’d just feel safer if you were with other cats.”

“You just admitted you’ve been underestimating me,” he whined.

“I also just told you the truth about what happened to your brother,” Nutmeg said. “Until we’ve got a better system in place, it’s not ideal for any cat to be all alone—not even an adult. You can learn from Bone and his friends, go out with them a few times, and then we can have a discussion about you venturing out more independently.”

“But he’s lame,” Midnight protested again. “He tells stupid jokes.”

“He just wants you to like him,” Nutmeg said. “Once he sees what a serious cat you are, I’m sure he’ll realize he can talk about grown-up things with you. Just try it once, and then you can tell me all about how much you hated it when you get back home.”

“Fine,” Midnight finally leapt from the railing to the deck below, lashing his tail. His ears were pinned back dramatically, and she wondered how her baby had become a spitfire so quickly. Most of all, she wondered how it seemed to have happened without her noticing.

As he stalked through the cat-flap into her peoples’ house, she readied herself for the conversation with Mallory. She took a deep breath, and jumped from the railing into the grass on the outside of the porch. It was a higher jump than she’d remembered, or the grass was not as cushiony as she’d hoped, and her paws hurt a little after the landing. She shook them as she walked towards the shrubs where Mallory was rustling around. When her daughter’s head popped out of the bushes, she was holding a tiny, limp vole.

“Momma, look what I caught!” Mallory dropped the prize to speak. “Can I give it to Bone today?”

“Yes dear, that’s good work. The bite marks on this one are very clean, too.” Nutmeg remarked on the catch as she nosed at it, sniffing it for hints of the bitter poison some of the vermin in the area sometimes carried. “Did you smell it thoroughly?”

“I did, is something wrong with it?” Mallory’s eyes shifted between the dead vole and her mother dubiously.

“No, this one is safe. You did well.” Nutmeg sat down, wrapping her tail around her paws. “But I have something important to tell you about.”

“Midnight was arguing with you earlier,” Mallory said uneasily, as she crouched with her paws tucked in front of her. “I wish he wouldn’t be so mean to everyone.”

“Midnight has been dealing with something very difficult. Has he talked to you about it?” Nutmeg wanted to know how much he had said to Mallory without her around. Mallory was less likely to hide the truth; though, like Midnight, maybe she had grown more headstrong and independent without her mother noticing.

“He thinks you lied to us,” she said, “but I don’t think that’s right. I think he got confused. He said you told him something in the middle of the night when we were still small. I think he was just dreaming, right?” Mallory searched for reassurance, eyes flicking back and forth in tiny motions, her gaze never leaving Nutmeg’s face.

“Well,” Nutmeg began, with a small huff of her breath. “No, he remembers a conversation we really had. I think it’s best if I tell you about what happened, a long time ago, and then I can tell you why Midnight was upset. He had a good reason to be.”

“Okay,” Mallory said, eyes wide. She hunched a little closer to the ground, and Nutmeg took pains to keep her tone light and comforting, even though she knew the next part would be the hardest to speak about.

“When you were born, there were three of you,” Nutmeg began. “You and Midnight have a brother. But you’ve never met him, and I’m going to explain why.”

“Did dad take him away?” Mallory interrupted. “Is that why you’re so upset at him?”

“No, my dear, your father saved our lives that day. Just let me tell you everything, and then you can ask me whatever questions you want, okay?” Mallory nodded, her eyes wide. “I went outside of our yard for a walk one night. I knew you were coming soon, but I didn’t think you’d come right away; I thought I had some time. So, I went to look at the forest. I wanted to see it for myself, because Jake, your dad, had told me so much about it.”

“You said the forest is dangerous,” Mallory frowned.

“I know. I didn’t understand that, back then. When I was far away from our home, I started to have pains. I knew you were going to be born, and I knew you were coming quickly, so I tried to get back to our yard…but I only panicked, and then I got lost. It started happening to me, and I was all alone.” Poor Mallory was already hunched too closely to the ground to cower any lower. Nutmeg worried she was only traumatizing her daughter by allowing so many emotions to seep into the story. She had tried to prevent this. “I’m sorry, Mallory, I’m frightening you—the point is, I was all alone in the forest when I started, and I was afraid nobody would be there to help me, or guide us home when it was all over.”

“Somehow,” Nutmeg continued, “the wild cats found me. Two of them came from the trees and started to help me, and I thought that everything would be okay. Midnight was born first, and then your other brother was born, orange, like your father. Then you came along, and the forest cats assured me it was all over.” That was truly the worst of it, she thought. If only they hadn’t bothered to show any kindness or reassurance before driving their claws into her heart, perhaps she could have forgiven them. “…after that, they took your brother with them, and disappeared into the forest again.” Mallory gasped, and Nutmeg waited to see if she would say anything again. She was quiet.

“I was too weak to follow them,” Nutmeg finished, “and it was very cold outside, so you and Midnight needed me to stay with you and keep you warm. We waited in the snow until your father found us and helped me carry you home.”

“And you never saw those cats again?” Mallory asked.

“I never did. Your father swears he doesn’t know them, and that the forest cats have a code they live by, and that they wouldn’t do such a thing in ordinary circumstances.”

“He’s taking their side?” Mallory whimpered.

“Not quite, sweetie, he just…isn’t taking ours.” Nutmeg’s voice grew bitter in a way she couldn’t guard against, now that she was able to voice these thoughts with someone outside herself. She checked the bitterness, for her daughter’s sake. “I know he wouldn’t have helped us if he didn’t love us. I know he loves you and Midnight, because you are his children…but love can be difficult, especially if we make it difficult, and I’m really sorry he isn’t here for you more often.”

“I am too, momma,” Mallory’s voice broke with emotion. “And I’m sorry about our brother.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Nutmeg sighed. “I didn’t even know if I ever would tell either of you, but one night, Midnight saw me sitting in the window and looking outside, thinking of your brother. I couldn’t hide that I was upset, and I knew he was worried, so I made something up. I said he had a brother somewhere out in the world, a cat who had grown up and gone away, and maybe we would all meet again someday.”

“And then Midnight found out the truth,” Mallory mewed.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you both sooner.” Nutmeg stood up, giving Mallory a lick on the top of her head. “I have one request, my dear.”

“Yes, mom?” Mallory rose, taking the vole she had caught in her mouth.

“Could you keep an eye on Midnight for me?” Nutmeg asked. “I know he trusts you. You don’t have to tell me what he shares with you, but if you get worried about him, please just tell me that you’re worried.”

“Mm-hmm,” Mallory nodded, humming an agreement through the vole in her teeth.

“Okay. Let’s take this to the front yard for Bone. He should get here soon.” There was no more sound of dogs passing by, and the sun continued to sink into late afternoon. Midnight was still in the house when Nutmeg and Mallory passed through to the front yard, much to Nutmeg’s relief.

--

Midnight kept quiet while his mother handled the introductions, still resentful that he had been stuck with this group of babysitters. Bone had brought two brand-new faces with him today, a tall grey cat named Boulder, and a smaller, light-brown tabby called Max. Both of them arrived hungry, and neither seemed keen to equally share the scrawny vole Mallory had caught.

Midnight excused himself to bring them something more from in the house, snatching a few slices of cheese his peoples’ young had left unattended on the counter. Taking a moment away from the others made him feel better, as did the theft. The strangers were grateful. Midnight noticed that, just like last time, Bone barely ate anything. He always stepped back after he’d gotten a few bites. Midnight said nothing about it, and Bone made no attempt at a joke today.

With the food consumed, the patrol was ready to move again. Midnight followed them, lagging at the back of the group. They reached the edge of the yard, and he stopped at the threshold, glancing over his shoulder. Nutmeg was still sitting on the front step, watching him leave. He tried to give her a reassuring nod before hurrying to catch up with the other toms.

“Let me know if you need to turn around for any reason,” Bone was first to speak.

“I can handle it,” Midnight replied coolly.

“I’m sure you can,” Boulder chuckled beside him. “Bone’s just being nice.”

“We don’t want to worry your mother any more, after all she’s been through,” Max meowed. Midnight took issue with this; Max was a stranger, a cat he might have seen in passing at one of the two prior Neighborhood Watch meetings, but otherwise, an unknown. Why did he feel the need to remark on Nutmeg’s situation?

“Calm down,” Bone said, looking over his shoulder with stern eyes. Midnight realized that his hackles had been raised. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Midnight sighed and followed in silence again. He had been so preoccupied with trying to evaluate the toms around him that he’d barely paid attention to his surroundings, which was part of the reason he’d even wanted to leave home. He was tired of feeling cooped up in the same place every day; at least out here, life moved and changed, even if it could be dangerous at times. After all, Jake was still alive. And he’s an idiot, Midnight thought with a smug twitch of his whiskers. If he can live out here, so can I.

The space beyond his yard felt smaller than it really was. Every house was similar, with the same short, green grass and the same occasional tree—flimsy trunks, no bigger around than his own torso and not very good for climbing—and a hot, stinking sea of black to separate one row of houses from the next. He realized how lucky he was to live in a house at the edge of this place, rather than one of the miserable boxes trapped in the midst of it all. At least he could see something different beyond his backyard.

“There’s not much to it, is there?” he allowed himself to speak. What did the street cats think of it all?
Were they used to it?

“You sound like Jake,” Boulder laughed. “He gets sick of it here, and that’s why he’s always going out to the forest.”

“Which is quite reckless of him, all things considered,” Bone was quick to interject. “We’re just short of being in a state of war towards those wild cats.”

“You don’t think he’s spying?” Max spoke again, and Midnight found him slightly more agreeable now that he was leveling accusations against Jake.

“Jake would never,” Boulder snapped, attempting to get a handle on the conversation he’d begun. Midnight sat back and watched the toms interact, wondering if they’d argue. “He’s not taking any sides, and I think that’s half the problem.”

“I don’t see how there can be neutral ground in this debate,” Max protested. “And—“ Max’s voice lowered to a whisper, now, “In light of everything with his own kids, too. It’s shameful—“

“It is shameful,” Midnight interrupted him. “You don’t have to lower your voice, by the way. I’m right here.”

“I just mean to say, well…” Max floundered and Boulder shot him an exasperated glare.

“Max speaks too openly,” Bone said, having listened to the whole exchange from the front of the group. He didn’t turn his head to face them now, but his ears were angled backwards, towards where the fight was brewing. “He’s a gossip. You’ll have to forgive him.”

“Gossip all you want about my dad,” Midnight spat. “I can’t pretend to be above you for that.”

“I think he’s a good cat, Midnight, he’s just not a good father,” Boulder tried to speak again, seeming reluctant to share what was on his own mind.

They passed by a yard where a small dog suddenly yipped at them all, and everyone’s fur puffed with anxiety for a moment. The dog was enclosed by a fence, and the prospect of a fight dissipated when its person came outside and hollered at it.

“I think we need to talk about something less stressful while we’re on patrol,” Bone said. This time his tone was resolute; there would be no forgiveness for picking up the topic again. “Or, we can just walk quietly and enjoy the afternoon.”

“Sounds good to me,” Midnight ensured that he was first to agree. Boulder grunted an affirmation, and Max stewed.

They rounded a curve in the houses, where the yards fanned out like the toes on Midnight’s paws, rather than sitting in a straight line. He imagined these backyards must be even bigger than his own, if the fenced-in space kept fanning out behind the boxy homes.

“Do you ever hunt in the yards? That’s where Mallory found the vole today,” Midnight asked.

“It’s dangerous to trespass,” Boulder said. “Sometimes we do, but only if we know what the people living there are like. And the cats, of course.”

“One of us was poisoned by food they set out last week,” Max lamented.

“The people poisoned you?” Midnight gasped, taken aback.

“Yes, child. They’re not all kind.” Bone meowed. “You’d do well not to assume goodwill. You have good people, at least so far, but things can change.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Midnight said. “I’m sorry about your friend, Max.” The other cat made no reply, but Midnight felt no hostility in the way Max briefly returned his gaze. They walked in silence.

They rounded the curve in the houses, now heading towards his own home again, but on the other side of the wide street.

“You’ve seen cars, yes?” Boulder walked on Midnight’s right, glancing over his head towards the expanse of black, spongy stone. “Out there, on the street?”

“Yes, and mother has told me about them.” Midnight had only seen them from the safety of the windows. From inside his house, the road had looked much smaller. The cars had looked like colorful beetles racing along it, large but not overwhelmingly so. He could imagine the true scale of a car much better now that he was really thinking about it, reckoning the size of the things with the road right in front of him for reference.

“When we cross back to your house, we’ll teach you the safest way.” Boulder tipped his nose at a house far ahead of them, on the other side.

Is that one mine? How do these cats even tell them apart?

“I have to cross?” Midnight said, voicing the other thought which needled at him.

“Well, yes. Everyone has to cross sometimes,” Boulder shrugged.

“This is a good time to cross,” Bone chimed in, an attempt at a comforting tone in his voice. “There aren’t as many cars when the sun gets lower, but it’s still daytime, so it’s still easy for the people inside to see us.” Midnight glanced down at his mostly-black pelt incredulously.

“You might blend in with the road a little more than other cats do, but we’ll send Max with you when it’s time, since he stands out so well.” Boulder gave a placid blink, and Max nodded ahead of them. They were drawing closer to Midnight’s house all the time, and he kept his ears swiveled towards the left so he could hear any cars as they approached. He hoped that the way they sounded from inside the house was the same as how they would sound out here. Or maybe that would be different, too. Maybe it would be more frightening.

They arrived at the point directly across from his house, and though it really looked no different from all the others, he could see Nutmeg still crouched in the front yard. The sight of her brought little comfort from so far away, with the road still between them. Midnight felt stuck in place on the grey-stone path as Max stepped onto the black street. He turned his head from side to side, surveying the road, and seemed satisfied enough to start walking across.

“Go on,” Boulder gave Midnight a nudge, but all Midnight could imagine was a car coming from out of nowhere and slamming Max into the ground.

“It’s safe, Midnight. Come on, before that changes,” Max urged ahead of him. Midnight was marginally aware of Bone headbutting him in the side, and as he re-established his footing to keep from being knocked over, he found himself able to move again.

Midnight scrambled to meet Max, now halfway across the road, who was sitting there in the center of the dangerous space. He passed Max in a dead sprint, and Max trotted towards him to regroup on the other side.

“Did it bother you to see me sitting out there?” Max said, his voice bearing reprimand.

“Yes…why would you sit in such a dangerous place?” Midnight still panted from the quick burst of energy, and his ears pinned back against his skull in dismay.

“What you did was a thousand times more dangerous,” Max said. “You don’t just run blindly across. Even if someone else is out there telling you it’s safe, got it? You check. Do you remember watching me check?” Midnight shrunk back, caught off-guard by the sudden anger in Max’s voice. “Do you remember?”

“I don’t,” Midnight mewed.

“I will teach you again the next time we’re here on patrol. You need to pay attention then, okay?” Every time Midnight could bear to look at Max, the other tom was staring him down. Nobody had ever scolded Midnight this way before, not even his father.

“I’m sorry, I—“

“You froze up. I understand,” Max said, some of the intensity subsiding from his voice. “I really do understand. You just can’t afford to do it again.” The other tom was quiet, as if he expected Midnight to say something, but Midnight couldn’t find the words. “Go home to your mother,” Max sighed, “and get some rest. Just know that if I have to cross the street with you again, you’re going to do it the right way.”

“Yes, Max,” Midnight meowed, turning tail towards where Nutmeg was waiting for him. She had gotten to her feet, concern painted across her face. Midnight didn’t turn to see if Max made it safely across the street again, nor did he care to watch the patrol continue down the road of endless repeating homes.

“I’m sorry they made you do that,” Nutmeg said. “I thought they’d take you around to the other end and back. Was it scary?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Midnight said, averting his mother’s gaze.

“Okay. I can practice crossing the street with you if you’d like,” Nutmeg offered, and Midnight felt his coat bristle again around his shoulders and along his back. The idea of watching his mother step out into the expanse was unacceptable; as angry as he was with her, he didn’t want anything bad to happen, and the risk seemed too great. He had seen how fast cars traveled from the window; he had always assumed that nobody was stupid enough to cross, given the risk. “Not tonight, though,” Nutmeg added, and he sensed that she was trying to reassure him.

Midnight had nothing to say to her. He wondered what else his mother had failed to prepare him for. He wondered if the other toms would be any different from her or from Jake, in the end.

Chapter Text

It was a lazy morning for Firepaw, eating a quiet breakfast with both parents and his brother. It was true that Tigerclaw hadn’t been around very often for family mealtimes, but Firepaw had to wonder, when had eating with Goldenflower become an equally special occasion in his heart? It felt like a privilege to dine with those most familiar to him.

“You boys must have been training hard,” Tigerclaw remarked, filling the silence.

“You’re eating like you haven’t had a proper meal in days,” Goldenflower said. “You need to make sure you’re eating enough, even when I’m not around to remind you.”

“We know, mom,” Swiftpaw spoke through a mouthful of sparrow, a meal he had caught for himself, with the patient help of Longtail. It was an impressive prize; he had leapt upon the thing as it was taking off to flee. “Don’t worry!”

“Sometimes I can’t help it,” Goldenflower said. “I’m very proud of you. It’s good to know that you can truly feed yourselves now,” she purred.

Firepaw felt his ears warm at this. He had yet to catch anything, though his tracking skills were promising, according to Redtail. After all, they’d all only been training for a matter of days. He was sure he’d catch his first prey by the end of the moon, or something like that.

“Firepaw, is Redtail pushing you to your full potential?” Tigerclaw said after swallowing another bite. “I know he’s busy as Deputy, but that’s no excuse to neglect his apprentice.”

“He takes me out of camp daily now. We do a lot of tracking and surveillance training,” Firepaw said. “Plus, he said I can come to the Gathering tonight!” Firepaw had been picturing it in his free time, and letting his mind wander to Fourtrees before he went to sleep at night. It was an idyllic image: all four clans, gathered in the light of the full moon, under a banner of peace; it almost felt too good to be true. He hadn’t had time to share the big news with his parents yet, and wondered how they’d feel about it.

“You need to learn how to fight and hunt, too,” Tigerclaw frowned. “It’s well enough to be able to track your enemy, but what are you going to do once you’re face to face?” Firepaw’s heart fell. It was as if they hadn’t even heard the part about the Gathering.

“I will, dad, I’ll learn,” Firepaw felt a dismissive tone creep into his response. He had never spoken to his parents with such overt negative emotion before. He cast a sidelong glance at his father to assess what level of reprimand was already on the way, but Tigerclaw’s expression was passive.

