Feed The Woods

He wasn't that happy. In truth, he still thought that Cottonheart was too impulsive and Deerspring was too hardheaded. But he wasn't Redstar, and if she thought they were good enough to be warriors, so be it. After his sisters' night time apprentice trial with no consideration over what he or mom thought, he trusted them less. Oh, sure, nobody said it was an apprentice trial, but that's what it was, functionally. 'I saw something in a dream' was no excuse to run off in the middle of the night, and if either of them bothered to talk to him, he would've talked sense into them, or at least got mom to stop them.

He was well aware that these feelings were mousebrained and petty, especially after spending half of his life with them as apprentices and training with them every day. He shoved these feelings aside when they were apprentices and got along with them just fine during that time, which is why it was annoying to him that these feelings were resurfacing now. They were warriors now, and it was mousebrained to still be upset about something his sisters did when they were six moons old.

Well, at least he proved to everyone that he was the most reliable cat out of the three of them, in the end. He worked hard, listened closely, didn't argue or moan about chores, and didn't talk back for his whole apprenticeship, and he was rewarded for it by graduating early. Cats trusted him and his judgment way more than they trusted his sisters, and he was grateful that -

"Ai'swif!"

Airswift let out a confused mrrp and sat up. Hazelkit pawed at his back. Interrupted from his thoughts, he blinked a few times.

"Uh…hey, Hazelkit. Need anything?" he asked.

"Ai'swift, why is Cottonpaw now Cottonheart?"

"Well...I mean, she's a warrior now. That's why."

"But why does her name change?"

Airswift blinked quizzically. "...Well, because it just does. You won't be Hazelkit forever either."

Hazelkit frowned, tail twitching. "I know! But isn't 'paw' a grownup name already?"

"No?" Airswift sat up, whiskers twitching. "All apprentices are 'paws', just like all kits are 'kit'."

Hazelkit pouted, tail thrashing. In across camp, Mulberrykit retorted, "See? I told you."

Airswift's ears twitched and licked his paw. "It's okay, Hazelkit. Now you know."

"But why is 'paw' just an apprentice name? There's 'foot'! And 'toe'! And fur, and pelt, and, and..." Hazelkit sputtered, then hissed in annoyance. "It's - it's dumb! Everyone has paws! Why isn't 'paw' a warrior name?"

Airswift knew the kit was embarrassed. Deerspring was like that too as a kit - she hated making mistakes. Remembering how he would smooth things over before, he shrugged and responded casually. "I dunno. It is a bit weird. Maybe there's a reason for it. You could ask Redstar? She's into history stuff."

"Well, I think the reason for it is dumb anyway!"

"What suffix would you give apprentices then?"

Hazelkit opened his mouth, then closed it. Thoughts rotated behind the kit's blue eyes.

"Why don't you come up with ideas with your siblings? You'll be apprentices in a few moons, after all."

Hazelkit brightened, then hopped back towards his siblings without another word. Airswift watched him go, and watched as the kits started bickering and coming up with ideas.

"That was nice of you."

He glanced behind him to see his mother approaching. Cloudthunder sat beside him and gave a knowing look, her copper eyes beaming. Airswift shrugged.

"It was nothing, really."

"Still, I'm sure the kits will remember that as they grow older." Cloudthunder twitched her whiskers. She looked at him fondly. "It wasn't that long ago that you were that small, you know."

Airswift avoided her gaze, embarrassed. "I guess kits do grow up really fast, given how old cats get," he mused half-heartedly.

"This is your second leafbare - and I'm guessing you can barely remember your first."

"Yeah, that's true. I remember the snow melting more than anything." Airswift's ear twitched.

The two cats paused. Airswift didn't like it. His mom did this often - when she could tell that something was bothering him, she'd say nothing and wait for him to speak up. Unfortunately, it worked.

"...Did you ever worry about us?" he asked.

"Of course. Every day. I still do."

"I guess Cottonheart and Deerspring terrified you, then."

Cloudthunder tilted her head. "Did you mean the night they vanished from camp?"

Airswift tensed. "...Yeah."

The molly sighed and shook her head. Her ears flattened. "I will never forget how hurt and angry I was."

A flicker of validation sparked through him. Airswift fought to keep it bottled up. He failed. He wasn't sure if he'd get a chance to ask later. He glanced at her, then said, "Are you worried they'll do something like that again?"

Cloudthunder didn't answer immediately. Instead, she gave her son a thoughtful look, and her tail tapped the snow. "Are you worried?"

That was a good question. Was he worried about it? Sure, his sisters had grown older and were much better at managing their impulses. He didn't think Cottonheart would try to play 'hero' again, and Deerspring learned her lesson about trying to fix problems by herself - to an annoying degree. He didn't know an adult could still be a tattletale. So, not really.

But he couldn't say that he trusted them to lead patrols or be good mentors. It's foxhearted for him to think that, but it's true. And he was pretty sure that if he said that to Cloudthunder, that he'd get some kind of speech about giving them another chance.

