#asterpaw

Clammask and Lemmy both announce their pregnancies.

[Image ID: Clammask and Lemmy both sit with + CONDITION: PREGNANT under them.]

---

It was a day after Lemmy’s pregnancy announcement that Clammask entered the medicine den with complaints of weight gain and nausea. Thank StarClan that Honeypaw had been out collecting herbs with the caretakers, because Clammask would not have been able to meet her son’s eyes as she later left with Troutpool’s diagnosis.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. Halibutdusk may not have been a tom, but they had been born one. There was no reason they couldn’t get Clammask pregnant. Yet she had forgotten that, too busy finding a new beginning with playful flirting and a few fun outings (and one particular night where Clammask said goodbye to the pain and vengeance in her heart and oh StarClan was that when it happened oh no). It wasn’t supposed to be so serious. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

It still felt like summer as Clammask squinted in the brilliance of sunhigh. Lemmy and Mosspounce had a crowd around them, eager to share tongues. While Lemmy mostly kept to Mosspounce, Splashpaw, and the codekeepers, she chatted with her Clanmates with the skill and grace of a mediator, letting everyone know that she felt well and would nest in the nursery when she was ready. Clammask had already had a litter once, why wasn’t she as confident as Lemmy? Why did she have to feel like a scared kit?

Spikecrash was one of the cats sharing tongues with Lemmy. Clammask caught bits of their conversation, mixing their old faith in the Other Side with their new home’s focus on StarClan. Clammask lingered at the edge of the crowd, searching for the right words to draw Spikecrash’s attention. She didn’t have to say anything, luckily; Spikecrash glanced around camp as Lemmy listened to Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle share pregnancy tips. Thank StarClan she saw the fear in Clammask’s silver eyes.

Spikecrash crept around her Clanmates, making her way to Clammask. No one seemed to notice the pair, much to Clammask’s relief. She flicked her ears toward the camp exit. Spikecrash nodded and led her outside. 

Autumn had smacked RippleClan upside the head in the last few days. Before Clammask realized it, the trees that lined camp to the west had exploded in tortoiseshell color. The wind coming off the ocean was no longer pleasantly cool, but cold enough to make the golden molly shiver. The bugs had gone silent and heat no longer pushed against Clammask’s lungs; rather, the cold ocean air soothed her tense heart. 

Not by much, however.

“I’ve lived here long enough to know when someone needs a mediator and doesn’t know what to say,” Spikecrash sighed as the pair left camp. “What do you need to talk about?”

“Let’s find somewhere we won’t be overheard first,” Clammask gulped.

Clammask and Spikecrash entered the forest. The trees and falling leaves would provide some privacy, just in case the sunhigh patrol wandered past. Spikecrash tried not to stare as they walked further and further from camp. Clammask wasn’t sure if her nausea was from her nerves or the life growing inside her. She tried to soak in the crisp, early autumn smell, but the remnants of summer and the weight in her chest made her nose-blind.

“I saw you leaving the medicine den,” Spikecrash said when they were far enough away from camp for Clammask to stop. “Did Troutpool have bad news for you?” Could she even define what was happening as “bad news”? She loved being pregnant with her sons, after all. Maybe if this was another litter with Scrubmask, she would be yowling the news across camp, celebrating with Lemmy, laughing at jokes about stealing attention from the former Witch Hunter.

“I’m pregnant,” Clammask said, the word dying part-way out of her mouth. Spikecrash’s face did not reveal her reaction; instead, she cocked her head slightly and studied Clammask, the way her whiskers fell and her eyes looked hollow.

“This doesn’t sound like something you planned,” Spikecrash noted.

“I was still testing how I felt about Halibutdusk,” Clammask moaned, pacing around Spikecrash without realizing it. “I didn’t want to have as serious a relationship as I had with Scrubmask at the start, we started a family as soon as we became mates, I only wanted to move on! Halibutdusk talked to me when they realized they weren’t a tom, they didn’t like what it meant to be a tom, how will they feel knowing they sired kits? I haven’t told my sons I’ve been seeing them! They’ll think I’m betraying their mother! Does Halibutdusk want kits? Do I want more kits? My sons haven’t even graduated! What if I lose another kit?” Spikecrash threw out her paw and stopped Clammask’s spiral.

“One thought at a time,” Spikecrash purred. “It seems you’re nervous about a serious relationship with Halibutdusk.”

“I’m not ready for that,” Clammask whined, sitting. Her tail stirred the leaves around her. “Halibutdusk has always been there for me, but… I don’t know, this is so much more than I was expecting!”

“And you think they’ll be upset they’ve sired kits with you?” Spikecrash asked, nodding.

“When Drumpaw told me he was a tom, he went on and on about how much the idea of pregnancy made him sick. Does Halibutdusk feel that way about siring kits? Does it make them feel wrong?”