“If Redtail is too busy when you want to train, I would like you to come along with me and Ravenpaw. I need to know you’re getting enough time to really hone your skills, like your brother is.” Tigerclaw immediately took another bite of his food, signaling that his part in the conversation was over. Swiftpaw ate a little faster, attempting to hide the pride he felt in being used as an example. The tip of his tail twitched in satisfaction as he ate, and Firepaw knew his brother didn’t mean to rub it in, but something in him still bristled a little at the exchange.

As usual, Goldenflower didn’t interject. She tended to keep her nose out of father-son conversations. Firepaw looked to her now, wishing he could convey without words how nice it would be for her to bring up a new subject. As if she could read his mind, she met his gaze, gave a thoughtful twitch of her whiskers, and spoke.

“I remember my first Gathering. It was quite overwhelming, the smell of all the other clans in one place, and the conversation. An owl swooped low over Fourtrees as the leaders signaled the beginning; it was quite dramatic.” Goldenflower looked to her sons in turn, her expression wistful. “You boys will have so much fun tonight.”

“Actually, it’s just Firepaw,” Swiftpaw meowed, shifting his eyes to the side. “I don’t mind! But I do wish—“

“Just Firepaw?” Tigerclaw said with his mouth full, nearly choking on his food as he rushed a swallow. Firepaw shrunk back a little, casting a pained glance at Swiftpaw.

“Sorry,” Swiftpaw mouthed the apology, as if he had realized too late what effect the news would have.

“Honey, it’s fine. Swiftpaw will get his turn soon, I’m sure.” Goldenflower spoke firmly, seeming to have met her limit with her mate’s attitude. “He hadn’t even caught his first prey when they were choosing cats, so they’ll have to—“

“Have to recognize him by merit? Firepaw still hasn’t caught his first prey, but he’s going anyway. I would’ve expected Bluestar to at least extend the favor to both of my sons at the same time.” Tigerclaw kept from raising his voice, but Firepaw could practically taste the bitterness in his father’s outburst.

“Tigerclaw, you are frightening your sons. If you could manage to be happy for each one for what he’s accomplished, I’m sure that would be much more welcome,” Goldenflower meowed. She, unlike Tigerclaw, felt comfortable enough to raise her voice now. A few of the other cats who were also eating breakfast around them turned to watch the family drama unfold. Firepaw noticed that Greypaw, Sandpaw, and Dustpaw were among the spectators, and his ears burned.

Tigerclaw swallowed, but said nothing. Everyone looked back to their own meal again, and finally, he spoke. “Goldenflower, you’re making a scene.”

“I just wanted to have a nice breakfast,” Goldenflower huffed.

“I’m sure we all did.” Tigerclaw rose from his crouched position, having finished his meal. He surveyed each member of his family in turn, his gaze finally coming to rest on Firepaw. “I apologize for my negative attitude. You know I love you both, Swiftpaw, Firepaw…you are my sons. But I’ll be damned if I don’t ensure you get the best training your mentors can offer you, whether they’re clan deputy or a fellow warrior. And…” he glanced between Swiftpaw and Firepaw one more time. “I won’t stand for favoritism between the two of you. I know your mentors are teaching you that Thunderclan comes first, above all, but listen to me.” Tigerclaw lowered into a crouch again, bringing himself to eye-level with his sons. “You are my blood, which puts you before Thunderclan in my heart. I expect you to treat one another the same way. You will be one anothers’ allies, even if the whole world turns against you.”

“Dad,” Firepaw found some courage to push forward with a question, though he didn’t want to make his father more upset. “Why would we ever have a reason to work against each other?”

“Yeah,” Swiftpaw added, “and isn’t friendly competition okay?”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand right now,” Tigerclaw sighed. “The way the world works, some cats hold a lot of power over others. You’re just apprentices right now, still children, and everything is simple in your world. Eventually, that will change.” Firepaw and Swiftpaw exchanged tentative glances as their father continued. “You may someday wish for the same position in the clan, or be fond of the same she-cat, or circumstances outside your control could turn you against one another. Simply being brothers is not a safeguard against conflict, and I want you to stand together. For the sake of my legacy and pride, and for the sake of one anothers’ wellbeing.”

“We will always put you first,” Goldenflower spoke softly, and the reassurance in her voice comforted the nervous edge that had developed a hold on Firepaw. “It’s much easier to do that if we don’t have to choose a side in the process.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Swiftpaw said.

“Yeah…I understand now,” Firepaw added, though parts of him still didn’t. Is the future really going to be so difficult? Is there really so much I don’t know yet?

“Firepaw, remember what I said,” Tigerclaw sat back up, licking his chops.

“Oh, dear, are you going away already?” Goldenflower sat up from her meal too, her back straight and stiff.

“I have to talk to Darkstripe about some things I saw on patrol the other day,” he explained. “Swiftpaw, that was a very good catch. I hope you enjoyed the fruit of your own hard work.” Tigerclaw rose and drifted away, dark as the shadow of a cloud moving across the sandy floor of the clearing.

“That was…” Swiftpaw began, trailing off.

“Intense?” Firepaw suggested. Swiftpaw nodded, and Goldenflower crouched back down to clean the bones of her prey.

“He’s never that serious unless it’s for a good reason,” Goldenflower reminded them, though there was no hint of reproach in her voice. “I know he’s proud of both of you. But I think, like me, he worries sometimes.”

“You told me not to worry, mom,” Firepaw was quick to remind her. “You said it doesn’t do anything good.”

“I know,” Goldenflower said with laughter in her voice. “Do as I say, not as I do, okay?”

“Okay,” Firepaw said, tucking in for his last few bites.

“Longtail says that a lot,” Swiftpaw spoke through his mouthful again, and Firepaw couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sure he does,” Goldenflower said. “You both have good mentors, who I’m sure are waiting for you. Look how high the sun has gotten already! I’ll clear your bones away, my loves, so you can go and find out what your assignments are today.” Firepaw felt as if he and Swiftpaw were being shooed away quite suddenly, but they both stopped to lick their mother on the cheek before they left her. Firepaw hoped they could have breakfast together again, perhaps when he and Swiftpaw had advanced much further in their training, and there was more evidence to suggest that they were doing equally well.

“I promise I’ll tell you all about the Gathering when I get back tonight,” Firepaw said to Swiftpaw as they approached the Warriors’ Den.

“I’m sure we’ll go together the next time,” Swiftpaw said. “But I’d love to hear all about it.” Swiftpaw seemed amiable enough, and it was enough to settle Firepaw’s heart entirely regarding where they stood. There was no grudge to step lightly around, and things would be just fine.

Rather than enter the Warrior’s Den themselves, they asked Mousefur, who was lounging near the entrance, if she could look inside for either of their mentors. By the time both were on their assignments for the day, the morning’s conversation had faded into the background of their minds.

—

Bluestar had left camp before the sun rose that morning. She’d been craving a hunt and some fresh air to calm her jitters before the Gathering. Between Brokenstar’s erratic behavior, and Oakheart’s continued presence at Fourtrees, she wondered what new surprise might emerge in the midst of so many cats tonight.

Then there was the matter of Firepaw’s presence; there was always the possibility that Starclan had given some hint of Firepaw’s importance to the medicine cats of other clans. The prospect worried her. Though the prophecy seemed to portray him as the savior of Thunderclan alone, she had learned not to assume she understood what the Stars above her meant or thought. She was in no hurry to join them and find out for herself, so she waited, and hoped it had not been unwise to give Firepaw such an early public debut.

He’s Redtail’s responsibility now, and he wouldn’t be allowed to come if he couldn’t behave himself, she thought for the thousandth time that day. “Behaving himself” was a vague concept, but it mostly entailed not letting Shadowclan know about the fox, or letting anything else slip that might benefit their neighbors. I had better behave myself, too, she thought, wondering how much time she’d even have to share her own updates. The advent of the new apprentices (unnumbered, but implied to be many) and the continued security of their borders seemed to be the right things to share. The less she spoke, the less likely she was to accidentally give something away that another clan could interpret as weakness.

It seemed to be midmorning now, and Bluestar was still hunting. With a vole already hidden in a cache near camp, there was less pressure to accomplish anything else. She stumbled upon an empty den with fresh rabbitscent, lost in her thoughts as she was.

I’m lucky I didn’t sprain a leg in that hole, thought Bluestar, dropping to a crouch. The scent was so fresh that she wondered if she’d still be able to hear the creature in the undergrowth. She made her breathing scarce and shallow, becoming as still and quiet as a stone on the forest floor. There was a faint scrambling to her left, which she crept towards as silently as possible rather than making a break for it. Besides the possibility of losing the catch so far off, there was also the risk she’d run into another cat who was already on the rabbit’s trail. With so many apprentices running around now, there was no telling how alone one might be in the woods.

Silence carried her motions as slowly as she could bear. Her muscles were tense and achey with the necessary control of stepping lightly. She hadn’t required this much stealth from her body in a while, or so it seemed. The rustling noises faded as she drew closer. She stopped again to listen for whatever might happen.

An eruption of noise startled her, the sound of many legs swiping and struggling. Tiny grunts of effort, coming from another cat, made Bluestar wonder if an apprentice really had swiped the rabbit out from under her nose. It didn’t take long for her to catch a whiff of the cat’s scent: not Thunderclan, but Shadowclan.

Have I wandered across the border? horror struck for a moment, but as she hesitated, she realized the scent wasn’t typical of Shadowclan. There was something wrong with it—a sour tinge, but not sour like the nearby thunderpath. She couldn’t place quite what it was, but it reminded her of filthy, unwashed catscent. I would have noticed crossing the thunderpath if I’d left my territory, she regathered her wits. So, that leaves one alternative.

She crept as silently as before, this time with new quarry in mind. There was no doubt in her mind: she was not the intruder. As the noise of the struggle faded away, a young voice Bluestar didn’t know exclaimed victory. Several responses, equally young, confirmed to her that this was some wayward party of Shadowclan apprentices.

Where’s their mentor? She was tempted to burst through the undergrowth now that she’d gotten close enough to startle then. They were young enough that it probably wouldn’t take much to frighten them off her clan’s land, teaching a valuable lesson in the meantime. Still, until she knew whether these youngsters were being supervised by an adult, she wanted to keep herself hidden. She was outnumbered already.

“Do you smell that?” One squeaked.

“I think it’s a patrol. Let’s get out of here!” This was whispered, but not quietly enough to evade Bluestar’s hearing.

“Help me drag this rabbit,” Another grunted, and the heavy scraping sound of carcass on dead leaves filled the air.

It was now or never. Bluestar burst through the bushes, finding herself in the empty space at the edge of the thunderpath. She had arrived at the border. Thunderclan and Shadowclan scents mingled in a way that, she knew, might be overpowering or confusing to a cat still in training—but she had tracked this rabbit from its source, well within Thunderclan’s borders. These apprentices had crossed the border knowingly.

Now she could see them, a trio of youngsters: brown tabby, tortoiseshell, and grey, all scrawny. Especially compared with the rabbit. They weren’t tiny, but they were definitely too young to be here without their mentors. They were about to cross the treacherous thunderpath with their prey.

“Stop right there,” she called, as the group reached the edge of the smooth, acrid stone. “You’ve been poaching on Thunderclan land. Where are your mentors?”

“We don’t need mentors!” Called the brown tabby, and Bluestar almost balked at how foolhardy his response was.

“Yeah, we can catch our own prey!” The tortie rallied to his cause, dropping one of the rabbit’s mangled ears so she could speak.

“Yet you don’t know how to address another clan’s leader,” Bluestar scolded. “I watched that rabbit leave its den, well within Thunderclan territory, and I heard you kill it on my side of the border. Surrender the prey, or we’re going to have a real problem.”

The trio looked to one another for answers and reassurance, their confidence flagging. Nobody spoke, instead, shifting gazes between one another and Bluestar.

“You think you can take me in a fight?” Bluestar threatened, raising her hackles and extending her claws just enough to be visible.

“Fine, take your stupid rabbit,” whined the grey cat. As if they’d shared one anothers’ thoughts with those prior glances, the three bolted away before Bluestar could make her move, abandoning their bedraggled prize at the very edge of the thunderpath’s raised surface.

Something about the encounter had felt so wrong, from the brazen trespassing to the bizarre insistence that they didn’t “need” a mentor. What did it mean? And what self-respecting Shadowclan warrior would allow their apprentices to wander so far from camp on a hunting mission, even in the company of other apprentices? What kind of example was Brokenstar’s leadership setting—was all in shambles across the border, and the state of the clan hidden from outsiders by a silver-tongued dictator? Dramatic as it was, she could imagine no condition short of chaos that would allow today’s episode to take place.

When Bluestar arrived at Thunderclan camp’s entrance with the rabbit in her mouth, she had to turn around for the vole she’d hidden in the first cache. She’d been so consumed by apprehension that she had completely forgotten it until then. One question dominated all others in her mind, because it was the most immediate matter, and its answer was the most dependent upon her.

Do I dare mention this at the Gathering tonight?

—

Redtail was somewhere ahead of Firepaw in the group of travelers, speaking in argumentative whispers with Bluestar. Firepaw did his best not to eavesdrop, but he did hear the word “apprentices” sprinkled in at one point, and wondered if he was in trouble for coming to the Gathering at such a young age.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Sandpaw remarked, beside him. She’d been the only other apprentice allowed to go tonight, and that made Firepaw nervous. He still felt like they didn’t know each other very well. “Trying to eavesdrop on your mentor up there?”

“I am not!” Firepaw exclaimed, too loud. “I’m trying not to eavesdrop.”

“Attaboy, Firepaw,” Whitestorm chuckled. “Sandpaw, you could try that for a change.” The other apprentice sighed and stuck out her tongue at her mentor, though she made sure to wait until he had outpaced them to catch up with Bluestar and Redtail.

“He’s one to talk, interrupting them like that,” she whispered.

“Cheer up, or you’ll ruin the kid’s first gathering!” Whitestorm called over his shoulder, seemingly having eavesdropped for himself. Firepaw straightened his posture, walking briskly to perhaps outpace Sandpaw a little. He guessed that the group was close to Fourtrees by now, though he was still learning the landmarks of the territory. Sandpaw caught up, and Firepaw slowed back down again.

“How many of these have you been to?” Firepaw asked, trying to think of a conversation subject.

“One or two. I can’t remember,” Sandpaw replied coolly. Firepaw waited to see if she’d elaborate at all, or if he’d think of a followup question in time to keep the conversation flowing, but nothing seemed to happen. A rustling in the trees overhead startled him. He thought of his mother’s owl story.

“Night birds are scary,” Sandpaw acknowledged him, though her tone of voice was so neutral that he wasn’t quite sure if she was empathetic or silently judgemental. It didn’t matter, because Redtail was falling back to walk between the two of them.

“Bluestar wants everyone to try and remember what Shadowclan cats say in conversation tonight,” Redtail said. “And I’m personally going to be paying attention to Riverclan, too, so if either of you really want to test your memory, report to me about that as well. I’m making another campaign soon.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be at peace tonight?” Firepaw protested.

“There’s nothing to keep the peace on any other night,” Redtail said. “Espionage is fine. We just keep our claws sheathed.”

“I don’t like it,” Firepaw grumbled, but he kept his mouth shut after that. They walked in tense silence, his anticipation building, until the smell and sound of many cats was unmistakeably close.

The four oaks towered, their trunks dark and imposing in the night. Between them, as many cats as the whole of Thunderclan seemed to swarm in the clearing. Firepaw smelled carefully, opening his mouth a little to let the fullness of every scent waft across his nose.

I think I remember Riverclan scent, and I know I’ve learned Shadowclan by now, so what’s Windclan smell like? But it was no use in this environment. The smells mingled so readily that Firepaw’s best guess at Windclan scent still contained many of the inarticulate cues he already associated with the other two clans.

Sandpaw seemed to have located the part of the clearing where all of the other clans’ apprentices were mingling, and made her way to the group without saying anything to Firepaw. He knew he’d eventually follow her there, but he looked around a little longer to make it seem less like he was simply copying the other apprentice. The warriors from other clans loomed large and imposing, because they were still strangers to him, and not faces he knew. A few elders from the other clans were present, and he wished he could listen to them tell a story, but wondered if that was too childish a request.

“You can go wherever you like,” Redtail murmured to him, catching Firepaw somewhat unawares. “I know it’s a little overwhelming the first time, so if you want to stick with me, that’s okay. Sandpaw found the other apprentices already, so you could go with her, too.”

Firepaw liked the sound of staying by Redtail’s side, but he didn’t want to get in the way of any spying his mentor intended to accomplish. Still feeling so fresh among the apprentices of Thunderclan, he was somewhat accustomed to the jitters of being the new face in a group.

“I’ll go with Sandpaw,” Firepaw meowed, putting on an air of as much confidence as possible. If he pretended he was unafraid, he might begin to feel that way. Redtail gave him a nod, and left him to approach the group alone.

“Hi!” One of them called out to him as he got closer, a brown she-cat with scant stripes along her legs and on her face. Her fur was shiny, the unmistakeable trademark of a Riverclan cat, and he confirmed this by her scent as he joined the circle of chatting apprentices. “I’m Grasspaw,” she introduced herself.

“I’m Firepaw,” he said, feeling the need to add: “I’m new!”

“Hi Firepaw,” Grasspaw’s neighbor spoke now. She was another she-cat, with the same shining fur, but made even more glamorous in the moonlight by her silver pelt. “I’m Silverpaw. We’re from Riverclan.”

“And I’m Wetpaw,” spoke another silver-grey tabby. “…Of Shadowclan,” he added.

“I’m from Thunderclan, like Sandpaw,” Firepaw realized that perhaps they didn’t know his affiliation yet, and wondered if these cats from neighboring territories would keep the same friendly tone if they knew his loyalties. Sandpaw said nothing, for her part.

“How is the prey running with you?” Silverpaw ventured, an air of caution now in her voice.

“I’ve only been tracking so far, not hunting, so I wouldn’t know,” Firepaw replied. He tried to sound as good-natured as possible, without laughing the question off.

“Oh, so you’re very new!” Wetpaw said. “We’ve got a lot of new apprentices, too. You’ll catch something in no time, I’m sure.”

“That’s good news,” Firepaw said, taking note of the many Shadowclan apprentices, and remembering to keep track of whether Silverpaw and Grasspaw asked anything more about prey. “Have you heard any rumors lately?” he asked. Part of him still hadn’t stopped thinking about the dogs, but he was too self-conscious to bring them up directly.

“Windclan might be training kittypets,” Wetpaw snickered. Firepaw had gone past Twolegplace with Redtail once or twice, but had never caught a glimpse of the cats living there. Grasspaw, Silverpaw, and Sandpaw all snorted as if it was merely a joke.

“Is that why no apprentices from Windclan came tonight?” Firepaw asked in earnest, as the amusement died down.