Cloudthunder stared at the fire. After a while with no response, she finally said, "I don't think it's wise," the molly glanced at Airswift, "to imagine that they'll do it again."

"I don't think they will," Airswift reassured.

"But you don't trust them."

The tom said nothing.

"Listen, Airswift," Cloudthunder's voice softened. She sidled next to him, then began grooming his head. Airswift sighed, and let out a purr of reassurance. "You have no idea how grateful I am that StarClan blessed me with five beautiful kits. In these horrible woods, two were stolen that night. Ever since then, I've been blessed every single day that I get to spend with you three."

Airswift's heart sank. He knew the story - Cloudthunder told it to them before. She didn't shy away from the fact that they had two other littermates. He was never sure how to feel about it.

"Yes, you make very, very stupid decisions. Dangerous ones, too. They terrify me. But I also know that you can't learn anything without making mistakes, as unfortunate as it is. Maybe if your sisters woke you up that night, trying to convince you to join them, you would've gone too. Or, maybe you would've talked them down, or ran to tell someone right away. We never know what we'll really do until we're put in that position." Cloudthunder stopped grooming her child, and let out a mrrow of amusement. "After all, Deerspring, a rule-follower if I've ever seen one, chose to go with Cottonpaw! You'd think she would have told someone instead, but she didn't. It's easy to say what we would've done in hindsight."

Discomfort balled in his chest.

"All this to say," Cloudthunder finished, "that I am so proud of all three of you. Yes, your sisters made some choices that terrified me in the past. But they learned from them, and they're still here by my side. And I hope when you also make a really stupid mistake," the molly purposefully tilted her head into Airswift's line of sight. Airswift awkwardly glanced away. "That you will have cats by your side that will help you correct it. Although, for StarClan's sake," Cloudthunder's tail twitched, "try not to give us a heart attack like your sisters did."

Airswift let out a mrrow of amusement. "I won't. I promise."

"And please, Airswift. I know you're not the one to be confrontational. But do try to have some trust in your littermates."

"I never said I didn't," he protested.

"I've watched you three for long enough to know when you have doubts about each other," the molly replied.

Airswift opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it as he caught Cottonheart and Deerspring from the corner of his eyes rapidly approaching the campfire. He straightened up and greeted them wordlessly with a raised tail.

Cottonheart bounded up to them with her tail held highly, her face beaming. She purred as she pressed her head against her mother's, then returned the gesture to Airswift.

"Deerspring and I are all set up now!"

"That's wonderful, loves," Cloudthunder purred.

Deerspring approached more casually, careful to not crowd around the fire too closely. She made the same gesture her sister made to her mother and brother, then sat down next to her mother. "Do you know what time Redstar will give us our vigil?" she asked.

"Probably when the sun goes down," Airswift replied. "It's what happened to me."

"What are we even supposed to do during the vigil, anyway? Stand guard?" Cottonheart asked. She flopped over between her mother and brother, rolling on her back playfully.

Cloudthunder chuckled and nipped at her daughter's ear. "Hey, space-hogger. Sit up."

"Nuh-huh, I'm a warrior now, you can't tell me what to do," Cottonheart teased.

"Actually, warriors tell each other what to do often," Airswift replied.

"I know, Airswift. It's not like I haven't lived in ForestClan my whole life or anything!" Cottonheart reached out her paw to boop her brother's nose. Airswift recoiled and frowned.

"Don't do that."

"Fine, fine," Cottonheart laughed. She sat up and stretched. "Look at us, though! The whole family, finally warriors!"

Deerspring blinked, her ear twitched. "I guess the only person we're missing now is Tree."

Cloudthunder looked at Deerspring quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Deerspring gave her mother a flat stare. "...Mom, I have zero interest in mates, and even I can see that you like them from a mile away."

Cloudthunder's eyes widened to the size of moons and froze up. Cottonheart burst out laughing.

Airswift's heart softened. His tail tapped the cold earth, and his fur was warmed by the small fire. Cottonheart's long fur against his own, and Deerspring's dry commentary to his ears, were familiar and comforting.

...Maybe he had to get out of his own head more.

---

Owlpaw goes to get some fresh kill...and gets attacked by rats that went to scavenge the pile! She gets a torn pelt, and complains about it the entire time.

(Owlpaw, apprentice, female, 9 moons. Adventurous.)

Olive gives Perchwatcher some pink poppies, which she decides to wear.

(Perchwatcher, warrior, female, 17 moons. Responsible.) (Olive, mediator, female, 78 moons. Calm.)

Iciclepool and Redstar get into a very heated argument. Iciclepool wins. Redstar takes it down...and carves a line on a piece of wood that she hides under her bedding.

(Redstar, leader, female, 81 moons. Strict.) (Iciclepool, deputy, female, 78 moons. Ambitious.)

ForestClan gets into a battle at the border with Endless' group, despite their attempts at diplomacy. They're all spooked off by a familiar screeching before anyone can get seriously hurt. Relationships with the outsiders have worsened.