“Who knows,” Grasspaw said. “I saw some last time.”

“Well then why did—” Firepaw was interrupted by the sound of Brokenstar beginning the meeting. He turned to attention, as the other cats around him did, and the leaders began their speeches.

—

“Until we see what Brokenstar has to say, I don’t see why we’d make mention of it,” Bluestar’s own words from the small dispute with Redtail came back to her. True, they were beginning to accumulate a lot of secrets towards that specific neighbor, but Brokenstar volunteered a lot of information, and Bluestar had no intention to do the same. If he confronted her, in private or in public, she would speak openly. Until then, the issue of the trespassing apprentices had been so outside the realm of her expectations that she wanted to wait for the right moment to strike. Impossible as it seemed, perhaps there would be a rational explanation.

Now, Brokenstar was sitting beside her, sharing news of his clan’s bounty with the others at Fourtrees. He had called the meeting before she’d had much opportunity to chat with the other leaders, and she wondered if they’d stick around afterwards.

“We have many new apprentices joining the ranks,” Brokenstar crowed. “Our clan has enough prey to feed every mouth—for now—and we hope Starclan’s blessings hold as we keep moving forward.”

Forward to what future? Bluestar wondered. There was an unspoken purpose behind those words. Something hinted at, but not spoken of directly.

“We’ve taken notice of a certain rumor as well. Some say there are dogs loose outside the woods. I’m here to put that notion to rest; Shadowclan has seen neither hide nor hair of the beasts. It’s the same fable that gets recycled about the Twolegplace dogs once in a moon.” Brokenstar paused to think, the tip of his tail twitching in a way Bluestar could only see in her periphery. “If such dogs were to appear, I don’t think Shadowclan territory would pose an easy target for them.”

“He’d talk them to death,” Crookedstar quipped under his breath. Tallstar snickered beside him, and Brokenstar continued on as if he hadn’t heard.

“In short, all goes well with us, and we continue to thrive in spite of every shortcoming our territory and our lot among the clans has bestowed upon us. To be a strong clan, you either must be very lucky, or very strong. I will make my clan strong enough to determine its own luck.” Brokenstar curled his tail around his paws, closing his eyes meditatively. Bluestar wondered if he’d speak again, if he was merely giving the appearance of ending his speech, or if it was really someone else’s turn now.

“All goes well with Windclan,” Tallstar said, tentatively leaping into the silence Brokenstar had left behind. The Shadowclan leader didn’t stir, and Tallstar continued. “The grasses are quite dry with all the sun we’ve been having, but that suits me just fine, because I’d rather not hunt in the rain,” Tallstar beamed. “We, too, haven’t picked up any trace of dog scent. I think the rumors can be put to rest.”

“Very good,” Crookedstar interjected, and Tallstar faltered before deciding to yield to the old tom. It hadn’t seemed like he had much to share, from Bluestar’s perspective, and she wondered if it was intentional on his part as well. “The rivers swell with fish, and some of our queens are expecting kits again. Life goes on.”

“Bluestar?” Brokenstar prompted, and she wondered if he meant anything by calling her out. Had the apprentices she’d confronted told on themselves today? Or would they be too ashamed of losing the rabbit to tell their mentors? It was impossible to determine how much anyone in Shadowclan knew.

“We have new apprentices, one of whom is here tonight. Firepaw is experiencing his first Gathering,” Bluestar said, nodding to the orange-furred youth in the crowd. “Twolegplace has been quiet as of late. The prey is running. If we had more to report, I would share, but nothing too interesting has happened within our borders for quite some time.”

“Boredom can be a blessing,” Tallstar was quick to agree. Bluestar decided that Tallstar, like herself, was purposefully keeping his Gathering addresses short. To what end, she wasn’t sure, but she wished she could manipulate another visit to the Moonstone just to spy on Windclan’s open moors.

“Then let’s get back to our own, dull camps,” Brokenstar said, narrowing his eyes at the other leaders before he leapt from the rock. Below, all erupted into quiet conversation.

“Tallstar, don’t get too bored out there,” Bluestar said. It was unlikely that Tallstar would tell her anything more, but recycling his turn of phrase was worth it just to acknowledge that she'd gleaned something more from it. He gave a self-satisfied blink that would've read as smug from any other cat, but seemed in keeping with his usual detached friendliness. Bluestar nodded and took her leave. Talking to Shadowclan warriors might get her a clearer picture of what was going on, but she noticed, like at the previous gatherings, that it was too late for that. Brokenstar was already rallying his clan to make their departure.

“I don’t like that,” she heard a tomcat say. It was someone from Windclan, though she couldn’t place the name.

“Me neither,” came a reply, in a voice she’d only heard in her dreams as of late. She turned to identify him, though she already knew who it was. Oakheart padded towards her and the Windclan warrior, greeting them with a nod of his head. “Bluestar, Onewhisker,” he greeted them casually.

“Has anyone had a chance to speak to Shadowclan patrols on your territory, Onewhisker?” Bluestar thought it was worth asking, especially if it gave her a chance to avoid talking directly to Oakheart just yet. She had noticed his presence in the crowd, of course, but had not been prepared for him to speak with her. He hadn’t singled her out for conversation since everything had fallen apart, and she was resistant to the idea that he might be doing it again now. For what reason? Nothing had changed.

“No, they’re quick and methodical about marking the boundary, though,” Onewhisker replied, and Bluestar worried that her nod in response had come a half-second too late. She didn't want it to seem like her mind was elsewhere, though it really was.

“I’m afraid I didn’t even get a word with any of the Shadowclan warriors before the meeting,” Oakheart added. Bluestar felt like he was searching her for a reaction, and tried to think of a neutral response.

“You’ve noticed their scarcity too, then?” she said.

“I notice a lot of things,” Oakheart replied. Bluestar chided herself for wanting to read her own wishes into the words. He won’t fail to notice that we’re still in different clans, then, she thought.

“I suppose the best we can do is keep our wits about us.” A part of Bluestar’s heart wanted to warn Oakheart that his clan’s claim on Sunningrocks would be coming to a close, but she rejected that urge as quickly as it appeared; her loyalty was to Thunderclan, which had always won out in the equation with the Riverclan warrior. Redtail was right. Soon, Thunderclan would have the power to retake their lost territory, likely once the older apprentices became warriors. It wasn't far off, and if they could strike quickly, it would work. The best she could do was encourage Oakheart to be canny, which was a reminder no warrior truly needed in the first place.

“I trust all is well, not just with your clans, but with you both,” Oakheart said, excusing himself from the conversation. Onewhisker and Bluestar shared a peaceful blink, and dispersed for themselves.

I wish he’d stop coming to these meetings, Bluestar thought, though she still glanced over her shoulder to watch him go.

—

As soon as Brokenstar’s paws landed on the ground, Wetpaw disappeared from among the apprentices. Firepaw watched him, along with all the other Shadowclan cats, withdraw from the clearing like the moon passing behind thick branches.

“It’s creepy how they always do that,” remarked Grasspaw.

“I admire their coordination,” Sandpaw replied. “It’s like they all know what to expect from one another, and how to play their part.”

“But how do you get a cat to do that, is my question.” Silverpaw began to groom her face, ears twitching as her paw drew over the sensitive whiskers above her eyes. Firepaw thought she was quite pretty, catching himself in the middle of the sentiment.

She can just be pretty in an idealistic way, he thought to himself. I’m probably just not used to seeing cats with such shiny coats. All of the Riverclan cats boasted a slightly different physique, shining in the moonlight as if they were already wading through the waterways of their own territory. He wondered if Thunderclan cats looked so different to those outside his own clan. Tallstar, too, had a wiry figure, living up to his name in the way he rose head-and-shoulders above the other leaders. He was approaching the group of apprentices now.

“You can ask him about those kittypets now, Firepaw,” Silverpaw teased. Suddenly he didn’t find her as pretty anymore. Wetpaw had never answered his question in good faith, and of course, it would be rude to confront a clan leader with such a ridiculous allegation.

“Firepaw,” Tallstar greeted him. He felt isolated from the others in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. “It’s good to meet you. I make it a point to greet apprentices from other clans,” he blinked amicably. “Establishing a rapport makes it harder for them to fight me in battle.” Tallstar’s whiskers twitched, and Firepaw felt exposed yet again. “That’s a joke, by the way.”

“Ah!” Firepaw blurted. “I wasn’t sure at first,” he said. “Hopefully we never have a reason to fight one another.”

“An admirable sentiment,” Tallstar replied, seeming to evaluate Firepaw as closely as some of the cats in his own clan did; he was reminded of Spottedleaf’s gaze, especially. There was something knowing behind the tom’s eyes. “I think you’ll become a fine warrior. Just as long as you lighten up,” he said.

“Would you bring some Windclan apprentices next time, Tallstar?” Grasspaw asked from behind Firepaw as the black-and-white leader was walking away. She didn't seem so bothered by the presence of another clan's leader.

“For your amusement, of course I will,” he called over his shoulder.

“He does greet all the cats from other clans,” Sandpaw said, “and I’m honestly not sure if he was fully joking. It made me nervous when he singled me out, too.”

“I’m sure he has fun with it,” Silverpaw said. “Looks like Crookedstar is rallying everyone. Have a good night,” she said, and the two Riverclan apprentices withdrew in much the same way as the Shadowclan cats had done.

“Let’s go too,” Sandpaw said. “Those Riverclan girls are really stuck-up."

“I hadn’t noticed,” Firepaw replied. Sandpaw snorted.

“Your arrival changed the dynamic,” was all she said.

They caught up with Bluestar at the far end of the clearing, where it rose slightly to slope back down again into Thunderclan territory. Firepaw found that he couldn’t turn his back on the clearing without looking over his shoulder to confirm that Windclan was also on the retreat back to their space; how nerve-wracking it must be to leave with the first clan! There is so much trust in the truce, Firepaw thought, and a feeling he understood as sacred recognition came upon him. That’s what it means to obey the code.

As the Thunderclan cats formed their walking groups, Whitestorm fell into step with Redtail and Bluestar at the fore. Behind them walked Firepaw and Sandpaw.

“What news of Shadowclan?” Bluestar turned to the warriors on either side of her, waiting for who would speak first. Firepaw wanted to share his news about the many apprentices, until he remembered that Brokenstar had already said that to everybody.

“Nothing Brokenstar didn’t say,” Whitestorm echoed Firepaw’s own thoughts aloud. There was the same frustration in the warrior’s voice as Firepaw felt in his own heart.

“It’s always like that now,” Redtail growled.

“Did you smell anything strange about them?” Bluestar asked.

“No, could you describe the scent again?” Redtail asked.

“There was a sourness…a stale odor, I can’t place it but it’s familiar.” Bluestar padded along, and Firepaw gradually realized that this topic had been the source of her discussion with Redtail on the way to the meeting. He had been worried for nothing.

“Maybe they’re rolling in fox dung,” Whitestorm jeered. The others laughed, but the topic faded away after that. It seemed they were all trying to puzzle through the same question: even Firepaw and Sandpaw, who had not been given the full context.

“I noticed a few things about the apprentices tonight,” Firepaw chimed in after the silence had grown too uncomfortable for him.

“Go ahead, Firepaw,” Redtail turned to give an encouraging look, his eyes narrowed in a friendly way. He fell back so he could walk closer to his apprentice.

“Well, Wetpaw—the Shadowclan apprentice—didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about Shadowclan. I asked if anyone had heard any rumors recently, and he talked about Windclan instead. And one of the Riverclan apprentices asked us how the prey was running,” Firepaw added. “Which I know is normal to ask, but it almost felt like she was…”

“Sizing us up as competition? Hoping the prey really wasn’t running so well?” Sandpaw finished the thought.

“Something like that,” Firepaw confirmed.

“You’re both very observant,” Bluestar praised them from her place at the lead. “Whitestorm, Redtail, you’ve done well for them.”

“Can I become a warrior early?” Sandpaw mewed, though the tone of a joke rang clearly in her voice.

“Yes, when Starclan gives me the power to fly,” Bluestar turned over her shoulder and winked. Seeing her behave so playfully felt out of character. It reminded Firepaw that Bluestar had an apprentice of her own. He tended to think of her as so detached from the clan, so far above it, and yet, Cinderpaw was under her metaphorical wing now. He wished she could have come along tonight.

“Will Cinderpaw come to the next one?” Firepaw asked, hoping they might all reunite.

“I spoke to her about it already. She will,” Bluestar said, though Firepaw wondered what had kept her from attending this one, since he’d been allowed to.

Conversation turned to the inconsequential again, and then to silence as the weary cats drew near to camp. Coming through the gorse tunnel, everyone else was eager to hear how the Gathering had gone this time. Firepaw and Sandpaw found their way to the apprentices, and soon everyone was asking about Brokenstar, and gasping when it was revealed that the Shadowclan leader had spoken so openly about the dog rumor.

“There were no Windclan apprentices,” Firepaw said, “and Tallstar came right up to say hello to me.”

“Do you think he’s got none in his own clan? Do you think he’ll start kidnapping other clans’ apprentices?” Dustpaw meowed, half-sensationalizing, half-joking.

“A Shadowclan apprentice told us he was already kidnapping kittypets, just about,” Sandpaw wrinkled her nose. “But you’d never stop smelling like Twolegs if you came from there, so I think we’d know if there was such a cat in Windclan.”

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t bring them,” Greypaw suggested with a conspiratorial air.

“Bluestar said something about the Shadowclan apprentices smelling strange,” Firepaw said, though he still wasn’t quite sure if the bit he’d overheard about the apprentices was connected to the bit he’d overheard about a strange smell. It seemed likely enough that he was comfortable sharing the theory. “Yet, I didn’t notice it on Wetpaw,” he added.

“We’ll have to keep our noses sharp when we're near the border,” Cinderpaw said. “As sharp as we can, anyway, with the thunderpath stinking up the place. I hate that thing,” she stuck her tongue out.

“I bet they roll in fox dung for their training, and that's why they stink” Sandpaw meowed, and the other apprentices collapsed in laughter. All but Firepaw, who shot her a sidelong glance. She tilted her head innocently and gave her whiskers a twitch. 

—

The realization came to Bluestar on the edge of sleep that night. The closest thing she could compare the scent of those Shadowclan apprentices to was sour milk, like kits who'd not been given a bath in a long time. She shuddered.

There can be no good reason for that, she thought, willing herself to fade into a dreamless sleep rather than stew over the exchange yet another time.

Chapter Text

Nutmeg had seen to it that her kittens were napping before she left the house. There had still been no sign of Jake, and the next Neighborhood Watch awaited her this evening. She had maintained an attitude of indifference towards him with middling success these months, but her thoughts had become troublesome lately.

What if he really went to warn the forest cats? That thought was not new, but the following was: What if he didn’t make it back? If he was ignoring her, that was one thing, but what if he’d never gotten a chance to return home in the first place? It was easier on her to be disappointed than heartbroken. She could bear his betrayal, but not another loss like the one she’d already suffered.

If he was avoiding her, it would be possible to find him, even if it took a few days of searching. Perhaps she could persuade him to come to the Neighborhood Watch again, and feel the goodwill of house cats and street cats alike in unity. He could see the good that was beginning to come about from her small movement. If she couldn’t find him today, and she couldn’t track down any news of him at the Watch tonight…at least there would be an opportunity to form a search party. So, she ventured beyond the front lawn of her home, hoping to determine where Jake had gone before the meeting, if possible.

It’s far too early for us to try venturing into the woods, she thought, ducking under the neighbors’ hedge to cut across their yard. We wouldn’t be able to free him from there if it came down to a fight, her thoughts wandered on as she weaved through decorative shrubs and across the peoples’ rigid stone paths, until she was able to rein them in. But we don’t know if he was taken, she reminded herself. And if so, we still have time to hone our defenses.

She followed the path of Midnight’s first patrol, reaching the end of the cul-de-sac before she saw anyone else outside. Another cat sat in the open doorway of a house. Nutmeg couldn’t identify them while they remained in the shade. It was bright out, and she had to squint to be satisfied that this cat didn’t have orange fur, but grey. She gave them a nod and a blink, imagining that they probably responded the same. She trotted onwards, past the end of her street, where more houses seemed to replicate themselves across whatever flat land had once existed here.

Nutmeg recalled Midnight’s pointed complaint about the neighborhood after his first patrol; it really did all look the same. Instinct was the only thing which told Nutmeg where to go if she wanted to get home. It was an impulse which could not be summoned consciously, and it was, as she’d once discovered, nonexistent outside of the peoples’ domain. There had been blankness in the back of her mind when she’d entered the forest, a lack of the reassurance that she knew where she was going. That place was where her instinct for navigating the neighborhood resided, and she’d never even realized it until she’d stepped outside.

She passed Bone’s old house, which was not far from her own, only a few streets away. She passed by the house of another cat, named Maggie, who was getting so old that Nutmeg wondered how much longer her people would allow her outdoors. She rounded a corner onto the street she used to avoid, the one where the large dog used to lounge in a yard with no fence. It had since gone away, either dead or moved on with its people, but Nutmeg still kept herself on high alert as she passed through the unpopulated space.

It was midday, and the heat radiating from the ground irritated her pawpads, so she tried to keep to the grass of peoples’ lawns. Her feet had gotten softer after spending so many months indoors with her kittens. I should probably begin patrolling for the Watch, she thought. That would toughen them up. Still, it was no wonder everyone was indoors during the hottest part of the day. This would make it easier to find Jake, if he was still around; he had no people, and therefore, no house to duck inside when the weather was unpleasant.

“Nutmeg!” a white tom with black spots called to her from ahead. It was one of the cats Bone had brought on patrol before, though not one she was well acquainted with. The sensation of someone else knowing her name, while she didn’t know his, was uncomfortable.

“Hello!” She called, closing the distance. “I recognize you, but I seem to have forgotten your name?”

“Call me Jinx,” he said, giving a little bow. She noticed he was still wearing an old collar, though it was so dirty and frayed that it was impossible to tell what color it had been before. “You’re far from home!”

“I’m looking for Jake,” she said, hoping Jinx would have seen or heard something. An impassable emotion flickered across the other tom’s face, giving Nutmeg an immediate sense of unease.

“I thought you two were done,” he said, and she could tell he was stifling some disappointment.

Is he jealous? she thought. Perhaps Bone was not the only cat fond of her now, and it occurred to her all at once that being the obligate leader of Neighborhood Watch had cast a lot of new eyes on her. Some toms might fancy themselves better off for her attention. I guess I can use that to my advantage, if I need to.

“I haven’t seen him since the first Neighborhood Watch. I’m concerned about his wellbeing, as a former attachment.” She stressed the word “former,” hoping it might coax the information out of Jinx more easily. “He is still part of the community, after all.”

“Of course,” Jinx said, though he sounded unconvinced. “I’ve seen him a few times since then. I don’t recall specifics, though, since it’s been a few weeks.” This was an unhelpful report. It was no surprise to Nutmeg that Jake had still been somewhere in the neighborhood right after the first meeting, because they had argued in the following days. What about more recently? What if I ask where he’s been, so I can look where he hasn’t? Jinx seemed to be losing interest in the conversation, glancing past her in the direction he had been traveling.

“Have you been patrolling with Bone much?” she asked, adding, “Or expanding your range?”

“I’ve been helping him sporadically,” Jinx sighed, “mostly doing my own thing, though.” It was no wonder, if he was this noncommittal in everyday conversation, that he hadn’t been pitching in much. Before she could think of anything more specific to ask, Jinx opened his mouth again. “I’ll catch up with you at the meeting tonight, okay? I’ve got someone waiting for me a few streets over.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jinx,” she said, as he passed by.

Nutmeg continued down the street, which terminated somewhere near the far edge of the woods. She couldn’t recall every place Jake had shown her on their many nighttime wanderings, but she knew the path to this one well enough.

There was an gnarled oak tree, so old and tall that it had been left alone in an empty lot at the end of this street. From the height of its branches, looking back towards her home, she could see the forest beyond, then the open moors, and the tall hills past that. Looking away from home, she could see a small green space, and beyond that, an enormous expanse of houses and other tall buildings. So many people, and probably many cats, too, were living in those houses, that it made Nutmeg feel small when she looked that way. Jake seemed to enjoy hiding out in the tree when there was a lot on his mind, a place where he could see both the wild and the civilized. He had told her this, and she had thought it was romantic of him to share that space, and that vulnerability, at the time. Now she simply wished she could glimpse his fiery fur in the high branches, and, satisfied with his safety, go back home to her kits before he caught sight of her.

She had arrived at the empty lot, where it seemed she was still alone in the tall weeds. The tree stretched upwards, its shade inviting and its bark, though rough on the paw, textured enough for ample footholds. She could imagine a cool breeze streaming through its upper branches. She scaled the trunk in a few leaps, entering the sheltered canopy of leaves. As it had seemed from the ground, Jake was not here. At least it was a half-decent place to scout for him.

The difference the shade and the breeze made on Nutmeg’s mood was immediate and drastic. She felt her body relax here. Even her eyes felt less tense, pupils dilating from the thin slits she’d been forced to look through in the sun’s brightness. She could think clearly again. She worked her way upwards until she was as high as she could stand without leaving its shady canopy and poking her head out above the leaves. The branches here were as thin as her forelegs, but they felt strong enough. They bent slightly under her weight, but didn’t groan or crackle. She kept her grip as she poked her head into a gap in the leaves, and from here, she could see a large portion of the streets.

If Jake was out in the open, and he wasn’t too far away, she would be able to find him. She could see Jinx, flashing black-and-white against the green of someone’s lawn, as he hurried on his errand. There seemed to be nobody else in the direction he traveled, to Nutmeg’s amusement. Further away, she spied another cat lounging in a backyard on some smooth stones. She couldn’t imagine sunbathing on a hot day like this. It was apparent from the cat’s muted fur color that they weren’t Jake, so she moved her attention elsewhere. Looking towards an alley that met the close edge of the woods, she saw quick movements. The language of those motions more akin to a squirrel or a rabbit, but the forms seemed to be cat-sized. Someone was sneaking around; the flash of a cat’s head around the corner of a dumpster confirmed her suspicion.

I could get to that street quickly if I run, she thought. Do I investigate now? Yet something told her to wait. The same cat poked their head out again, moving down the alley and out of Nutmeg’s view beyond the roof of a house. Another cat seemed to follow the first one. Whoever they were, they were moving into the neighborhood from the direction of the woods. Nutmeg’s fur bristled. Could be forest cats…
Then she saw a flash of orange among them, and her first thought was of Rusty, then of Jake. If those are forest cats…! Nutmeg scrambled down the tree, knowing better than to jump from the lowest branch, but rather, to take her time making a safe way down so she could break for the alley once she was safely on the ground. Painful paws would only slow her down, and if a fight was in her future, she needed to keep herself as unscathed as possible.

On the ground again, she bolted across the sun-baked walkways. The alley the cats had been spotted in became a street that intersected the one she was on. There were other streets between herself and the cats in the alley, so there was no guarantee that they intended to sneak this far into the neighborhood, but she hoped they’d come her way. It already seemed like an incredible stroke of luck that she would be in the right place at the right time to spot them.

She reached the street where they’d have to cross if they kept moving straight. From here, she could look down the whole street and into the alley near the forest fence. There was no trace of cats anymore. They had turned, in one direction or the other, on one of the next parallel streets. She ran for the next intersection, pausing again to crouch under a bush at the corner. From undercover, she peered to her left and to her right, waiting for a flicker of motion to betray the others. There was nothing, so she advanced to the next crossroads, ducking under yet another bush.

She nearly missed it, but down the street, off to her right, she saw the tip of a tail duck underneath a car. If she ran headfirst into confrontation now, she could take them completely by surprise, but she wanted to wait just a little longer. However many cats there were, she was outnumbered. Even if the orange cat among them was Jake, or (she dared to hope,) her son, there would be no counting on his assistance in a fight.

Another cat slunk beneath the car, so dark grey that it was almost impossible to distinguish from the road. That made at least three cats.

Adopting their technique, Nutmeg broke cover to hide under the nearest car. One of the cats looked back just as she reached cover, and she hid completely behind the nearest wheel, willing herself not to peek around it to see if they’d noticed her. She would be able to hear their approach if they knew she was there, and that would still give her enough time to flee or prepare for a fight.

She waited for a few more breaths, as long as she could bear, before moving again. She crept under the front of the car, where she saw the other cats disappear under the shadow of a hedge. The orange cat followed at the rear, too big to be Rusty, and no others appeared.

It could still be Jake, she thought, urging herself to break for the next car.

In the middle of the street, she stepped on a sharp stone, which pierced her pawpad until it was wet with blood. Unable to help herself, she cried out, and the orange cat re-emerged from the hedge to face her. It was Jake. His head turned between Nutmeg ahead of him and the strange cats behind, and, it seemed like he was going to run after the strangers, until he met Nutmeg’s gaze. For reasons she couldn’t understand, that was enough to keep him from moving on.

“Who are they?” Nutmeg called, cursing herself for her lapse in caution. It was all she could think to ask him. She shook her paw, failing to dislodge the painful stone.

“Who are ’They?’ It’s just me, Meg—” Jake began, lying through his teeth.

“You can’t fool me!” she yowled, finally shaking the stone from her paw and pelting towards him. “I saw them! They’re from the forest, aren’t they?” The wound smarted every time it hit the ground.

Two cats, one a dark, deep grey, and the other a light grey, poked their heads out of the hedge. They crouched, evaluating Nutmeg in their gaze, but they didn’t seem nervous. Nutmeg came to a stop in front of them, blood still oozing from her paw, and the heat of the sidewalk almost felt good on her injury. Jake’s tail lashed. He adjusted his stance, placing himself between Nutmeg and the strangers protectively.

“They won’t be staying here. I’m just helping them pass through, so they can—” he tried again, only to be interrupted once more.

“You shouldn’t be helping them. Not after what they did to us!” Nutmeg cried. “Why have you abandoned your family?”

“These aren’t the same cats who took your son, Nutmeg,” Jake stood his ground. Nutmeg winced at the implication that Rusty was hers alone. One of the strange cats, huddled behind him, shared a frantic and inaudible exchange with the other. “They’re fleeing the forest; they object to the way things are being done in their clan,” Jake continued. “They have more in common with you than with the cats who took him away.”

“It’s true,” the darker cat spoke, faltering momentarily under Nutmeg’s piercing glare. Her crackly voice betrayed her advanced years; Nutmeg thought again of Maggie, who was probably similar in age to this stranger. “I’m Crowtail, once of Shadowclan. This is Ashheart,” she said, gesturing to her companion.

“We mean you no harm,” Ashheart meowed. She sounded closer in age to Nutmeg and Jake, and there was a pleading tone in her voice. “Please let us pass through here. We don’t intend to stay.”

Nutmeg faced a decision she hadn’t anticipated. She had assumed these forest cats were here to fight, or, with a delusion characteristic of all her hopes surrounding Rusty, that perhaps these cats had come to escort her son home. Or, at the very least, to return Jake to the neighborhood. Instead, Jake was the one doing the escorting. This is my territory…I need to speak in terms these cats will understand. I can get information from them. I can strengthen the Neighborhood Watch, too…

“You’re in the territory of other cats now,” Nutmeg said, shifting her stance away from the wounded paw. It had begun to scab over, but ached under her weight. “We aren’t a dictatorship; I happen to be the leader here, but I don’t make every decision by myself.” Thinking quickly, Nutmeg had settled upon an idea that would hopefully benefit herself and the neighborhood most, while avoiding a fight with the forest cats unless it was necessary. “We happen to be gathering tonight under the absence of the moon. You’ll remain in our territory until you can appear before everyone and plead your case.”

The forest cats seemed to respond to the language and diplomacy Nutmeg wore like a second skin, based on everything Jake had ever told her about the ways of the forest clans. Jake watched with a hint of dread in his face, an expression so subtle that Nutmeg felt she was one of the few who could recognize it in him.

“We will abide by your rules,” Crowtail said at last.

“Jake and I will escort you somewhere safe for now,” Nutmeg said, casting a warning glance at Jake. “We can leave you in with cats who can look after you until the meeting.” Cooperate with me, she willed him, hoping he would note the undercurrent in her instructions. He can help me find cats we can trust with the job, she thought. I certainly can’t keep them in my own house, but Jake knows the streets. When Nutmeg began walking, picking the direction of her home almost at random, she was a little surprised to see the other three follow right away.

“Nutmeg, I don’t like this,” Jake hissed.

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten yourself involved,” Nutmeg spat back. “But I need your help now that you are. I think we can trust Bone to keep these two safe and contained, but do you have any other recommendations?”

“Lucky and Jasper are good friends,” Jake said, thoughtfully. Nutmeg remembered them as acquaintances from the old days, both of whom had failed to appear at any Neighborhood Watch meetings after the first one. “They usually hang around the next alley we’ll pass. But Nutmeg, don’t make them stand trial like this. Bad things are happening in the forest…we can just see them off to the other side of the neighborhood, and they won’t bother us again.”

“If ‘bad things’ are going on just outside our borders, we can’t afford to let strangers pass through without investigating them,” Nutmeg said. “Since you seem to know so much, is there any news of our son?”

“I was on my way to talk to the cat who might know,” Jake sighed, “when I chanced upon these two. They’re defecting from the clan that lives near where he was stolen, but I’m certain they don’t know him.” Nutmeg wondered who the other cat was—the one likely to know about Rusty—and how Jake could be so certain that this was the case. Before she could ask, one of the intruders behind her spoke up.

“You might be thinking of Thunderclan,” came Crowtail’s voice. “We haven’t been allowed to speak with them candidly in moons, but they’re the other clan on the border of Twolegplace. I’m sorry we can’t help you find your son.”

Nutmeg inferred that ‘Twolegplace’ was the word used for her territory, and wondered how many other people-words these cats had no concept of. The terms they used felt unfamiliar, but not impossible to understand. ‘Moons’ to mark months, most likely? She wondered if these cats kept time by the full moon or the vanishing moon.

“What drives you from your homeland?” Nutmeg asked. “You’ll be asked the same question again tonight, but I wanted to give you time to think.”

“We don’t have to think very hard about that,” Ashheart scoffed. “Our leader is sending the clan to its doom.”

“I was exiled, along with other elders,” Crowtail murmured.

Nutmeg felt a pang of sympathy for the older cat, almost wishing she hadn’t asked them the question. There was nothing she could say that would make the reality less harsh, and her only thought was concern for her son, if he had been left to fend for himself in such a cruel culture.

“I’ll make sure no further harm comes to you here,” Jake said, giving them a reassuring glance over his shoulder. Nutmeg remembered, bitterly, how comforting it had once felt to believe his reassurances.

They arrived at the second alley Jake had described without further conversation. It was an alcove lined with small rocks and peppered with weeds, a few trash bins lining the rear walls of the houses that encased it. Lucky was crouched in the middle of the gravel, polishing off the bones of a bird he’d caught. The small black cat regarded them briefly and returned to his meal.

“Hey, Lucky!” Jake called, his voice all warmth and friendliness. “I’ve got a small favor to ask of you!”

“Another one?” Lucky replied. “Nutmeg, I haven’t seen you in a little while,” he greeted her between crunches of bone.

“It’s really a favor for me, if that makes you feel better,” she said. “And you’ve had several opportunities to see me again in the past few months, unless you forgot what we’re all doing now.”

“I know about the Neighborhood Watch,” Lucky blinked slowly, finally sitting up from his picked-clean meal. “I’m waiting to see how things progress with your…project.”

“We can discuss your qualms right now, because my request has something to do with said project.” Nutmeg noticed that Jake’s tail was twitching with agitation, but she had no intention to yield the conversation to him again. The presence of the forest cats pushed her further into the role of leader, and she found herself playing the part more readily as it went on.

“I’ve seen things like this pop up every now and then, that’s all,” Lucky said, tilting his head from one side to the other. “I like your ambition, but unless everyone keeps up their part of the social understanding, the Neighborhood Watch is just going to fade away, like most other movements. I wish it wasn’t so, but that’s how it goes.”

“I understand,” Nutmeg said, weighing the tom’s words. He was no older or wiser than Jake and herself, and she wondered if he could be persuaded by watching the system work in the way she envisioned it. “Would you like to see the Watch face its first real test tonight?”

“I suppose so,” Lucky yawned.

“The cats standing behind me are forest cats,” she announced. Nutmeg watched his face for any change in expression, seeing that his ears pricked forward slightly. “They need to pass through our territory to leave theirs. I didn’t feel like it would be right for me to give them my blessing, or my condemnation, without consulting the community first. And as it happens, we’re meeting tonight, so I can present them to everyone.”

“After you convinced everyone to hate forest cats? Aren’t you a little worried that’ll end poorly for them?” Lucky asked.

“Yes, which is why I need some cats to guard them,” Nutmeg said. “Someone without prejudice; someone reasonable and level-headed, like you, Lucky.”

“I can’t protect them all by myself,” the tom said, gesturing down towards his thin frame with his nose.

“It’s not like we can’t defend ourselves, kittypet,” Crowtail spoke up for the first time, and in spite of the apparent insult, Nutmeg could acknowledge the old one’s spunk.

“We were going to ask Bone, and we were hoping that Jasper would help as well,” Jake said. “I can always pitch in, too.”

“No,” Nutmeg said, “You’re going to go meet with that other cat you told me about. And you’re going to ask him if he knows about our son.”

“When I come back, then,” Jake hastily promised. “I’ll go find Jasper.” Before Nutmeg or Lucky could object, Jake was trotting away.

“Lucky, I don’t want to leave these cats with you unless you agree to help. I know you’re not part of the Watch, but I’m hopeful that after tonight, you’ll have a kinder view of our cause.” Nutmeg studied the tom’s face for any indication of strong emotion. Lucky was a tricky cat to read; unlike most of the other street cats, he had never been a house cat, and Nutmeg couldn’t help but feel that made his expressions more subtle. Finally, he nodded with an approving blink.

“Go find Bone,” he said. “You can leave the rest to me. We’ll bring these two to the meeting in one piece.” He looked past her, towards the ex-Shadowclan cats. “I’d like to hear your stories in the meantime,” he said.

“Thank you, Lucky, I won’t forget this.” Nutmeg gave Crowtail and Ashheart a nod. She didn’t stick around to hear them introduce themselves, but as she left, she could hear a guarded but amicable conversation beginning.

Hopefully, she’d have just enough time to find Bone and send him this way before her kittens woke up. She’d been away longer than usual. If she wanted a chance to sneak out again tonight, she’d have to be back home before her people got worried enough to lock the cat flap overnight.

--

The night was dark in a way that made the kittens feel safe. Midnight and Mallory trailed behind Nutmeg on the way to the Neighborhood Watch, on a route that was quickly becoming routine. There was comfort in knowing that they could see better than most other creatures afoot in the dark.

“Have you noticed mom’s front paw?” Midnight whispered to Mallory.

“She’s not putting any weight on it,” Mallory nodded back. “I think she got hurt today.”

“Do you think she fought someone?” Midnight wondered aloud, even quieter. She had said little to them since she’d returned that afternoon. They had been awake just long enough to worry before she slipped back into the house, but at least she had apologized.

“I hope we’ll find out at the meeting tonight,” Mallory replied.

“That means you can’t goof off this time, and you’ll have to be quiet enough for both of us to hear everything,” Midnight frowned.

“I can hear everything, by the way,” Nutmeg smirked over her shoulder. “And Mallory, I think you’ll find this meeting interesting enough that you won’t be tempted to play through it. Everyone will.”

Midnight trotted faster, as if willing the meeting to begin sooner. “Mom, is your paw okay?”

“It’s just a little scratch,” his mother replied. There wasn’t time for more elaboration, because they had arrived at the gravelly lot where the meetings took place. Nutmeg walked with them to a spot beside an old tire, not far from the machine where she always stood to speak. “Wait here, okay?”

“Okay.” The agreement was out of Mallory’s mouth just in time for Nutmeg to walk away. Midnight watched with interest as his mother made haste through the growing crowd of other cats. She was headed for a small group that had just entered. He recognized Bone first, and was less dismayed than curious when he realized that Jake was with the group as well. Two unknown black cats, one large and one lithe, and a grey stranger, rounded out the group. Nutmeg led them directly to the front of the space, where she appeared to give some instructions to the group before taking Jake aside.

Midnight wished he could eavesdrop on whatever exchange was taking place between his parents, who were still relatively nearby. An expression of dismay was developing on Nutmeg’s face, but it must not have been about anything truly dire, because with a shake of her head, she regained her composure. Before Midnight could approach them to ask what had happened, Nutmeg was jumping onto the treads of the construction machine to call the meeting to order.

Midnight usually didn’t pay much attention at these events, though he always kept an ear half-tuned to whatever was being said, in case it was interesting. This time, he willed himself to focus on his mother, even through the boring, standard salutations with which she began each Neighborhood Watch.

“I have a different meeting subject for us tonight,” she finally said, and Midnight was relieved that she was getting straight to the point. “I must ask you to keep the peace tonight. If anyone begins a fight over this, they will be escorted from the gathering immediately: there are patrol members throughout the clearing. I have brought two strangers to the meeting tonight, because their presence in our territory is significant to all of us. Please listen before you speak,” Nutmeg said, gesturing toward the cats Midnight had observed earlier. “They are from the forest.”