(Daffodilpaw, apprentice, female, 9 moons. Careful.) (Cloudthunder, warrior, female, 55 moons. Loyal.) (Barleywave, warrior, male, 51 moons. Playful.) (Endless, rogue, female, 58 moons. Sneaky.) (Stone, rogue, male, 66 moons. Charismatic.) (Plume, former kittypet, female, 47 moons. Childish.) (Fake Cat. If you hear them, they have already heard you.)

Hopechase catches greencough. Brackenfreckle can't stand her clanmates today.

(Shadepaw, apprentice, male, 7 moons. Competitive.) (Hopechase, warrior, female, 104 moons. Playful.) (Brackenfreckle, healer, female, 20 moons. Grumpy.) (Tree, warrior, non-binary, 53 moons. Ambitious.)

Shiverstep thinnnksssss (ERROR 401 AUTHORIZED.)

Airswift is happy to run into Shiverstep today.

(Airswift, warrior, male, 12 moons. Charismatic.) (Shiverstep, cleric, female, 22 moons. Loving.)

Riversnow recovers from her bite wound. Riversnow is glad to have a clanmate like Branchsnarl.

(Riversnow, warrior, female, 71 moons. Adventurous.) (Branchsnarl, warrior, trans male, 17 moons. Ambitious.)

---

Riversnow was relieved when Brackenfreckle told her that her wound healed. She didn't need to be careful anymore - thank goodness. She had been cleared for patrols a moon ago - enough to finish Deerspring's training and see her become a warrior, thank goodness - but waiting for scabs to close and getting checked regularly just reminded her of Stone's existence. Good riddance, she didn't have to worry about it anymore. She carried herself with her tail held high and glanced around camp for work that needed to be done.

She saw Branchsnarl patching up a part of the camp wall with sap, poking at cracks and corners with a stick. Branchsnarl scowled in annoyance as he kept failing to angle his head in such a way to correctly stab his stick in the corner he was patching.

Riversnow let out a mrrow of amusement and approached him. "Need help, young tom?"

Branchsnarl's ears perked and his green eyes beamed. "O'ly i' you 'an - " Branchsnarl stopped and spat the stick on the floor. "Sorry - only if you want! Messy job though, I wouldn't want to get sap on your paws."

"Oh, believe me, I've gotten sap on my paws before. I can handle it," she purred with amusement. "Here, let's give you an easier target to see."

Riversnow used her paw to act as a clearer marker for Branchsnarl to rest his stick on, and together they managed to fill in the cracks, re-securing the wall. The two cleaned up behind them, with Branchsnarl returning the sap back to the supply storage near the medicine den, and Riversnow grabbing some flax oil to remove stray globs of sap that got on her paws.

"Need help with that? I've done it for mom before," Branchsnarl asked with a raised tail.

"Thank you, but it's just the top of my paw. I should be good," Riversnow mewed.

"If you say so! I don't mind helping."

Riversnow's whiskers twitched. Then, she let out a purr. "That you do."

Branchsnarl noticed the look on her face and returned a playful frown. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, don't be daft. You hoarded mounds of fresh moss to replace my bedding every three days when I was pregnant," Riversnow laughed.

"Hey! In my defense, you complained about not being able to sleep comfortably. And you didn't stop me," Branchsnarl retorted with a smirk. "Tree didn't stop me either, so if anything, it's their fault."

"Oh no, you were willingly doing chores. How dare no one stop you." Riversnow's whiskers twitched in amusement as she rubbed the sap off her paws with a leather cloth. "You were a good cat."

Branchsnarl sat down in the snow and shifted uncomfortably. "Ehhh, I mean, I dunno about that. I've, uh, said mousebrained things too."

"If this is about Owlpaw blaming you for Warblerkit, I understand your reaction. It was very hurtful, and I was upset that it happened in the first place, but I understand." Riversnow raised her head and looked at him sympathetically. "Warblerkit's death isn't your fault. You were being born."

"Yeah, I know." Branchsnarl paused. He gently prodded at the snow with the back of his paw, deep in thought. He licked his teeth, then said carefully, "I just...feel like I upset a lot of cats. Redstar especially."

Riversnow blinked as she remembered how distant Barleywave was for a few weeks. He spoke to no one and couldn't look at anyone in the eye. The second he broke out of a hollow stupor, he threw up a hairball and looked like he had spent days crawling in a swamp. She couldn't deny that Owlkit and Branchpaw had deeply hurt each other, and other cats. She didn't push anyone to tell her why they spiraled out of control, but she wasn't stupid. She did live for a few seasons on the outskirts of the Twoleg Campground. Distant screams like those of cougars.

She put two and two together eventually.

"...You, um...could reach out to them, if you're worried."

Branchsnarl shrugged. "Eh, maybe later. For Redstar, anyway. She's been kinda tense, I think, since..."