The immediate outcry surrounding Midnight was frightening. He stiffened his muscles against the urge to shrink into a crouch.

“They don’t belong here!” someone protested.

“They took your son!” Nutmeg’s eyes snapped to focus on whoever had said that.

“Send them home!” another meowed, and Midnight couldn’t help but agree. Anything to quiet the chaos.

“Silence!” Nutmeg called, and the noise eventually dissipated. “Crowtail, Ashheart, please join me up here,” she stepped aside, offering the center of the tire tread. The two cats with strange names made the jump easily, though Midnight noted that the large black cat moved stiffly, like someone much older.

“Nutmeg, have you lost your mind?” someone closeby meowed, and Midnight recognized the voice as Max, from his first patrol. He frowned.

“Listen to what they have to say.” Nutmeg nodded towards them. The black cat sat a little taller, composing herself.

“My name is Crowtail,” she began, introducing herself again. From the deep hue of her pelt, the name made sense to Midnight. After all, he’d been similarly named. “I was once an elder of Shadowclan, one of four clans you call the ‘forest cats.’ There are many of us in the territories, and though I don’t know who it was that kidnapped Nutmeg’s son, I offer our personal apologies for such a heinous act.” Midnight watched Nutmeg closely, though her expression remained passive. The smaller cat beside Crowtail winced, though Midnight wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Those cats, whoever they are, have broken our sacred Code in a grave and catastrophic way. I’ve come before you tonight because my own leader has done the same.”

“Nobody forced you to enter our territory,” someone heckled. Crowtail puffed out her chest and twitched the tip of her tail. Midnight wondered if they had come here to ask for help, or something else.

“I was exiled from my clan when our leader, Brokenstar, deemed the resources of our land too important to give to elders, like myself, or anyone who couldn’t pull their own weight.” 'Exile' was a word Midnight hadn’t heard before, though he could guess at its meaning. It must have meant that Crowtail was not allowed to go back home. She continued. “Lucky told me this afternoon that here, you share food and take responsibility for one another. It used to be like that for us, too. The Code was not enough to protect me,” she said, and her voice broke for a moment. Midnight wanted to look away; he couldn’t bear to hear anymore. “There is no safe place for me in the territories. I can’t ask another clan to take responsibility for me, and I’ve begun to think the others are all in danger from whatever Shadowclan will become…”

As the crowd began to murmur again, Midnight felt his own head crowding with questions. Why would they come here? If Crowtail, or someone she knew, had taken his brother away, he couldn’t imagine those same cats feeling brave enough to intrude again. He wanted to believe her, even though he didn’t understand the forest well enough to evaluate her words. Jake was sitting at the foot of the tire treads, nodding along as she spoke. That seemed like confirmation enough. Jake knew the clans, or at least, he pretended to. Midnight wanted to trust his father in the same way he wanted to trust the stranger.

The concept of “exile” was also troubling, and seeemed too unfortunate to lie about. It’s unfair that they sent her away just because she’s too old, he thought, but I wonder if there could be good reasons to send someone away. There must be, or why would all the grown-ups seem to understand that word?

“Crowtail, they don’t know enough to care about that,” the other forest cat, who had been quiet until now, broke in gently. “My name is Ashheart, and I left because I hate Brokenstar and everything he stands for. We had hoped to pass through your territory quickly and quietly, without troubling anyone today, so we could find a place somewhere else to live in peace. Please, allow us safe passage so we can avoid being a burden to you any longer.” With a nod, Ashheart concluded her simple address.

The crowd was unusually quiet in deliberation. Midnight didn’t want them to leave so soon. He wanted to ask them everything running through his mind. What else was Brokenstar doing, and why did they feel like the rest of the forest was in danger? Such a danger could come here, too, if it could fill the whole forest. If there were really so many cats living on the other side of the fence, did he have any hope of keeping his home safe from them?

“I say we send them off tonight,” Bone suggested, as the first to speak up.

“We should send them back to the woods,” Max said. “I’m sure one of the other clans can take care of them, if there are really so many of them.”

“What does Jake have to say?” Midnight found himself shouting to be heard. It was the only useful question he could think to ask, and he somewhat relished his father’s surprise when Jake turned to see who had asked it. “You know the clans better than any of us here…so are they telling the truth, dad?”

Jake hoisted himself atop the treads after sharing a hesitant glance with Nutmeg. “I believe them, because I’ve been watching the situation unfold since Brokenstar took power,” he said. “I am prepared to escort them safely out of this neighborhood, no matter what consensus the group reaches tonight.”

“Jake, you need to respect the will of the community,” Nutmeg hissed. Midnight felt like shrinking down again, embarrassed by his parent’s inability to cooperate. Mallory cast him a pained glance, clearly feeling the same. “If you agree that we should send them on our way, rise to your feet,” Nutmeg said again, now speaking to the whole group.

“What are the other options?” Bone asked, as if he were coaching Nutmeg through a list rather than genuinely asking.

“We could also send them back to the forest, or keep them here if we feel there’s something to be gained form it,” Nutmeg said. “Those are our three options. So, who would like to send them on their way?”

Bone was first to stand. Most of the cats in the clearing stood up, some of them raising their tails to distinguish themselves among the fray. Midnight held his ground, but Mallory stood.

“You don’t want to get more information from them?” he hissed to her.

“I just want everyone to stop fighting,” she whispered back.

“All in favor of sending them back to the clans?” Jake asked. Another group of cats stood, though not as many as the first. “Okay,” he said, soft and relieved—so quietly that only the cats at the front, like Midnight, could hear.

“All in favor of keeping them here?” Nutmeg asked, tentatively.

Midnight stood. The lithe black cat beside Bone stood up, but nobody else seemed interested in this option.

“You may be seated,” Nutmeg said, shifting nervously on her paws. “Crowtail, Ashheart, you may pass through our territory in peace. I wish you safety and luck,” she addressed the two forest cats, and Midnight’s heart sank as Jake guided them down from the platform. They exchanged brief words with Bone and the unknown black cat, who let the trio pass. The crowd parted to let them through, and Midnight couldn’t see the forest cats anymore after that.

“My part in this Neighborhood Watch is over,” Nutmeg said, “unless anyone else has concerns or important updates.” Nobody spoke up. Gradually, everyone moved from their places and shifted into uneasy conversation.

Something needled at Midnight’s senses, and he realized the other black cat was watching him. Indeed, the stranger was on his way.

“I’m Lucky. I take it you’re Nutmeg’s son?” he asked. Midnight faintly remembered that Crowtail had spoken his name.

“I’m Midnight, and this is my sister, Mallory,” Midnight said, though when he turned to gesture towards his sister, she had already left to play with some other cats their age. “…oh.”

“You wanted them to stay, too?” Lucky asked. “Why?”

“I wanted to know more about the clans,” Midnight said. Sheepishly, he added, “the more I learn, the more scary those cats seem.”

“Is that so?” It seemed like the older cat was testing him with his response. His tone of near-amusement was off-putting, and Midnight wondered if he had said the wrong thing.

“Did they tell you more about Brokenstar?” Midnight asked, hoping to shift the subject.

“I enjoyed my conversation with them this afternoon,” Lucky began, “though I didn’t enjoy that part. He is, apparently, training kittens even younger than you how to fight.”

“What do they fight?” Midnight asked, hoping the answer would not be “other cats.” If there were cats learning how to fight from kittenhood in the woods, it seemed the Neighborhood Watch didn’t stand a chance against their earnest attention.

“Monsters,” Lucky wrinkled his nose. “Badgers, snakes, things bigger or more dangerous than full-grown cats, let alone kittens. Ashheart said that Brokenstar was hoping to find some dogs next, just to test the kittens’ mettle.”

Nutmeg arrived, her ears pinning back as soon as she could hear what Lucky was saying.

“Are you serious?” she hissed. “Don’t tell him that—it’ll frighten him!”

“Mom, we need to know what they’re planning out there,” Midnight protested. “I’m not a baby anymore. I can hear about it.”

“Of course that’s why you were curious,” Lucky frowned, casting his gaze downward. “They also told me how it used to be, and they told me all about the Code. If you understood what they’ve lost, you’d be far more upset about how far they’ve fallen.”

“Brokenstar sounds like a scourge on the name of all good cats,” Nutmeg wrinkled her nose in deep disgust. 'Scourge.' He didn’t recognize that word either, but he could catch the meaning fairly well. A dark spot; a curse. Someone not to be taken lightly.

“We’ll not blight our conversation with his name any longer,” Lucky said. “Midnight, those cats were good, and their home used to be good, even if they had some frightening things to say. Like you, I do wish they could’ve stayed to share with us longer.” Without another word, Lucky walked away.

“I’ll tell Jake to tell you stories about the clans, if that’s what you really want to know,” Nutmeg spoke after an awkward silence. There was an attempt at comfort in her voice, though she seemed to recognize how dubious a possibility that was. “For now, we should find Mallory and head home. You both need rest, and so do I.”

The more Midnight learned, the more he felt like he didn’t understand the world. When Nutmeg got back to her feet and signalled for him to follow, he noticed her injured paw again. She was still walking strangely, yet another reason to worry on the long walk home. He realized after they left the gathering place: she had never mentioned who had done that to her, or why.

Chapter Text

It was a hot day, moreso than most of the days Greenleaf had brought. Many of the apprentices were training in Sandy Hollow, but Redtail had thought of a different assignment for Firepaw that morning. It was nice to be in the cool shade of the forest instead of the open clearing in the beating sun. For the moment, they were pushing aside ferns, in the wake of some prey animal.

“Has the scent faded, Firepaw?” Redtail asked from somewhere further afield, hidden in undergrowth at the moment.

“Not quite, but I worry it’s going stale too quickly for us to find the source,” Firepaw replied.

“You’re sure we’re not following the trail in the wrong direction?” The question felt more like a test than an inquiry. A prompt to double-check his own assumptions.

“I think so, because it was getting stronger and stronger for awhile,” Firepaw replied. As if bestowing a reward upon him for the correct deduction, Redtail finally emerged from the bushes beside, a fresh kill in his mouth.

“I knew it was a squirrel! How long have you had it?”

“I chanced upon it a few trees ago. It must have climbed up here, because I do smell its scent on the bark,” Redtail said, dropping his prey to inspect the tree trunk nearest Firepaw.

“…and then it doubled back to another tree from above?” Firepaw guessed.

“That’s right, it came down over there.” Redtail gestured to the area from where he’d come, which was on the other side of some thorny blackberry shrubs. “The thing practically jumped on me. I don’t think it realized how close we had gotten.”

“Thanks for catching it,” Firepaw said. “Though I wish I could’ve…at least it didn’t get away.”

The steady flow of prey had begun to dwindle. Maybe it was just a change in perspective, because Firepaw and all his friends had bigger bellies to feed now, but it seemed like food wasn’t as plentiful anymore. Still not what Firepaw would call scarce, but definitely fickle.

“Are you game to track another?” Redtail asked.

“Sure, but let’s bring this back to camp.” Firepaw nosed at the squirrel, trying to catch the slight difference between its dead scent and what had been its living scent; there was almost a sweetness which had not been there before, but still, he wondered how he’d missed the approaching smell of it as Redtail brought it closer. All things I suppose I’ll have to learn, he thought.

It was a funny feeling for Firepaw to look towards Redtail and not turn his face upwards as sharply as he used to. In another few moons, he would probably be the same height. He wondered how much he even looked like an apprentice anymore.

“You should be leading the way, actually,” Redtail mumbled through the squirrel. Firepaw nodded, outpacing his mentor and keeping them on course towards camp. He’d become much more comfortable with navigating the clan’s territory, but admittedly, tracking had posed such an engrossing task that he wouldn’t have known which direction to walk if Redtail hadn’t gotten them started.

It was a quiet walk back to camp. As Redtail deposited the squirrel at the prey pile, Spottedleaf and Yellowfang poked their heads out of the Medicine Den.

“Firepaw, did you catch me something?” Yellowfang asked.

“Redtail got it this time, but I was thinking of you,” Firepaw joked back.

“A squirrel counts for more than a thought,” she countered. With a wink, she disappeared into the den again, leaving Spottedleaf alone at the entrance.

“Any dreams from Starclan yet, Firepaw?” Spottedleaf asked, seeming nervous.

“No, why? Have the other apprentices already started getting theirs?” Truthfully, it had not been on Firepaw’s mind at all. Perhaps he had experienced a strange dream or two, after eating old prey or arguing with Swiftpaw or any number of other things that might trouble the mind, but none of them seemed quite right for a Starclan dream. If the other apprentices had begun dreaming strange things, none of them had told him about it—perhaps they pitied him.

“No, no,” Spottedleaf was quick to dispel his insecurity. “I just thought I’d ask. You know the Medicine Den is always open if you need to chat with us.”

“Right, Spottedleaf, thanks,” Firepaw said.

“Shall we get going?” Redtail asked, intervening after playing the spectator all this time.

“Yeah, let’s fill the pile,” Firepaw beamed.

--

Things had been different with Bluestar that morning.

In the long haze of a dreamless sleep, someone she didn’t recognize had appeared. Though the fine mist about him smelled of Starclan, there was a sharpness in his features that looked more wild than even the most grizzled warriors Bluestar had encountered. It was as if the land itself had taken on the form of her kind. He didn’t speak until she did.

“Who are you?” she had asked.

“There is a rift you have the power to mend,” the strange cat had replied, “and a rift even deeper that the fire will mend, whether you help him or not.”

“What do you mean?” Bluestar thought of every wrong she’d ever done, beginning at the river, in her clandestine meetings with Oakheart, and ending at the bloody patch of snow, where she’d left the struggling kittypet queen. “Who are you?” she pressed. This cat’s eyes weren’t yellow, but the dread piercing her heart reminded her of something. Could he be the shadowy nightmare who’d attacked her moons ago?

“Bluestar, remember mercy.” With these words, he faded back into the darkness. Bluestar waited for him to pounce again from the cover of the void, but no attack came. A feeling of complete isolation swept over her like gentle waves lapping at a shore, until the dream state broke. When she awoke, it wasn’t in a breathless fervor, as it had been when her shadowy accuser had pinned her to the den floor. Rather, there was a fading sensation of grief.

What am I to mend? she thought. And what is Firepaw to mend?

Spottedleaf was still chewing on her breakfast of thrush when Bluestar entered the Medicine Den. Yellowfang was nowhere to be seen; without verifying their privacy further, Bluestar was shaken enough to launch right into the details of the dream.

“What did this cat look like, again?” Spottedleaf asked, as Bluestar finished the tale.

“His features were so sharp…It was hard to determine the color of his coat. He was translucent, like water, but there was a silvery sheen when he moved,” Bluestar thought, cocking her head to one side. “For all I know, he was grey-pelted.”

“I don’t recognize him,” Spottedleaf said, nosing the remains of the thrush in Bluestar’s direction. “I’m full, so you should eat something. It’ll help you think.”

“What am I supposed to mend?” Bluestar asked. She took a small bite as Spottedleaf continued to think. “Thunderclan is doing far better than it was before. As for personal wrongs, I don’t know if Starclan would bother sending a stranger to me just to discuss those…and relations between the clans are as peaceful as I can keep them, at least as far as my actions are concerned.” She thought of the unrest in Shadowclan again, dreading the idea of watching that diplomatic balance topple into all-out war.

“I thought of Firepaw’s family while you were telling me about the dream,” Spottedleaf admitted, glancing away. “Though I don’t know how we’d begin to mend that rift. There’s no reason or need for peace with kittypets; they aren’t the clans, nor do they recognize the code. Their territory is meaningless to the rest of us. And…” Spottedleaf looked Bluestar in the eye again. “I’m afraid the only way to mend what you did to that queen would be to give up Firepaw. We can’t afford to do that. We need to keep the fire with us…”

“Because of the deeper rift that cat mentioned?” Bluestar frowned, though she’d been thinking the same thing. Was it a matter of making a choice between the two of them, between what either she or Firepaw could do with their respective destinies? If so, his seemed far more important.

“Yes…for that, it seems crucial Firepaw remain in the forest.” Spottedleaf pinned her ears back as she spoke, in mild distress. “The way you described the stranger reminds me of the founders, and maybe something happened at the beginning of the clans which involves Twolegplace somehow.”

“And that’s why we needed to reclaim someone from Twolegplace?” Bluestar turned the idea around in her head. Perhaps the stranger meant that my small action has already made a difference, and FIrepaw’s destiny will span even greater? That didn’t sit quite right, but it didn’t feel wrong, either.

“Why do you think he wanted you to remember mercy? That part seemed specific, too,” Spottedleaf wondered aloud.

“I thought it was a reprimand for taking Firepaw,” Bluestar admitted, “though I wonder if he only meant that I must keep it in mind. Maybe a decision is coming my way.”

“I’ll do my best to help you,” Spottedleaf said. “If I run into Firepaw today, I’ll ask him if he dreamed about anything.”

“Please do,” Bluestar thanked her, taking one last bite of thrush. She’d only had a few morsels, but it was difficult to eat with so many greater questions swirling around in her head.

As if on cue, Yellowfang emerged from the tunnel, her ears brushing against the ceiling of it atop her large frame.

“Bluestar,” her gravelly voice was no less cordial than the day she’d first arrived in the camp. “You must teach some proper clan history. Just now in the camp, Brightpaw asked me how Spottedleaf had done for herself as my apprentice.” There was a false indignance in her voice characteristic of most of Yellowfang’s jokes. Her eyes glinted, though, with the joy that youngsters seemed to consistently bring her. She had integrated herself so seamlessly, and proven such a valuable ally, that Brokenstar seemed all the more foolish for dismissing his former medicine cat.

“I think there’d be a scandal if anyone knew you came from Shadowclan,” Bluestar teased. “But yes, I’ll ask Robinwing how she’s failed to tell that story to Brightpaw yet.”

Letting Yellowfang stay in Thunderclan was an act of mercy, Bluestar realized on her way through the tunnel. And I let those trespassing Shadowclan apprentices off easy. I wonder if that’s what he really meant. It cheered her heart to think that she’d already been observing the stranger’s advice, even before she’d received it.

--

Firepaw had wanted to continue tracking and hunting for the afternoon, but Redtail eventually brought him to the Sandy Hollow for sparring. Not many apprentices from his age group were still there, though Swiftpaw and Longtail had remained for the late-day sessions. Besides them were Sandpaw, Whitestorm, Greypaw, and Lionheart.

“We’ll be warriors soon,” Greypaw had explained, “so it seems like fighting practice is the biggest priority. Anyone can catch prey, especially when it’s been running so well.” Firepaw chose not to share his concerns about that, hoping his relative lack of experience was just making him hyper-aware.

“Aren’t you tired, though?” Swiftpaw complained from where he was resting in the partial shade of a tall tree outside the hollow. “You and Sandpaw were here before we even arrived. Ravenpaw, too,” he added. The sun dipped a little lower each moment, and soon the hollow would be out of its light entirely, and things would begin to cool off.

“You’ve been giving it your all today, Swiftpaw,” Longtail spoke up before Greypaw could reply. “Greypaw might have been rationing his energy, something you’ve still got to learn for yourself. It’s more important to keep up a constant pace from skirmish to skirmish than it is to dazzle the opponent.”

“I want to do both,” Swiftpaw replied, after a moment’s thought.

“Some can. I hope you’re one of them,” Longtail seemed pleased with his apprentice’s zeal, “but even if not, you will learn what you’re capable of.”

“I’m capable of winning against anybody in a sparring session, even Ravenpaw,” Sandpaw piped up. “You should’ve seen us earlier. He—”

“Sandpaw, are you volunteering for another match?” Whitestorm laughed. “Looks like Firepaw’s fresh from the shade. He should put up a good fight,” he shooed Sandpaw from his side.

“You’re greener than me, so watch your back,” Sandpaw taunted as she padded into the open, flicking an ear.

“Not by much,” Firepaw scoffed, meeting her gaze. Toeing his way closer, he cast a glance towards Redtail. “What are…the rules of engagement?” His gaze flicked between his own mentor and Whitestorm, awaiting their verdict.

“Just go for it,” Whitestorm said. “You’ve done enough combat rounds with rules. On the battlefield, you make it up as you go.”

“I agree,” Redtail meowed.

Before Firepaw could even look back at Sandpaw, he heard her paws skidding against the sand. On impulse, he crouched down. Sandpaw landed on his back, heavier than he’d anticipated and with her claws only partially sheathed. The pain where her claws met his shoulder spurred him to jump, which failed to knock her off completely.
“Hey!” she shouted, and Firepaw knew he had almost loosed her that time. Her forepaws still dug into his shoulders, so he rolled to the side and kicked at her with his back feet. Sandpaw lost her grip on him, and Firepaw was left with a new dilemma.

I can’t leave my belly exposed, he thought, rolling off his back and away from Sandpaw before she could descend upon him. He was on his feet again, and she was crouching post-pounce in the spot he’d just been laying. Little puffs of dust rose around her paws.

“Don’t wait on her to strike!” Redtail prompted, but it was too late to take the feedback, because Sandpaw was already moving toward him again. Firepaw batted at her face, nearly catching on her snapping teeth. Taking a cue from her, he managed to bite her paw the next time it came close enough. In the moment she recoiled, he skirted to the side and lunged at her flank. She held the bitten paw in the air, which helped his chances of knocking her over.

“I’ll get you back!” she cried, mid-turn by the time he made contact. Awkwardly, the force rolled her most of the way onto her back, and he pinned her to the ground. Her slight size advantage made it easy for her to bunny-kick him away.

Ouch! Firepaw landed awkwardly on a rear leg, feeling the ankle twist. In a moment that felt like brilliance, he sprung back into the air, moving his weight off the leg before anyone could see that his landing had gone wrong. He aimed for Sandpaw again, hoping to redo his pounce. This time, he was able to knock her down and lay his body across hers at an angle, keeping his stomach well away from her rear legs.

“I’ve got you pinned! Do we call it?” Firepaw spoke, addressing Sandpaw, then turning towards the watching mentors.

“Not so fast!” Sandpaw protested, craning her neck to bite Firepaw’s foreleg. The surprise of it shook him off again, but he was beginning to get the sense that Sandpaw would prevail no matter what he tried.

I’d probably use this as a chance to run away, if it were a real fight, he thought, watching her rise to her feet.

“Her stomach was exposed!” Whitestorm called, and Sandpaw wrinkled her nose as she braced herself again.

“You could’ve kept her down,” Swiftpaw meowed. “Why’d you let a bite stop you?”

“Let them fight,” Longtail reprimanded. “Nobody heckles you when it’s your turn, Swiftpaw.”

I keep missing opportunities to strike, FIrepaw thought. Is it because she’s my clanmate, or because I still haven’t learned enough? They were circling one another, a sure sign to Firepaw that the skirmish had reached a stalemate.

“Why don’t you try again?” Sandpaw said, politely but insistently, and Firepaw almost wished she had been jeering instead of coaching him. His sides heaved, and his rear leg was definitely beginning to ache, but he didn’t want to give up here.

“I can see how you beat Ravenpaw,” Firepaw said, hoping to disarm her with the compliment. Could he get her talking and strike while she was distracted? “He’s a tough cat.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” her tail lashed and her ears pinned back a little more. She’d likely guessed what he was trying to do. He noticed that she was still walking normally on the forepaw he bit earlier, feeling glad he hadn’t really harmed her, but simultaneously frustrated that he’d failed to give himself an edge, or even an equal playing field, compared to his own leg.

Her first move was to get on my back, Firepaw thought. She was pretty hard to shake. If I could just… Firepaw faked her out, shifting his weight to one side. She closed in on the space he’d feinted toward, but he was already ducking backwards into a pounce. She hesitated too late, and Firepaw stuck the landing. Clumsily perched on top of her, he had to figure out what to do next, before she shook him. Her legs buckled, surprising Firepaw, and she landed with one foreleg sticking straight out.

She must not have been stable when I landed, Firepaw realized.

“Hey, my leg’s twisted! Okay, okay, get off!” she yelped, and Firepaw hurriedly bumbled to the side, letting her back up. “That was pretty good,” she said, once she’d gotten to her feet again. She shook herself as if she was flinging water out of her coat after heavy rain, and then sat down to lick the forepaw he’d bitten. “You win.”

“Really?” Firepaw fought the urge to look around, to gauge the reactions of their mentors. This time he kept his eyes fixed on Sandpaw, who had already managed to surprise him more times than she should’ve. She returned his stare with narrowed pupils.

“Really,” she blinked sweetly. Firepaw backed away, still keeping half an eye on Sandpaw, when something barreled into him from just behind. Sandpaw began to laugh, and Firepaw’s panic subsided when he recognized the black-and-white figure pinning him to the sand.

“Got you!” Swiftpaw crowed.

“That was good!” Sandpaw laughed. “I tried so hard to pretend I didn’t notice you!”

“Let me up,” Firepaw squirmed under his brother’s weight. Swiftpaw was still tall and slender, and Firepaw could imagine him looking something like Tallstar by the time he was fully grown. It wasn’t as easy to shove him aside as it had once been.

“I would’ve pounced the moment you looked away, Firepaw,” Sandpaw said. “So I’m glad you finally learned.”

“That was very well done, for both of you,” Whitestorm beamed.

“Let’s take a look at that leg, Firepaw,” Longtail beckoned him over.

“You noticed?” Firepaw tested his weight on the limb, which was already feeling a bit better. He allowed Longtail to sniff at this ankle anyway.

“You don’t get to my age without noticing things like that,” Longtail replied. “Put your weight on it—all of your weight.” Firepaw did, and fought the slight urge to wince.

“It’s not as bad now as it was earlier,” he said. “I think it’s not even a sprain.”

“Just a twist, then. Let me know when I can throw you back in the ring,” Redtail said, walking over to Longtail’s shady side of the hollow. “You did very well. Sandpaw’s got more moons of training, so it’s okay that she kept getting the better of you.”

Firepaw struggled to accept the praise, though he wanted to. It felt almost like Redtail was implying she’d merely let him win—and in a way, maybe she had—but he wanted to do better. Like Swiftpaw, he wanted to dazzle, not just endure.

Chapter Text

It felt like a longer path back home after the Neighborhood Watch. Midnight found himself on alert for any traces of the mysterious forest cats as they went.

He had wanted to follow Lucky to wherever he made his own home after the meeting. There was still a swarm of questions lingering in Midnight’s mind about what the Shadowclan cats had revealed to him. Lucky seemed more enchanted by their customs than wary of the danger they posed, and that didn’t make sense. How could Lucky be so sure?

Instead of following his own inclinations, Midnight trailed after Nutmeg and Mallory, both of whom were chattier than usual.

“I think it went well,” Nutmeg said, for the third time since the meeting had concluded. “I was afraid a fight would break out.” Midnight said nothing. Instead, he kept an eye on her limp to see if it was getting worse, or if that was just his imagination.

“I thought those cats were bad, though,” Mallory meowed. “It would’ve been okay to fight them, right?”

“Well,” Nutmeg hesitated, trailing off. “The cats who took your brother are bad. It would be okay to fight them—and we should all learn how, in case we ever need to defend ourselves.”

“And the forest cats at the Watch said they didn’t take him, after all,” Mallory reasoned aloud.

“Do you believe them?” Midnight asked, interrupting in spite of himself.

“I guess so,” Mallory said. The answer seemed to come to her easily. Midnight wondered if that was the extent of her thoughts on the matter, or if there was more she wasn’t saying.

“Mom, do you believe them?” Midnight pressed. As much as Mallory’s answer had given him to consider, Nutmeg’s was far more critical.

“I believe your father,” Nutmeg replied rather quickly. “And he was willing to vouch for them. After what they told us tonight, I think we all understand the situation in the forest more clearly, wouldn’t you say?”

“Mom,” Mallory’s voice rang with enthusiasm, as if she’d solved a problem she was working out in her head. “Mom, what if we help those cats from Shadowclan to get things back to normal, and then we can all fight to free our brother together? It seems like they’re pretty weak right now, so—”

“That’s out of the question,” Nutmeg’s tail lashed furiously from where she trotted at the head of the line. “We are not getting involved in whatever goes on between those forest cats—”

“Hold on mom, maybe Mallory’s on the right track,” Midnight said, trying to anticipate how such a plan would work itself out. “It could be a good way to know if we’re capable of fighting their forces. If we team up with Shadowclan, we don’t have to depend wholly on ourselves at first.” His fear of Brokenstar, the scourge, had somewhat dissipated with the consideration that maybe he could become an ally. Someone so terrifying could be a useful connection, depending on how much his loyalty would cost. Was it worth making contact? Could the neighborhood cats benefit from the ill will and fierce training the forest clans had already developed against one another?

“Midnight, you can’t be considering this too!” Nutmeg exclaimed, stopping in her tracks to whirl and face the two. “Listen,” she said. “I wanted to prepare you before telling you this, but I think you need to hear it now. You can stop daydreaming about making an alliance with any of those forest cats..”

Maybe it’s a useful daydream, Midnight thought, feeling a tinge of anger at the dismissive tone in his mother’s voice. Upset as he was, Nutmeg’s next words caught him even further off-guard.

“There’s a forest cat who Jake trusts, and that cat thinks he’s seen your brother.”

“Really?” Mallory exclaimed. She looked around, wide-eyed, as if she expected the phantom relative to emerge from a bush at any moment.

“Who is this cat? And where did that happen?” Midnight asked, immediately filling his mind with a million reasons not to believe the report. He felt his thoughts splitting into two distinct paths: I don’t trust a thing those cats might say as individuals…although leveraging their situation as a whole could give us a way to stay safe and get our brother back…

“Midnight, I’m not sure I believe it either,” Nutmeg said, her breath catching in her throat for a moment. “I want to believe it. Jake told me that he might be training as an apprentice in Thunderclan.”

“That means nothing to us if we don’t know what Thunderclan is.” Midnight was quick to point it out, trying to imagine where a clan with such a name might reside. The clan names are so abstract…perhaps Shadowclan would live in the shadow of the trees, and Thunderclan out in the open, where the storms hit the hardest?

“Couldn’t that cat just bring him home to us?” Mallory asked, and Midnight’s heart leapt with jealousy. That was a fine idea, too. “If they met each other already, how hard could that be?” She continued.

“Jake told me they’re from different clans,” Nutmeg said. “So it would be an act of war for him to kidnap your brother. And, since he doesn’t know where he came from, it would be just as bad to force him back home as it was to steal him in the first place.” A layer of grief made Nutmeg’s voice heavy. She shook her head and continued before he could ask if she was alright. “We cannot trust these cats to give him back,” Nutmeg continued. “I’ve been thinking about it since your father told me the news. Rusty is valuable to them somehow; they didn’t take him to hurt him, but they’re still raising him to fight and die for them, if necessary.” Midnight’s heart dropped. “We need to be careful about how we attempt to interact with them, because one wrong move could put him in danger.”

Rusty… If Nutmeg had let the name slip before, it still sounded foreign to Midnight. It felt wrong not to know the name of someone who was supposed to mean the world to him. He imagined what it might be like for Mallory to live and train in the forest, to hunt among savage cats and be reprimanded whenever she was slow or distracted. He imagined trying to learn whatever code the wild cats adhered to, trying to adopt it for himself. He imagined how lonely and frightened he would feel, if someone ripped him away from his own home and family, and he understood what his mother meant.

“It’s not fair,” Mallory said, and Midnight felt the same.

“It’s not, but we are going to do our best to make it fair.” Nutmeg said these words mechanically, as if she were steeling herself to believe them rather than comforting someone else with an undeniable truth.

“How, mom?” Midnight asked. Nutmeg shook her head, turned, and led them the rest of the way home without a word.

--

Midnight waited until everyone was asleep. He knew the sun would rise soon, and his own energy was waning, but he couldn’t settle his mind enough to let dreams in. His goal now had been unavoidable, from the moment Nutmeg had revealed the news.

I have to find him, and I have to make him understand where he’s come from.

There was nothing more frightening to Midnight than the prospect of encountering those wild cats, Thunderclan or not, all alone. But who could he trust, who could he bring with him on such a lonely and essential mission? If he were Rusty, would he believe a contingency of strangers over the desperate plea of one peer?

He was in the backyard before he could think about the noise the cat flap might make as he passed through. He had made the leap to the top of the fence before he could worry if anyone was watching him from inside.

I can’t do it tonight, he knew. I’m not strong enough yet. I am too afraid.

He perched on the narrow plank at the top of the fence, feeling its brittle splinters brush aside as his tail twitched against it.

I need to do it soon, he knew, just as surely as he knew he couldn’t go now. The longer Rusty stayed with his false family, the harder it would be to sway him.

He circled around to the front of the house, walking beside the street. Nothing stirred outdoors, but still, he was afraid to cross it by himself. The way Max had spoken to him so harshly still set him on edge, heightening the fear he already felt about being caught in the path of a car.

His paws carried him as far as the end of his block, where another street cut the neighborhood apart. On the corner, the towering lights the people had made shone down, occluding the stars. Only the moon was visible from beneath these eyes casting their pale, thin light, but the moon was darkened tonight. Midnight felt aware of his smallness, a little black smudge against the sidewalk in a neighborhood that felt like it reflected endlessly upon itself. So many empty, glowing eyes watching over street corners where nothing changed.

Another cat trotted across the street, far enough away that Midnight wasn’t sure how many intersections separated him from the stranger’s company.

The sky was beginning to turn lavender-pale, and Midnight wondered if there was anything he could do to set his mind at ease, to rest. There would be no forest excursion tonight, nor street-crossing practice. Midnight was as alone as he felt.

Chapter Text

Tigerclaw moved through the camp like a rushing wind, fresh from a hunt with Ravenpaw and Dustpaw. The two apprentices had slowed him only a little, and had each brought home a few morsels to offer the camp. Darkstripe was in the main clearing now, though he was nowhere to be seen that morning. He lingered at the entrance to the Warriors Den, vying for Robinwing’s attention again.

So that’s what he’s been up to, Tigerclaw thought. I’ll put him to better work.

“Patrol with me after lunch,” Tigerclaw meowed to him, and Darkstripe was slow to turn his head. “I’ve got an idea you’ll want to hear.” He continued on his way, leaving Darkstripe to make a sheepish excuse to follow him, overhearing Robinwing stifle some laughter as they got further away.

“She likes me, I think. How did Dustpaw do today?” Darkstripe asked, catching up with Tigerclaw to keep pace.

“Great, in spite of your best efforts,” Tigerclaw said. “These older apprentices are getting close to the point where they’ll be wasting their potential still in training; it’s high time they became warriors. Before we know it, Greenleaf will be over and I’m sure Shadowclan will be sizing up our territory.”

“I don’t know what to make of Brokenstar,” Darkstripe said, nodding in agreement. “He keeps boasting about their numbers. Is he bluffing, or is he working up to the implication that they’ll need more hunting grounds?”

“That’s exactly what I think he’s doing.” Tigerclaw’s response was curt, and his gait long as he sped ahead. Redtail had appeared across camp, along with Firepaw. Darkstripe remained at the prey pile, selecting something to eat for lunch, as Tigerclaw went on.

“Redtail,” Tigerclaw hailed him. “Are you busy this afternoon? It’s been a long time since we patrolled together.”

“I suppose I could spare some time,” Redtail blinked congenially. “Shall I give Firepaw some rest? Or would you like to see what he’s capable of?” Tigerclaw regarded his son, who had kept himself from interrupting, with a soft press of foreheads.

“Firepaw can rest,” Tigerclaw said. Addressing his son now, he said, “Ravenpaw will be staying behind as well. You can always spar with him if you want something to do.”

“Okay, dad,” Firepaw beamed. “Can I fetch you both some prey? I just caught a big vole—”

“That’s alright, son. I’m not hungry now,” Tigerclaw said, giving Redtail a nod. “I’ll be with Darkstripe whenever you want to set out. We’ll follow your lead.”

Padding away, Tigerclaw settled on the packed sand where Darkstripe was sharing a squirrel with Dustpaw. Ravenpaw was nowhere to be seen, of course, Tigerclaw thought. That cat is never around when you need him.

Tigerclaw watched with a vague, peripheral awareness as Firepaw broke away from Redtail. Doubtless, his mentor had released him to finally eat a meal, so it was no surprise when Firepaw arrived at the prey pile and surveyed his options. As Tigerclaw turned his attention away, another cat caught his notice: Spottedleaf was crouched over a sparrow, eyes trained on what Firepaw was doing. Nobody else was paying attention to his son, and in fact, Yellowfang was dozing off at Spottedleaf’s side, but the younger medicine cat seemed to be evaluating Firepaw intensely.

It’s not the first time she’s done that,Tigerclaw knew. He recalled the early days of fatherhood, punctuated wth Spottedleaf’s frequent intrusions on Goldenflower’s privacy, always checking on the kits. She visited the Nursery longer for Firepaw and Swiftpaw, it seemed, than she ever did for Frostfur’s kits. Maybe Starclan has put some grand legacy at his feet,Tigerclaw thought. A blessing, as long as it doesn’t overshadow my own.Curiosity spurred him to his feet, but before he could question Spottedleaf, Redtail arrived.

“Are we ready to go, Tigerclaw? Darkstripe?”