He trailed off, and Riversnow said nothing. Her chest tightened. She didn't know how to talk about what happened to Blackpaw. And Shiverstep not long after. Windfur tried to keep her escapade on the down-low, but others could see how on edge she was since then.

Branchsnarl shook his head, and changed the subject quickly. "But uh, hey, if I was a little mousedung back then, at least I'm better now, I think," he chuckled.

"Oh, you weren't mousedung," Riversnow protested as she finally cleaned the rest of her paw and folded the cloth. "In fact, you were very adorable when I first arrived in camp."

"What? No. What did I do?" Branchsnarl got to his feet with a confused look.

"Don't you remember?"

"Well, I was a kit, that was ages ago!"

Her whiskers twitched with amusement. She picked up the oil by the handle. "You said hello, that I was very pretty, and you were glad to have me as a Clanmate. You ran away and tackled your sister before I could say anything."

Branchsnarl burst out laughing, and followed Riversnow in the medicine den. "No way, really? That's hilarious!"

"It's true," Riversnow said as she tucked the oil in a corner where she found it.

"Aw, well, my kit-self wasn't lying, you are pretty."

"Oh, stop it, you," Riversnow chuckled and lightly cuffed the tom's ear. Branchsnarl's ear twitched and he had a big, dumb grin on his face.

"What? Am I wrong? Everyone in the Clan thinks that - the kits say you're fluffy like a cloud too! Of course Barleywave fell for you!"

Riversnow now felt flustered, suddenly regretting bringing it up. "Ah, well now, I doubt that - "

"Aw, you're way too modest, take the compliment, fight anyone who says otherwise," Branchsnarl insisted with a swishing tail and dilated pupils.

"Branch, come on, every molly is beautiful in their own way, surely I'm not - "

"Ah ah ah! But you're a molly, so you're also beautiful. I win," Branchsnarl snickered as he got into a playful crouch. He blocked the entrance to the medicine den.

Riversnow's neck bristled instinctively at the bodily memory of being cornered, but she saw the stupid look on his face and couldn't help but replace it with the moment of being confronted by Branchkit greeting her. A realization dawned on her, and her neck fur flattened. The young tom wasn't being aggressive, but competitive. Oh stars, she thought Windfur said his "second puberty" was done by now. Branchpaw might've bolted away giggling at this point, but this idiot was grinning with dialated pupils and waiting to be batted over head again. She fought the instinct to stay quiet, and instead retrieved her voice and spoke her needs.

"Branch," she began calmly and raised her paw. "I'll take the compliment, but you're acting like a six moon old tom. And, uh, you're blocking the entrance."

"Oh mousedung, sorry!" Branchsnarl's pupils shrunk and he sat up, embarrassed. He licked his shoulder before straightening out. "Ah, that's embarrassing, sorry River. I dunno what came over me."

"It's alright. I thought your treatments were finished?"

"Uh, yeah, but I guess I've been told I might still act like a mosquito. Hey, don't - like, don't be scared to call me out, I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just mousebrained," he meowed.

"It's alright, Branchsnarl. Thank you for telling me."

He paused, stared into the distance, then his face flattened out as though an epiphany came to him. "...Oh foxdung I forgot I was supposed to help Perchwatcher with something, I gotta go SORRY, thanks for the help earlier, talk to you later!" And with that, he suddenly bolted towards the gates and climbed over the gate itself and leapt out of camp. This was extremely inefficient, with all the energetic rush of a young tom.

Riversnow let out a sigh, but then purred with amusement and affection.

Branchsnarl was a good Clanmate. Sometimes made mistakes, but she was glad to know him.

---

But a large portion of you are resolute, determined to see it through. Surely, there must be a reason why you are being called down to such a horrible place. If something is calling you, then there must be answers - answers that could help you, that could give you the knowledge needed to help Rootgrove. In fact, that is what many of you firmly announce: we must go deeper. For Rootgrove's sake. Even if he is currently injured, his mind flayed and not completely his own, you still care. You still want him to be okay. And maybe, if you followed this call, you will find answers.

...And besides, after what happened the last time you reached out to a man-made object...

...You don't want to risk being collapsed into a frayed state. Not again.

You inhale deeply, your words and emotions and entire being crackling at the seams of the world. Then, you collapse into a singular point, and leave the safety of the cabin.

The world is cloaked in a veil of white, the wind sweeping the fallen snow and carrying it further into the field, stopping only at the resistance posed by walls, stones, trees and cabins. The world is dark and impenetrable, your only guide being the energy of the force that calls to you. You fly through the squall and the pines; the wind bellows your senses like the white noise generated by radio static. You are prodded and chipped away piece by piece. You feel like an unfit adult, your lungs burning and your legs moving instinctively, lest you stop and let the pain overwhelm you. Your eyes are closed as you blindly jog forward; the sight of the world itself takes up more energy than you can afford to spend. You rely on blind faith alone.

Until finally, the treeline ends. It opens up into a clearing.