“Ready as ever,” Darkstripe licked his jowls and rose with a stretch. “Dustpaw, you can eat the rest of this.”

“Let’s go,” was all Tigerclaw said. They fell in line behind Redtail and exited camp, the dappled shadows of the gorse tunnel choking out the sun in some places.

“Redtail, I was thinking we might cover the Riverclan boundary this time,” Tigerclaw suggested. “We’ve been exerting a lot of energy along the Thunderpath, and I don’t want our other neighbors to forget we exist.”

“A fine idea, Tigerclaw,” Redtail said. “You must know I’ve been eyeing Sunningrocks again?”

“Yes, so have we,” Darkstripe piped up from his place at the rear. “I think a lot of the warriors are in agreement. We’re ready to take it back whenever Bluestar gives her blessing.”

Or someone else, Tigerclaw thought wistfully. “Best to do it before Greenleaf comes to a close,” he said aloud. “Or Riverclan will feel the need for as much territory as they can get, just like the rest of us.”

“Hunting will slow down a bit, yes,” Redtail affirmed. “And if we all fight while we’ve still got full bellies, the better clan will surely win.”

“That means us,” Tigerclaw hissed. “The rivers are low again. I think there are less fish when it gets too late in the season, haven’t you noticed?”

“I’ve not been swimming in a while,” was Redtail’s clipped reply. The group traveled in silence for a bit, winding their way towards the river that separated the clans.

“Yes, we could launch a fine attack…probably as soon as the older apprentices have received their warrior names,” Redtail said, breaking the silence as they neared Treecut Place. Tigerclaw was pleased that the Deputy had been considering the invasion all that time in the quiet.

“Why make them wait? You know, we did such things before we finished our own apprenticeships.” Tigerclaw chose his words carefully. “Time is of the essence. Perhaps Starclan is waiting for them to prove themselves before it’s time to elevate them.”

“He has a point,” Darkstripe was too quick to agree, too eager to support the idea, and Tigerclaw shot a look of stern warning in his direction. The less Redtail felt he was pushed into a conclusion, the better.

“We did,” Redtail grunted as he leapt atop a fallen log, one marked with Riverclan’s scent, though it was a little further across the border than was allowed. “Must be getting close to Sunningrocks again,” he wrinkled his nose, scratching at the bark to cover it with some of Thunderclan’s scent.

“They’d take the whole forest if they could,” Tigerclaw growled, checking other debris in the area for infringement.

“I think any of us would,” Darkstripe mused. Redtail paused his scratching to look at Darkstripe, and Tigerclaw fought a tinge of amusement at how nervous Darkstripe had become under his own gaze. “Just a matter of getting enough food for every mouth,” Darkstripe added quickly. “It would be nice.”

“We’ll keep what Starclan has given, and leave the other stinking territories to their own.” Redtail spoke definitively, descending from the log and flicking his ears. “Right now, Riverclan has a piece of ours, and we’ll get it back someday.” Redtail set a brisk pace as they continued along the border, now on full alert for any intruding scent marks.

Tigerclaw understood the subtext in that “someday;” they were too near the border to have any useful conversation about it without being overheard. That was part of his design anyway: to get Redtail thinking about the land they had lost, and then walk him right past it, where he’d be unable to vent his frustrations, or his plans. Tigerclaw left Redtail to ruminate in this silence for a long time, until Sunningrocks was behind them and Fourtrees close ahead.

“By the way, Redtail, is Firepaw catching up to the others in terms of combat?” Tigerclaw finally breached the quiet. The rustle of something far off in the bushes made them all feel a little more skilled at keeping their stealth; it must not have known they were there until one of them had spoken.

“Firepaw’s a good apprentice,” Redtail began, and Tigerclaw’s mood soured a little. Feels like he’s cushioning his criticism already, Tigerclaw thought. “and I would say he’s on-par with his own peers for sparring. He’s definitely shown a preference for hunting and tracking prey, but that endurance and muscle control has carried into his fighting approach. I think he’ll be a fine and well-rounded warrior when he’s done.”

“He’s only so interested in the prey because it’s running well,” Tigerclaw said, dismissively. “Let me know if he’s still bent on hunting when Leaffall comes, and I’ll talk some sense into him.”

“I’ll let you know,” Redtail said, though there was no confidence behind his voice.

“Maybe he only seems behind because we’re used to Ravenpaw and Dustpaw,” Darkstripe suggested. “They’ve had a few more moons of training, and we drilled them hard at the very beginning.” Tigerclaw could see Redtail’s hackles twitch, if only for a moment, at the implication that he was not trying hard enough. He needs to leave this patrol thinking about Riverclan, Tigerclaw thought. Now is not the time for an argument.

“Perhaps, Darkstripe,” Tigerclaw was quick to speak before Redtail had a chance. “But Swiftpaw is the same age, and definitely the more imposing in a fight. It’s probably as Redtail says; Firepaw’s interests are just…elsewhere.” Redtail continued walking in silence, leaving Tigerclaw little by way of words or body language to infer what he was thinking. “Whatever occurs, I don’t know if Firepaw is prepared for a battle with Riverclan. I will leave that crucial decision to his mentor.”

The tip of Redtail’s bushy tail twitched, and at length, he replied. “It’s too soon to tell, but I think I agree. I’ll have a word with Bluestar about what you’ve both said today; I feel it’s time we retake the land, too. Let me worry about Firepaw, and as for the two of you, discern whether Ravenpaw and Dustpaw are ready to prove their loyalty in such a way. It will be at least as ugly as the last battle, I’m sure.”

Tigerclaw’s nose twitched, a memory of pain streaking through the scar on its bridge. It had been the only prize he’d carried home after the last battle at Sunningrocks. This time, it would be different. He had a plan.

--

Bluestar greeted Tigerclaw, Darkstripe, and Redtail’s patrol as they entered camp, on her own way to the forest for some hunting, when Redtail pulled her aside.

“Can I walk with you?” he asked. “We’ve just had a good conversation, and I’d like to make a proposal.”

“We can sit here for awhile,” Bluestar said. “I’d hate to deny you some rest as soon as you’re back in camp.”

“We should go to your den, at least,” Redtail said. Bluestar felt a deep aversion to this; since the strange dream, it had been harder to sleep in there. The scent of something wild, something like the strange cat, lingered in her memory and filled the den most nights, even if it was not really there.

“Let’s bask on the Highrock instead,” she suggested. “I find the sunlight much nicer now that it’s Greenleaf.” Redtail gave an affirmative nod, and the two of them crossed camp to ascend the boulder. On its sun-drenched top, where little particles of dark, glistening sand were embedded in the rock’s face, Bluestar settled down and drew deep breaths of the warm smell. Across from where she lounged, Redtail sat, his paws primly tucked under his tail.

“We were talking about Sunningrocks,” he said.

Not this again, Bluestar thought glumly. Something of her disappointment must have translated to her expression, because Redtail’s ears eased backward in displeasure and he continued.

“It is a matter of clan pride, of hunting grounds, and of showing our strength, Bluestar. I know you fear whatever Shadowclan has in store, and I do too, but don’t you think the best way to prevent an issue on that front is to reaffirm that we are strong on all fronts?” Redtail huffed. “Our security depends on our ability to keep our whole territory intact. We can’t make concessions any longer.” Bluestar found it difficult to argue with him, though part of her still wanted to.

“Redtail, you know I trust you,” Bluestar said. “I was against taking it back because we really couldn’t spare the strength. At least, not until Firepaw came.”

“There’s more to Thunderclan than Firepaw,” Redtail said, and Bluestar felt the sharp and necessary correction behind his words. “Tigerclaw and Lionheart are still with us, two the strongest warriors in the forest. Between myself and Longtail, we have strategic skill, and between our four oldest apprentices, we have a new group of strong cats, ready to fight. And that’s just to name a few of us.” Bluestar shifted, averting her gaze, as Redtail continued. “We need to let the last Leafbare go; it was merely a trial for us, not the end of the world.”

“I feel like a part of me is different now, no matter how long Greenleaf goes on,” Bluestar said. “A permanent change. I know I can’t afford to let that dull my judgement, but it’s hard to imagine a victory at Sunningrocks even now, with all the other blessings Starclan has sent our way.” And other omens besides, Bluestar thought. She still hadn’t told Redtail anything of the strange dream, and feared that confiding in him now would only make her appear sentimental and strange.

“Bluestar,” Redtail said, “You’re my leader. I am content to follow you, and the code says your word is law. I understand that things have changed, but change is life. You must embrace the change in yourself, rather than continue to hide from it. You knew loss before Leafbare, and though I don’t wish you more of it, we will surely all know loss again.”

“You’re telling me to be strong,” Bluestar said, rising to her feet.

“I am,” Redtail murmured.

“I can do that,” Bluestar said, and in the moment, she believed it. “Our clan is strong again, so their leader must be, too.”

“That’s the spirit,” Redtail said, pressing his forehead against hers. “You know I won’t make any plans without you, but Tigerclaw brought up a good point.” Bluestar’s heart dropped a little at Tigerclaw’s name; no matter how long they coexisted in the clan, some of the bad blood still lingered. “He mentioned that the oldest apprentices may find this the perfect challenge to earn their warrior names.”

Bluestar considered this idea; if the suggestion had come from any other cat, she would have agreed more readily. “Tigerclaw has a point,” she finally replied. “I’ll think it over while I hunt, and we’ll speak again tonight. Find some cats who you trust to help us plan this, and we can all put our heads together after dinner.”

“As you wish,” Redtail said, barely hiding the satisfaction in his voice. Fast as a squirrel, he descended back into camp, his tail flaming deep crimson behind him like a banner. Bluestar followed. On her way out of camp again, she considered the following things: how Thunderclan could reclaim Sunningrocks, and how she could reclaim herself.

--

“Firepaw, have you heard the news?” Ravenpaw barreled across the clearing in the evening sun, looking like a deep shadow against the ground. Firepaw was just outside the Apprentice’s Den, sharing tongues with Swiftpaw after some sparring practice.

“What happened?” The brothers asked, though not quite in unison.

“Nothing bad, I hope,” Swiftpaw added.

“It’s a secret, but we’re going to retake Sunningrocks! And the best part is, Tigerclaw said I can fight!” Ravenpaw squirmed on his feet, tail lashing. “It’ll be my first real battle!”

“Hey, are you allowed to tell us this?” Firepaw shushed, hoping the whole camp wouldn’t notice his friend’s excitement.

“He just said it was a secret, mousebrain,” Swiftpaw said. “So that means we aren’t allowed to tell anyone else.”

“Exactly,” Ravenpaw said.

“When did they decide on this?” Swiftpaw asked. “Dad’s told us so many stories about battles,” he added. Firepaw could sense how badly his brother wanted to be included, and he felt the same.

“Tigerclaw said they decided this morning on patrol,” Ravenpaw beamed. “He was with Redtail and Darkstripe. So Dustpaw is coming, for sure.”

“Wait, with Redtail?” Firepaw’s tail twitched. That’s why dad took him on patrol, he thought. It was to plan the battle, I guess. He wished he could feel prepared to fight for his clan and for his territory, just as Ravenpaw and Swiftpaw did, but he couldn’t quite believe in himself that way. Not yet; not while it felt like he was losing fights in sparring practice more often than winning them. Even his own father had begun making remarks during whatever quiet moments remained to their family.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure you’ll get chosen,” Swiftpaw said, giving him a lick on the ear. “You got to go to the Gathering pretty early, after all.”

"Look, they're all talking with Bluestar now," Ravenpaw whispered, and the three turned their attention towards Bluestar's den, where Redtail, Tigerclaw, and some other cats were slinking through the entrance. In that moment, Firepaw wished he could eavesdrop more than he wished for anything else in the world.

“Do you want to practice sparring?” Firepaw asked, knowing that the best way to use his emotions was to channel them into something practical. “We could get Greypaw to join us, too, so we don't have to all take turns.”

“That’s a great idea, Ravenpaw said. He was already poking his head into the Apprentice’s Den when he added, “I’ll figure out where he is, and then we can start.”

Chapter Text

Hi everyone,

Despite having the next four chapters outlined in detail, I’ve had writers block for the last week and a half. I started the overdue chapter last week and couldn’t make the deadline, then figured, “no worries, I’ll post it when I’m able.” I’ve been chipping away at it since then, but I have to travel this upcoming weekend for a friend’s wedding, so I’m already not confident I’ll have an update for you by Friday.

We’ll be taking a walk in Midnight’s shoes whenever I get the next chapter posted, and then we’ll begin to have some real fun in Thunderclan after that. I think some of the pressure is because the fic has arrived at a point I know a lot of readers have been waiting for, and I want to execute the coming chapters well because I’ve really only got one shot at making my alternate plotline “stick.”

I hope I didn’t get anyone’s hopes up too much by posting today’s update as a chapter, but I wanted to make sure everyone knows I’m not abandoning the fic! Chapters may come sporadically until I get my groove back. I’ve never had so many active readers while a story was being published, and I’ve never written such a long fanfic in the first place. I’m thankful for each one of you, but this project has definitely been an adjustment!

Sending love and good vibes until I have something more substantial to offer.

Chapter Text

On streets still lit by warm sunlight, Bone trotted through the neighborhood without making a stop at Nutmeg’s. Midnight watched from indoors as the patroller passed by, waiting for the right moment. As Bone disappeared from view, Midnight moved to the door. In no time, Bone would come back around the cul-de-sac and appear within his sights again. Midnight passed noiselessly through the cat flap and crept low across the front lawn. Chattering squirrels in the neighbor’s tall oak tree pelted a few acorns in Midnight’s direction, but he continued onward without a passing glance.

Midnight had arrived at the barrier between grass and stone, hanging back from the sidewalk until he could see that Bone was coming back in the right direction. There was a parked car in front of his peoples’ house, which would make a handy hiding place in this instance, but Midnight wondered how he would’ve handled the situation without the car; blind speed, maybe. Underneath the car, the scent and heat of the black road was pungent. Even in the shade, it felt like whatever sunlight the road had soaked up was now issuing directly onto Midnight’s paws. He squirmed a little, but held his ground. This was the hiding place you chose, he told himself.

Bone appeared in the trailing branches of the the unkempt hedges which had grown over the sidewalk on the exit of the cul-de-sac. He would be passing directly across from Midnight’s house in the span of a few moments. Time to go.

Checking once, then twice in each direction, Midnight knew the road was clear for him to cross. Without allowing room for hesitation, he bolted over the hot black stone, which was even harsher on his paws in the direct sunlight. Appearing like a vision on the sidewalk, Midnight crouched in front of Bone just as he arrived on the neighboring sidewalk square.

“Midnight!” Bone startled. “Where’d you—” his green eyes darted between Nutmeg’s house and the pavement before him. “You crossed it?”

“Mom’s been helping me,” Midnight crowed, feeling himself stand a little straighter with pride. “But I’ve been doing it by myself for days now.”

“Glad to see it,” Bone gave him a friendly blink, beginning to walk around Midnight so he could continue his patrol. Midnight turned and kept pace.

“I want to patrol with you today,” Midnight said. “At least as far as Lucky’s place.”

“Lucky’s place? I didn’t know you’d been that far before,” Bone trailed off, eyes wandering back and forth as he figured the distances in his mind. “I usually don’t patrol over that way, but I guess it’s not too far.”

“Oh, I see. I only went there once, so I thought I’d ask for a little help finding the right street again,” Midnight bluffed. He had not been to Lucky’s place yet, nor had he spoken with the other cat since the previous Neighborhood Watch, but Bone was as easy to work this magic on as he’d anticipated. Not like Nutmeg, who always caught on too quickly, or Mallory, who was stubborn enough that it never mattered whether she believed him or not.

“That’ll be easy, it’s one block away from the street with the big tree at the end. Didn’t your father ever show you that tree?” Bone trotted faster as he spoke, and it set Midnight’s mind at ease. The older tom was as easygoing as ever. “Jake was always fond of spending time there. He and Nutmeg passed by my old house whenever they went that direction. Sometimes they’d stop in to say hello.” Midnight had forgotten that Bone had ever lived with people. That’s because mom doesn’t like me to bring it up with him, he recalled, because his people had been so cruel. Not like ours.

“If you miss having a house, I think our people are nice enough to—” Midnight began, wondering how it would be to have another cat around. He would be able to start off every patrol with Bone, whenever he wanted to come along. Bone would be able to help Nutmeg sneak food out to the other street cats, and he’d be well-fed himself. Mallory would have someone to talk to—someone like a father, Midnight supposed, though it was hard to picture Bone that way. But Bone had interrupted him, and in the tiny span of silence that followed his interruption, Midnight closed the door on the whole idea, because cats rarely interrupted to say “yes.”

“No, Midnight, I don’t,” Bone sighed. “I only miss a house when it’s cold and wet, and even then, not by much.” It felt like a lie, but Midnight wasn’t sure how to probe any deeper, so he let it alone.

“Okay. Well, you know you’re always welcome for food and company,” Midnight said.

“Your mother has always been very kind to me.” Bone said. “I’m glad to know I have someone looking out for me. You’re good friends.” The way Bone said it, it seemed like he was describing a rare stroke of luck, and Midnight wondered how many other street cats could say the same.

“Do you think the Neighborhood Watch has given that safety to anyone else, or is it just because you and my mom were friends before it all started?” he watched Bone think, his companion’s white whiskers twitching a little before he answered. Everyone knew the Watch was vital to Nutmeg, and Midnight expected Bone phrase his response diplomatically, knowing he was talking to the founder’s son. Still, he wished for brutal honesty; was the Watch really working out for anyone? It was hard to tell. I’m still determining how important the Watch is to myself, Midnight thought.

“I think the loners are still loners,” Bone said, and Midnight thought of Jake. Bone continued. “…but everyone else chats more often now. There are friendly faces along my patrol route, but I wouldn’t say the whole neighborhood feels unified.” Bone cast Midnight a reassuring look before he added, “…and that’s okay. We can only come together so much, when housecats and street cats have such different lives.”

“And if we split into two groups, we’d have all the same problems as those forest cats,” Midnight pondered aloud. Nutmeg had always called it a “tribalistic mentality,” while cats like Jake or Lucky called it culture, but it seemed clear to Midnight that it was causing problems no matter what it really was, or how it came about. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about what the Shadowclan cats had said. He wanted to know more, and he was going to search it out today. Lucky would tell him.

“I think you’re right,” Bone replied. Midnight suspected that if he understood the life of a street cat more empathetically, it would be easier to find common ground. House cats and street cats live such different lives, that maybe there’s already a kind of tribalism built into our society.

Midnight followed Bone in silence until they had come to a part of the neighborhood he didn’t recognize. He would likely be all alone on the return trip, something he hadn’t let himself worry about until this point, and he hoped he’d be able to remember his way. Navigation was still a weak point. Thinking about it made him nervous, and he glanced around for landmarks of any kind.

“That tall tree down there, that’s the one you were talking about, right?” Midnight asked, spying a towering pine in someone’s yard down the street.

“No, it’s not that one. I thought you said you’d been this way?” Bone eyed him carefully. “Midnight, do you really know the way to Lucky’s?” The older cat stopped, looking into Midnight’s eyes, and it felt like there was no way to keep up the act.

“…I don’t know the way,” Midnight admitted. “But I wanted a word with Lucky, and I thought it would be pretty easy to follow you.. I didn’t want it to seem like I wasn’t…allowed, I guess.”

“Wouldn’t Nutmeg take you, if you asked her?” Bone asked, cocking his head to one side.

“I don’t want her to know I’m interested in learning things about…those forest cats,” the confession spilled out, unprecedented and unanticipated. Bone nodded in understanding.

“She gets cagey about them, for sure,” he said. “For good reason, but I understand why you’d be concerned about her getting…the wrong idea.” Pausing again, evaluating Midnight with another leveled glance, Bone turned to guide the way again. “I’ll show you where Lucky lives, then.”

“Thanks, Bone,” Midnight breathed a sigh of relief, the tension fizzling out of his limbs as he moved to follow again. They wove around a few street corners, crossing the road once, then twice, and when Midnight was thoroughly disoriented, that’s when Bone let him know they were getting very close.

“Lucky lives in there,” Bone said, gesturing towards an alley across the street with his nose. “I’ll watch your back while you cross, but I’d like to go home myself.”

“What about the way back?” Midnight asked, eyes wide.

“You can test the efficacy of the Neighborhood Watch for yourself, son. Ask someone for help on the way back home, and see how well they do. You can tell your mother about it.” Midnight realized that Bone was giving him an excuse, a cover story, for his excursion today. With gratitude, he nodded, blinking warmly before he turned to cross the road.

No cars, it was safe, and so he entered the alleyway where the eccentric black cat was sitting on the other end.

“Nutmeg’s son?” he rasped, rising to his feet with a long stretch. “You’re…”

“Midnight,” he reminded.

“Right. You’ve come to ask about those wild cats,” Lucky said, a knowing glint in his eye.

“How did—?”

“It’s the only thing we’ve ever talked about,” Lucky said, matter-of-fact in a way Midnight couldn’t have denied, even if the other cat had been wrong. But Lucky was right. “It hasn’t been so long since that meeting, and I remember how worked up you seemed to be. What else could you possibly want?”

“I need to know what the forest is like. Where the territories are, for example, and who lives where.” Midnight felt somewhat uncomfortable making demands of an older cat, especially on that cat's own turf, but there had been a strange, confrontational air about the conversation from its beginning. Even if Lucky didn’t appreciate his presence, he couldn’t allow this opportunity to slip through his paws.

“You think they told me all that?” Lucky meowed. “They told me stories of cats they knew and loved, companions they would miss. They told me how good it was when their leader had been honorable and when their code had meant something. They let me see what it was like to lose a home.”

“I lost something like that. I lost a brother,” Midnight pleaded.

“You didn’t know him,” Lucky said, carefully and gently, and the delicate lilt in his voice was more insulting to Midnight than if it had been a direct reprimand. “I know that might sound cold, but you don’t have to adopt your mother’s grief.” Lucky blinked, seeming to ponder some more, while Midnight festered in resentment. “Her story doesn’t have to dictate yours.” Lucky puffed his fur a little, hastily licking it back down around his shoulders. Midnight shook his head in protest.

“I have to bring him home,” Midnight knew he was confessing far too much, but Lucky seemed to appreciate earnesty, so he allowed himself to say more. “Those cats said that life was becoming dangerous among the clans. Their story,” he spat, “shouldn’t dictate my brother’s.”

“Midnight, even if I had the information you wanted, I’m not sure I would tell you.” Lucky began to lick his forepaw, a nervous energy to his movements. “Your mother would kill me, for starters.”

“She wouldn’t have to know,” Midnight protested, lashing his tail. “I could bring him back home before she even noticed I was gone.”

“You couldn’t,” Lucky brushed past him, leaving the alley. “I’ll help you home, now.”

“Let me do it myself,” Midnight spat. “I know the way.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” there was an undertone of amusement in Lucky’s voice. “If you really insist, I suppose I can let you go.”

Midnight barreled across the street, emotions clouding his senses so that he wondered if he’d actually made it across when he reached the other side. Perhaps he’d been blindsided by some car without even noticing, and perhaps the afterlife was a corridor of unknown streets for him. Would it be swaths of unknown trees for his brother? I need to get a grip, he thought.

He was vaguely aware of Lucky’s presence, following him like a shadow, but he had no willpower to turn around and chase the tom away. It was true that he didn't know the way home. The part of him that recognized Lucky's escort as kindness was too annoyed to be grateful. The part of him that had believed he could gather information, infiltrate the clans, and free his brother had been wounded. If he was so easy to see through for a stranger who had only met him once, he still had a long way to go before he could enter the woods. He was not the cat anyone needed him to be—not yet. He walked in the direction he remembered coming from with Bone, wondering what he would do when his memory failed him.

Somewhere behind, the sound of rustling bushes caught Midnight’s attention. Lucky seemed to be diverting from the path, no longer following at a distance, but ducking into a low hole between two boards on someone’s fence. Midnight paused, glancing back for any trace of the other cat’s re-emergence, which never came. It seemed that he meant to stay in the unknown yard.

Should I go in, too?

The bedraggled fence Lucky had disappeared through was attached to an old house, its windows spiderwebbed in cracks, and the roof drenched in trailing green vines. It was apparent that nobody had lived inside for the duration of Midnight’s lifespan, or, he guessed, even his mother’s.

Lucky’s probably just hunting…I bet there are loads of mice running wild back there, Midnight thought, imagining how unkempt the yard would be after years of neglect. Still, something compelled him to retrace his steps, doubling back towards the dilapidated house. Whatever Lucky had found worthwhile there, Midnight wanted to see it, too.

Chapter Text

Lucky’s trail led Midnight through the gap in the fence, into an impossible labyrinth of sharp-smelling juniper bushes and yew hedge.

“You need to get your son under control.” Lucky’s voice drowned out the anxious sound of Midnight’s movement through the overgrown shrubs. He had approached the abandoned house slowly, fearing any tricks the older cat might have been thinking to play on him. That had given Lucky enough time to delve into conversation. Apparently, someone else had already been present in the forsaken backyard….and it was someone Midnight didn’t want to see.

“Nutmeg’s got them playing ‘clans’ to deal with it. There are worse ways to channel their grief,” Jake meowed. His voice was unmistakable, but something tainted it here. Around the fringes of his typical casual warmth, a tension had crept in. “I’m sure she knows what to do.” Midnight crouched lower in the scraggly branches, hoping the noise wouldn’t give him away. This didn’t sound like a conversation Lucky had meant to lure him into. Lucky’s disappointed sigh was barely audible. Maybe he’d assumed this would be a quick argument. He meant to send Jake after me and wash his paws of the whole affair, Midnight thought, crestfallen.

“Jake, get a grip.” For all of Midnight’s frustrations with Lucky, his heart warmed to hear someone calling his father out so boldly. Lucky continued. “You’ve never been the type to walk out on anybody, for as long as I’ve known you. Those kittens never knew their brother; the only way they can miss him is through their mother’s feelings. I know whose company they’re really lacking.”

Seriously? Midnight thought. Of all the cats in the world, Jake is the last—

“What are you implying, Lucky?” Jake’s incredulous tone mirrored that of Midnight’s thoughts. “I told Nutmeg I wasn’t really sure how to be there for them, that I needed her to direct me. She wants nothing to do with me. She’s made that much clear.”

Lucky grumbled something inaudible, and nothing more was said. In the silence, Midnight felt conscious of his hiding place in the bushes. He’d done his best to follow Lucky’s path in, which meant he was likely stuck in the direct path of Lucky’s way out. If the conversation was over, he’d be discovered soon, but there was no opportunity to move elsewhere unless his noise was masked by their conversation.

“I’ll talk to him,” Jake finally said, and Midnight wasted no time worming his way into the branches to his side. They were sharp, but it was dark enough in here that perhaps, if he kept still…

“He’s just down the street,” Lucky said.

How am I gonna get out of here? Midnight squirmed as the branches further away began to rustle.

“I’ll follow you,” Jake said, and Midnight could now hear the two of them moving through the hedge together. They were getting closer, and discovery seemed inevitable. Carefully, quietly, he stepped onto the center of the path and stood up. It felt good to stretch his limbs after crouching in such tension.

“Hello…?” he mewed, moving back and forth on his legs. “Lucky, are you in here?”

“Son? S’that you?” Jake called back.

“Oh, hey dad,” Midnight said, trying to look surprised in case they could see him through the branches. He was still searching the undergrowth for either of their forms, but that didn’t mean he was invisible too.

“You should backtrack, Midnight,” Lucky said from somewhere closer than Jake had been. “You’re probably blocking the best path out.”

“Okay,” Midnight replied, grateful to make his exit before either of the others could infer how far he’d made it into the yard, or guess at how much he’d overheard. He waited just outside the fence, catching occasional glimpses of his father’s orange pelt in the dappled light.

“Lucky thought you might be in the area,” Jake said, finally pushing through the last of the branches and the gap in the fence.

“I need to talk to you, dad,” Midnight said, swallowing his pride with the final word. Lucky arrived, whiskers twitching in what Midnight felt was annoyance. “I had some questions,” he continued, pushing past whatever Lucky might think. If he’d already warned Jake not to talk about the forest cats, then so be it, but it was worth a try. At least having some subject to speak of would make the awkwardness of reunion less sharp.

“Let’s chat as we walk,” was Jake’s breezy reply. Midnight nodded, falling into step beside the orange tabby.

“Safe travels,” Lucky called, trotting away from them in the direction of his alley.

“I’ve been thinking about the forest cats,” Midnight said. “I want to know more about them, but Lucky wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Well, Lucky doesn’t really interact with them,” Jake huffed. Jake sped up so it was difficult for Midnight to keep pace and talk at the same time; he still wasn’t quite as grown as he wanted to be, and his legs were barely too short for this application. Midnight was afraid to mention this, and did his best.

“But he spoke with the two cats from…Shadowclan, I think it was,” Midnight said. “You know I must be curious about…”

“Your brother? I know.” Jake trotted a little faster, rounding a corner so smoothly that Midnight almost kept walking straight ahead without him. Jake continued. “Your brother…is a painful moment we need to all move beyond.”

“He’s a cat, just like you and me, dad. He’s not a ‘moment.’” Midnight couldn’t keep the anger from his own voice, not when he was upset on behalf of his brother.

“I know that,” Jake snapped. “I just mean…he’s got a whole different life now. It is a tragedy that we lost him, but it’s not like he’s dead, and we can’t really change things.” Jake looked down at Midnight, making eye contact for the first time in a long time. His eyes felt cold.

“Those cats said the clans were in danger,” Midnight protested. “So he’s not dead now, as far as you know, but something bad could happen—”

“Something bad could happen to any of us. I could get hit by a car tonight on my way home from your mother’s place.” Jake didn’t raise his voice, but Midnight could feel the frustration beneath his words. It stung. Midnight was grateful that he was too breathless from keeping pace to say anything back, because he knew his own fury would end the conversation then and there. “With what your mother’s trying to do,” Jake continued, “things might get just as bad in the neighborhood as they are in the forest. We don’t need the concept of clans; we are already divided here, but there was never a reason to focus on it before.”

“That’s stupid!” Midnight said, stopping on the sidewalk for breath, and unbothered that his father kept walking. “Those cats kidnapped him, dad. You still have the nerve to associate with them, while mom spends all her time trying to keep the rest of us safe.”

“There is nothing to protect us from,” Jake said, stopping a few sidewalk squares away, and looking ahead. “They do not care about us. We are nothing to them.”

“You too? Are you nothing to them? You call them your friends.” Midnight hissed, lashing his tail. Jake finally turned, a hint of discomfort on his face.

“I have friends among them,” he said. “I’m not nothing…but I’m not one of them, and I’m not one of you.”

“But…you’re my dad,” Midnight strained his voice to keep it from breaking, felt his hackles raising. “You’re my dad,”

“That’s not what I meant—” Jake raised his voice, moving closer, and Midnight couldn’t suppress the urge to hiss.

“I’m not ‘nothing,’” Midnight spat, “and I’m certainly not one of you either.” Shoving his way past Jake, he bolted down the street towards his best guess at home. He would find his way properly when his eyes were no longer blurry, when his ears were no longer buzzing; until then, he would run.

Jake’s calls behind him faded as his father realized any pursuit was in vain. It wasn’t long before Midnight was alone again, and the sun sank ever-lower, painting the sky bright orange.

—

Nutmeg was still pacing at the entryway, sticking her head through the cat-flap, after dinner had been served. She had picked at the dry, hard kibble, leaving the rest to Mallory with strict instructions to save a portion for her brother.

Now Bone approached on his evening rounds, and Nutmeg stuck her head through the cat-flap to see if her son would come bounding behind him; Midnight was nowhere to be seen. Without needing to be called, Bone approached the front step.

“Have you seen Midnight anywhere?” Nutmeg called.

“I saw him today around noon,” Bone said, tail twitching. “I walked him to the other side of the neighborhood, over by Lucky and Jake’s…is he not back yet?”

“You left him there?” Nutmeg yelped. Mallory had told her nearly the same; she had suspected Midnight had left to patrol with Bone: apparently he’d been talking about it in the previous days. Of course, none of this had been shared with their mother until it had already come to pass. It seemed everyone knew where Midnight had gone, but nobody knew where he was.

“I told him to find another cat in the Watch to take him home…” Bone took a few steps backwards, and Nutmeg half-feared he would run away. “I’m so sorry, Nutmeg, I’ll go find him—”

“Please bring him home! If you can’t find him by nightfall, come back here and I’ll go and search for him!” She called. Bone nodded, whirling around and taking off with a leap across the front lawn.

Had the Watch failed her son? Had it failed her?

“Mom,” the voice sounded from behind her, from within.

“Mallory,” Nutmeg said, pulling her head back through the cat-flap and into the house. “I’m very disappointed in you. Why didn’t you think to tell me he was planning this?”

“I’m sorry, mom,” Mallory avoided eye contact, sulking. “I want to look for him. Please let me help you?”

“I suppose I’ll have no choice. You’d leave home anyway, as soon as I left, wouldn’t you?” Nutmeg sighed, casting a sad glance at her daughter. Mallory nodded in silence. “Where did I go wrong with you both?”

“You didn’t, mom,” Mallory mumbled. “You taught us to always look out for each other.”

“Are there more secrets you’ve been keeping for your brother? Is that how you’ve been looking out for him?” Nutmeg asked, keeping her voice under control. She had always sworn she wouldn’t yowl at her children; until now, she had kept that promise to herself. She’d tried to be gentle and reasonable with them. But then, nothing they’d done or said had pushed her so far out of her comfort zone before.

“I don’t think so,” Mallory said, and Nutmeg wouldn’t have believed it except that her daughter could finally look her in the eye. “I think this is the only thing he ever talked about when you weren’t around.”

“If you remember anything else, would you please tell me?” Nutmeg said, hoping to nudge Mallory to think a little harder. If that was the truth, she would be happy to accept it, but something sparked her worry.

The sound of paws on the front porch—Mallory’s ears twitched forward, and Nutmeg felt her breath catch. She had turned and jumped through the small opening before she had time to think. Expecting to see her slight, dark shadow of a son, instead, there was a bulky orange tabby on the front step.

“Nutmeg, I—” Jake opened his mouth to speak, but Nutmeg couldn’t withold the desperate question that overtook her as soon as she’d seen him. The disappointment of finding someone other than Midnight on the other side of the door had been eclipsed with a glimmer of faint, though tangible, hope.

“Jake, have you seen Midnight? Bone said he went to your part of the neighborhood, but I don’t know if he—” Jake interrupted.

“I have,” Jake sighed. “I was with him not long ago. He ran off, and I’ve been trying to find him…but it took long enough that I knew I needed to check here.”

“Why did he run? What happened?” Nutmeg looked around, as if expecting to see her son somewhere within sight, just because Jake had been with him most recently.

“I said some things that upset him. He took it the wrong way, and he was just…gone. He’s a sensitive cat,” Jake’s ears eased back against his head in discomfort.

“And you can be a thoughtless one,” Nutmeg said, though distantly. “Tell me where he ran? Show me the way?”

“Nutmeg, I’m worried he might’ve tried to get to the forest,” Jake’s voice came no louder than a whisper now. Nutmeg shrank back, wishing she had misheard. “I don’t know for sure—! He doesn’t seem to know his way around most of the neighborhood, and we were far from the edge when he ran away, but Lucky told me some things that worry me.”

Nutmeg shook her head, opening her mouth and finding nothing to say. Mallory poked her head through the cat-flap behind them, the sound distant and unremarkable to Nutmeg’s senses. Jake was saying something, though his voice, too, felt far away.

The Watch has failed me. I need to make it stronger. It had been the failing of every adult Midnight had encountered today that he was unaccounted for—and possibly stranded in the very place she feared most.

“Mom, dad promises he’ll find Midnight,” Mallory nudged her, having emerged from the house to sit beside her mother on the porch. Nutmeg was pulled back into the moment.

“We will find him together,” Nutmeg hissed. “All of us. I’m not letting anyone else out of my sight until my son is home.” She stood, lashing her tail. “Let’s go.”

“I am home,” the voice emerged before its source was visible, but it was him. It was Midnight.

Coming around the dense hedge in the neighbor’s yard, he emerged, small and dark in the fading twilight. The blue hour was ending, air heavy with pigment, and all the highlights on Midnight’s fur shone like the sky after the sun had sank. He came trotting across the yard like a dream, restored to her in a way she could not believe.

“Did you find your own way?” Nutmeg asked, as her son pressed his face into the fur on her cheek.

“I did. Mom, I’m so sorry I worried you.” Midnight turned to look at Jake, and something unspoken passed between them. Jake withdrew, now ducking his head as if in deference.

“Jake, find Bone and tell him he can go home,” Nutmeg called as he left. A coldness had set upon her voice. Whatever had occurred between Jake and Midnight, she knew Jake bore the greater blame. “Midnight,” she said, turning her attention to her son. “We need to talk about this. Come inside at once.”

“I’m happy you’re home,” Nutmeg could hear Mallory whisper as the two passed back into the house behind her.

“I’m suddenly not sure I feel the same,” Midnight replied, too quiet—or so he thought—for his mother to hear.