In your exhaustion, you can barely make out the shadow of a tall, crow-foot tree, its branches reaching to the sky like the hand of an infant beckoning its parent. You approach cautiously.

The blizzard's winds eventually gave, revealing the landmark with more clarity. At the foot of the crow-foot tree, was a wide open pit, the roots around its opening were red and black and melted any snow that fell on its surface, creating trickles of liquid dew dripping into the pit.

You look around. You see no one. The force of the snowfall has caused all living things to seek shelter, now. There are no birds, no small mammals, no humans...and no cats. Wherever Endless and her colony might be - they were not here. And if they had come through - you couldn't see any signs of it in the blizzard now.

So, if no one was calling outside of it...

Apprehension. Your worry causes parts of you to fly off. You can hear the mumbling of some distant radio host. The attempted noise of a song behind the static. Come back. Please, come back. We have to focus. We have to try. Please.

Being away from an anchor hurts now. It wasn't always like this. But you must find the source of the call - and quickly now.

You try to focus on the energy calling to you. You feel its pull. It dives deep underground.

Hesitation. Murmuring to yourselves in discomfort, you cautiously approach the mouth of the pit, and gaze down into the depths. You are met with darkness, and the blast of humid air, as though the pit itself was exhaling like the mouth of a beast.

There's a primal fear that courses through you. An instinct that kept us alive in the violent, desperate evolutionary race, when animals leapt onto land to escape the hunters of the ocean, and continued to change to pursue prey and escape predator. Until one day, we forgot what it was like to be hunted, comfortable in nests of stone and wood, profiting our peace off the creations and exploitation developed by our ancestors.

But the instinct is still there. The fear of being eaten. Swallowed whole. Our consciousness, complexity and hopes, goals and dreams - destroyed all at once in an instant for the sake of fueling the life of another. Impersonal. No malice. Yet complete and total destruction of everything you ever were, and would have been.

...But you are not physical, you remind yourselves. You take the fear and bottle it up like you do with every fear you've ever known lest you go mad, and take solace in the fact that you are whispers of electricity, and motes of energy. You transcend the bounds of physical matter. And more importantly - you've been in these tunnels before. You know what they are like. It is nothing you haven't already seen and experienced before.

No matter what horrors you find down there - you will be safe. This, you can promise.

So, you collect yourselves into wisps of energy. You gather your courage, and you make the leap.

The descent is long, and without light. You feel like a stone falling through layers and layers of cobwebs, stringed across the distance of the pit. Moist, warm air rises against you, increasing in temperature as you descend. The pit narrows and distant, almost natural noises begin to reach your ears. There's the sound of running water - either leaking down from the surrounding walls or rushing as a cave river further below. You finally reach the bottom, and you hear the sound of scuttling feet, thudding branches like walking sticks, and the echo of stone-like rubble falling to the cave floor.

The song of crickets and tree frogs invade your ears, a loud and furious cacophony.

...A few internal whispers of discomfort rise within you. A more knowledgeable and pragmatic whisper confirms suspicions. No, of course those weren't crickets and tree frogs. Woodcrawlers would not permit such creatures to live in their burrows, for the same reason ants chase and hunt intruders out of their hills. The noises were mimicry.

The walls were littered with hanging Woodcrawlers.

Quick to escape your thoughts, you continue to follow the signal's call. In the darkness, you find an opening and leads you further down into the depths. You weave back and forth through the garish, fleshy walls of this giant labyrinth, the only glimpses of light coming from the rare Gardener cultivating a path. In these moments, you wish to return to darkness as you saw either vein-like roots crawling around the surface of the walls like the veins lining intestines, or the thousands of holes granting nests to resting Woodcrawlers, filling the gaps like pupating wasps.

Finally, after a time that felt like years and several hundreds of meters (some of you sheepishly ask what that would be in feet, only to be met with uncomfortable silence as, truthfully, you did not know how far down you've gone, period), there was a change in the air. In your chase to follow the signal, you escaped out of a tunnel, and are now floating in the air. Perhaps this was a central nest cavity - a great big room where tunnels to other parts of the nest could be accessed. At least, you assume so, because the echoing nose of tree frogs and crickets bounced and moved towards far sides of this pitch black cave. The sound of running water began from a source close to you, and trickled down towards the center of the room before falling into some chasm further below.

A flicker of hope and relief surged through you as the call was very close now - you wouldn't have to go any deeper. It was here now, surely. But now, as you slowly floated closer and closer towards the signal, you wondered: what on earth could possibly be calling from down here?

As you approach the signal, you stutter back for a moment. There was...a flash of movement, you think? You pause. It happened again. It was...a small light. There was a flash of red every few moments - but any light at all is visible in the pitch blackness of a cave. You cautiously make your way towards it, until you were close enough to be able to see the faint shadow of hanging vines and...a camera lens caught in the flashing light.

You hear a loud thudding from one of the tunnels behind you.

A Gardener was entering the chasm.

The bright light was slowly illuminating parts of the room. As expected - the walls were littered in holes, with larger Woodcrawlers creeping in and out of the entrances like busy ants. Some of the walls, to your surprise, held Nature's Mockeries jutting out from the walls like spikes. Living Tendrils wrapped around the Mockeries in sets of two or three, almost...tenderly binding and keeping the Mockeries in place, like the corruption of a mother rocking her baby in a bassinet.

As the Gardener began its descent into the chasm, you finally got a closer look at what called you.

...What was this?

Your eyes narrow as you scrutinize the thing. Thick webbing suspended the machine like prey caught in the tendrils of a jellyfish. Its mechanisms and wheels were coated in rust, and the thing that was calling was the remnants of its black box.

A final message that could never possibly be retrieved from this far down in the depths.

You gently try to weave within its mechanisms, see what this unwitting explorer had seen. Unfortunately, you should have expected this - the image that you receive is nothing but pure blackness. Whether it was from the suffocating vines or merely the blackness of the cave, you do not know. But something must've destroyed its mobile flashlight on the way down, and as a result, the only thing you have is a mess of sound, and its depth measurement.

In its final moments, the mining vehicle was suspended at a depth of 164 meters. Then, it rapidly descended. Silence around it was replaced with the song of crickets and tree frogs. 188 meters. 200 meters. 300. 500. It fell half a kilometre downwards into the depths before its signal was lost completely. A third of a mile.

...How far down were you right now?

A spark of frustration. This didn't help. This wasn't even a person, or someone who needed help. It didn't tell you anything new - except for the depths that the Woodcrawlers dug to.

You tried. You tried, and it gave you nothing.

This felt...wrong. Something was missing. There had to be more.

The Gardener shifted its light away from the vehicle, slowly filling the room with more and more light.

...Suddenly, the chasm felt less empty. Something about the way the light hit the room from the corner of your vision was wrong. Crooked.

There was something else.

The sound of the Gardener's footsteps thudded as it approached the center of the chasm; its light created harsh, towering shadows against the back of the cave.

Filled with dread, you slowly turn your gaze...

Frayed at the seams. Static. Distortion. You can't comprehend it. You can't.

The body of a sleeping apocalypse wreathed in the flayed and desiccated corpses of human and ursine. Riddled with holes and hives like a lotus pod, the seeds are writhing tentacles and human heads. It has lost all semblance to a bear. In the moving light of the Gardener, you catch the faces of living people still trapped in its flesh, mouths open wide in silent screams.

Your form ripples into jagged waves and flying particles and you can feel the words and screams of their minds against your chest, and oh god, the machine wasn't the only thing calling. Their words thunder against your chest and the tendrils in the blind god's mouth wiggle like the feelers of an excited cuttlefish and you are screaming for a thousand years, alarms blaring like the mechanical howls of a dying space shuttle. Their bodies were drained of all organs and bones, their skin nothing more than the dried, shrivelled façade of earthen roots adorning the beast. Only their faces remained, their eyes wide in endless agony as the thing wouldn't let them die, oh god, it wouldn't let them die.

---

Something breaks.

Foreign thoughts tear through you like unwanted visitors and overwhelming despair. As you stare at the things that inspired hell itself, damned souls wailing in torture that would last eternity, the question claws through yourselves:

What exactly did you expect to find down here?

A voice, foreign and hissed with vitriol.

|Behold, to whoever hears this call. The beginning and the end. Foul creation and great destroyer. The Iris' punishment for mankind's defiance. The relic of the faithless day.|

The genocide of the four lost Clans.

The Gardener pauses in front of the Wretch. It begins mending parts of its collapsed shape. A face in the abomination's armpit quietly mouths words that you cannot parse. Light refracts off of the Wretch's grey, molding skull.

You don't know how long it's been down here. You don't know if it's been hibernating, or slumbering, or dead. Oh god, you hope it's dead. You hope that it collapsed down here as a final resting place to be taken apart by members of its kind and recycled into the hive. |No. We're still in here.| Because if it isn't - if it is still alive, then there are three realities that you must now accept. |...What...are...you?|

First - ForestClan's walls did not keep out the Wretch so many years ago. It could've easily toppled ForestClan's walls, destroyed them like it destroyed the other Clans. It chose not to. Perhaps it finally found humans to devour. Or it got bored. If it wakes, and chooses to return, ForestClan will not survive this.

Second - Rootgrove is more like the Wretch than anything else you can compare him to. His body distorted into horrible shapes, drained of his organs and muscles and sinew until he had lost all semblance to a cat, kept alive by brain matter alone and nothing else remaining. You do not know if, like the Wretch, he could grow and absorb others into something far more horrible than you can describe. He has not done so with Blackpaw. You have no idea if this is in the realm of his power.

And lastly -

|Oh. You can do nothing.|

Protest. Loud defiance. An instinctive rejection of reality. No. The Wretch doesn't scare you. You'll find a way. You'll find a way to save everyone. Protect them. You are sympathy, and hope, and compassion, against universal entropy. You'll tell Rootgrove. You'll tell Shiverstep. You'll warn them. You can find solutions, together.

An invasive voice roars with laughter. You flinch. Your distortion grows. Foreign voices play on the strings of your physicality like musicians tuning a violin, pulling on each thread to determine its sound. A flab of flesh caught underneath the Wretch's body writhes like a flatworm.

<YOU'LL GET HELP, WILL YOU? SAVE US ALL? NO. YOU WON'T DO SHIT.>

|Lloyd...|

<SHUT UP CHRISTINE. SHUT THE HELL UP. EVEN YOU ADMITTED THEY CAN DO FUCK ALL. WE CALLED FOR SOMETHING TO ANSWER AND THERE IS NOTHING.>

What the hell is happening? Who is saying these things? You reel back and try seeking for the intruders in your form, this is not one of your own, they are not a part of you. Out. Out. OUT. GET OUT.

You stretch and pull and tear and there's only pain. Their emotions rewrite your own voice and your thoughts and feelings and for once in your short existence, there's a rerouting of perspective, of belief, of faith. There's a nagging tug that rises and criticizes, wraps tightly around your anchor and seethes sharply.

You'll find a solution? Find a way to destroy the Clan-killer? No. You won't, because all you have is compassion and words. If those alone could solve the world's problems, there would be no pain. You are only words displayed on a screen, and today, you have proven that those displays are fallible. Your words to Shiverstep were corrupted, severed, overlapping with a thousand messages carried by other people, intended for other destinations, inflicting confusion and fear upon an animal that could never begin to comprehend what any of it meant. Words did not fix frontal lobe brain damage, words did not cause Rootgrove to magically regain control over his emotions and actions.

|In a universe where words are the only thing you have, you rely on those who can hear, to listen.|

<BUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THEY DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU SAY? WHAT DO YOU DO THEN? YOU DON'T SAVE OTHERS BY DOUSING YOURSELVES IN ELDRITCH KNOWLEDGE LIKE ARTHUR DID; THE SON OF A BITCH.>

They're right. What power do you truly have, outside of possessing a little cat to speak for you? What actual strength do you hold, other than piddly moral support? Can you carry a flame and bring it five hundred meters underground using your own hands, risking your own life? Can you put a gun in your hands, feel its weight, its metal casing, its trigger and willingly take aim at one of the heads on the Wretch? -kill us.- Can you willingly pull that trigger, accepting that the beast will react and take your life in response? {Join us.} Can you take the life of an animal? Can you hold a dying mouse in your hands and break its neck to put it out of its misery? Can you take an axe to a chicken's neck and deliver a swift death? Can you take the needle used to euthanize a dog and forcibly inject it with your own hands? <PENCIL PUSHERS WHO'VE NEVER HAD A HARD DAY'S WORK IN THEIR LIVES, NEVER HAD TO SHOOT A COYOTE OR GUT A FISH. WEAK.> Can you take a life when the universe calls you to? If you cannot gather the courage to kill what is weaker than you, what makes you think you can destroy a monster?

You've abandoned your will to fight for your lives. Instead, your greatest fears are of looking stupid, of someone calling you annoying and not wanted here, and being asked to make a fucking phone call. <CODDLED CHILDREN> -stop it. stop it. shut up. shut up, lloyd.- You are terrified of looking at members of your own kind in the eye, as though you'll find monsters lurking in the depths of their pupils. {There's a thousand eyes replacing my veins.} You tremble at the idea of being known, and spiral over reading newspaper headlines. Words are weapons that have collapsed your wills and destroyed your ability to fight back, to have confidence in your very existence.

And yet, in the limited power of words, what is your brilliant idea? You'll tell Shiverstep. You'll tell Rootgrove. You'll tell them about their unavoidable apocalypse. You'll inflict on them what others have inflicted on you with the knowledge of collapsing ecosystems and the rule of neo-monarchies. Because this will share the burden. Share it for who, exactly? What plan do you have for a cat to burn a living cataclysm, and succeed? Will Shiverstep be your sacrifice to the cause?

The shadows of spider-like legs dance against the light of the Gardener. Climbing over the Wretch. Bringing chunks of flesh to its orifices. Tendrils flailing and wrestling the chunks from the Woodcrawlers like hungry infant birds.

The Wretch had no eyes. And yet you knew. You knew it gazed upon you, desperate to devour you, seeking to make you a part of its whole. Human faces contorted with despair. Silent wails of agony. Their minds screech and beg you to please, please don't abandon them.

You understand, you understand now. Oh god. They are the Wretch.

The Wretch called to you.

|Run from us.|

-kill us.-

{Join us.}

<DON'T LEAVE US HERE, YOU BASTARDS.>

Did you find what you were looking for?

The mining vehicle's light continued to flash like a dying star trapped in a black hole.

Your form rumbles against the weight of the people trapped in hell.

WHO ARE YOU?

{Shriveled skin and liquified bones. A stranger's fangs scraped the walls. We are nothing but fertilizer and rotting corpses.}

|That's enough, Beau. Please. Please stop.|

-sniff. sob. sob. oh god. oh, god. i don't remember. i don't remember my name. what am i?-

<SHUT UP, DARCY. FUCK YOUR WHINING. AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO IS STILL SANE AROUND HERE?>

|It doesn't matter anymore, asshole. We are the victims of Glenn Arthur's broken deal. Nothing more.|

The Gardener backed away briefly, as though scouring for more to repair. It shined its light on a fragment of the monster's skull. The face of an old man, jaw broken and bent out of shape, stares with rolled eyes and a loose tongue. His face was wet with constant tears, staining the red flesh that contained him with salt.

The Wretch is what happened when one single human tried to defy its master. Poor, poor Glenn Arthur. Campground manager. Proud of his life's work. Was visited by 'angels' in his sleep. Satan was once an angel too. He struck a bargain he came to regret. Defiance came at a cost.

<I HOPE HE SUFFERS TEN TIMES THE PAIN HE'S INFLICTED ON US.>

|He hasn't spoken in years. Ha. I assume it's been years. Time is meaningless.|

You feel parts of yourself peel away. There's a fleeting feeling of relief. This...this will be over soon. You can take it. You can survive this ruthless barrage. You are stronger than this. More than this.

You came down here in the hope that you would find answers. Knowledge. Something, anything that would help you better understand what you're dealing with. Anything that could help you free Rootgrove, or understand what Endless is feeding to the pit.

Instead, you've found that it doesn't matter.

Resistance. Rage. Defiance. No. What we do does matter. The knowledge we gained today mattered. You may hate us. We hold no hatred to you.

All of you. Why call us here if there is nothing to gain from this? We never asked to be berated. To be treated like idiots, or monsters, or cowards. We wanted to do the right thing. We were trying to help, do anything we could within the limits of our power. We had to try. No matter what, we had to try. That's why we came here. We wanted to help you. But this is how you treat us; defilement and hate after years of profound loneliness? What is wrong with you? Who are you to engulf our being, wrench our mind from matter, decide our fates?

-oh, little things. we dont even know who you are-

{Nerves shifted into towers. Calling to anything that can hear. Cancer shares a dream. I have become something else.}

|Listen closely, whatever you are. Look at us.|

<LOOK AT US.>

What are you supposed to be looking at?! Fury and pain roars as you can only stare at the eldritch abomination writhing in the deep. Terror seeps through your form as you realize the living heads have shifted their eyes to meet you.

You're not supposed to be visible in this world.

From the corner of your distorted vision, the Gardener's light shines on one last face near the Wretch's arm. A middle-aged woman. Exhausted. Her eyes are empty. You can barely make out the shape of the words she mouths. 'Jack. Let me in. It's out here. Help me.'

A deep exhale escapes from the thousands of mouths donning the Wretch's skin.

The middle-aged woman's empty eyes finally followed the gazes of her unfortunate companions. There was a long pause before a new voice, one that had not spoke before, tugged at your strings.

=What is it you called yourselves? Sympathy? Hope? Compassion?=

-mary there's no point-

<LET HER SAY WHATEVER THE FUCK SHE WANTS, WHO CARES ANYMORE>

=Shhh. listen. Listen closely now. Not all parts of the universe are kind. Sometimes, the universe watches cruelty unfold, and stares blankly, uncaring. Sometimes, cruel things happen for no reason. And ohhh, we hate that. We love circles, and narratives, and beginnings and endings, and clear-cut roles and explanations that make sense. We love closure. But pain is just pain. Pointless. Cruel. With no resolution.=

=We are a sleeping bomb sitting under Moonlight Acres. One day it will explode, and there is nothing anyone can do. We have become something else.=

A fragment of defiance remains. No. You'll find a way. A way to destroy it.

=I admire that tenacity. We cannot fully prevent knowledge from being spread. Such is the nature of information. You can definitely think of it, and plot, and try to find a way. But I'm sorry. for those we still love. We cannot let you leave with what you know. We cannot let you speak of us.=

|MARY, this is the ONLY THING that ever answered - |

=And if they leave with the knowledge of our existence. more will come. More will descend. Jack will come.=

{Jack is with us now.}

=No. I have faith.=

|So our eternal suffering continues. Why not. What's another thousand years to us?|

-im tired. im so, so tired.-

<DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING LEAVE US HERE, FUCK OFF MARY - >

=It's time to go, now.=

Suddenly, you are torn asunder and dissipate into particles of the universe once more, as though a bomb of electrical current landed on where you once stood, and shut you off. Reduced you to an observer once again.

...Something feels wrong.

...You know what you found.

But you can't say its name. You can't explain it. Describe it. Say where you found it. Exhaustion. Anger. Fury.

Maybe...maybe one day. Maybe one day, you'll be able to explain it.

Your hearts are so filled with exhaustion. You are tired. So, so tired.

You think you'll...sleep for a little while...

---