“Have you asked them?”

“I didn’t want to be serious, why would I ask them that?” Spikecrash rolled onto her back, signaling her surrender at Clammask’s suddenly curled lip. Clammask smoothed her face.

“All I’m saying is that if you haven’t asked them about that topic, you can’t know how they’ll feel,” Spikecrash explained, face upside down. “The same goes for your sons. Paleseed deals with grief more than I do, but from what I’ve seen of your kits, they’ve each found their way forward from Scrubmask’s death. They might be happy for you.”

“Maybe. I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Do you want a practical response or an emotional one?” Spikecrash got back to her feet. Clammask thought it through, fur growing hot. 

“Practical,” she eventually decided.

“Do you want to have these kits or not?” Spikecrash asked. Clammask’s stomach suddenly flipped.

“Move,” she managed to gulp just before she threw up. Spikecrash skittered up a fir. Clammask shivered as the taste settled in her mouth. Her nose curled at the stench of her own bile. Spikecrash jumped from the fir to a tree behind Clammask before she risked climbing down. Leaves fluttered with Spikecrash’s fall. Spikecrash groomed Clammask’s neck as the pregnant molly shivered. 

What did Clammask want? Forget Halibutdusk, forget her sons, forget Scrubmask and whatever her spirit must think of her. Did Clammask want these kits or not?

“I want these kits,” Clammask finally whimpered. “I want to be a mother again. I want my sons to have more kin. I want to raise a litter that has two parents at their graduation ceremonies.”

“Alright then,” Spikecrash purred, touching Clammask’s nose despite the stench in her mouth. “I can help you tell Halibutdusk.”

“Whether we’re actually in love or not,” Clammask gulped, forcing herself to take a deep breath, “I’m raising these kits, and I’ll help Halibut be a part of their lives. They’ll be a good influence.”

“Let’s get you some water back at camp,” Spikecrash suggested. “We can wait until you feel a bit better before you tell anyone else about this.”

“I’d like that,” Clammask said with a sniffle. She let her paw dangle near her belly.

Her four sons were big personalities in their own rights. Who would these lovely kits become?

(Clammask: 57, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Lemmy: 39, female, codekeeper, cold, deep StarClan bond)

(Spikecrash: 38, female, mediator, good speaker, lore keeper)

Terracottafoot helps Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dream of the Dark Forest during Harvest Moon.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Darkkick, and Paleseed stare down Newtstream, who is a Dark Forest spirit. Newtstream says,  “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse.”]

---

This Harvest Moon was shaping up to be a lively one. As RippleClan settled around the Leader’s Stone in the early dawn light, setting up the decor of black pelts and with the other Clans, everyone found something to start their day with. Clammask, Lemmy, and Oilstripe joined a gaggle of queens, pregnant and nursing, all bonding over nursery experiences while some of Halibutdusk’s warrior friends teased them for their sudden relationship change. Mosspounce argued with the LynxClan artisans and caretakers over how to construct a temporary stove while Tempestshade and Elmsprout eagerly brought out the massive fish Carnationspeckle and Darkkick caught the night before. Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt reunited with their artisan friends and explained their plans for RippleClan’s show about Leatherwaste and their careless deeds. Rapidleaf explained to her old Clanmates that no, she didn’t feel comfortable returning to LynxClan when her only living kin were distant RippleClan apprentices. Downstar happily shared tongues with Gorgestar and Ospreystar while Gentlestar and Eelstar (who bore a wrap over his nose) made sure everyone was settling in for the day.

And Paleseed? She was preparing for the fight of her life.

Most of the clerics were setting up spiritual protections around the clearing, guarding the five Clans from the Spirits of Shadow that would roam the territories that day. Terracottafoot, however, stood far from the rest of the Clans with Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick. 

They had a jar of black dye on one side and a pile of early autumn leaves on the other. They rubbed their paw in the dye and gently nudged Weedfoot’s chin up. Terracottafoot ran their dyed paw from the base of Weedfoot’s chin to the center of her chest, a long black stripe like burnt meat. They did the same to Paleseed and Darkkick.

“Now I just need a spark to ignite these leaves, and we’ll begin,” Terracottafoot gulped, rubbing their black paw into the grass. “When you fall asleep, your souls will be transported to the Dark Forest. As many of the spirits there wander the forest tonight, you shouldn’t encounter as many enemies as you typically would. The burning of the leaves acts as a calling ritual. When you enter the Dark Forest, Autumnstar will feel called to you, even if he doesn’t realize it. You’ll find each other eventually.” Darkkick nodded along. Did she know of this ritual from her cleric days? What sort of dark powers did clerics hold in their hearts?

“What do we do when we find Autumnstar?” Paleseed asked.

“Make him stop hurting his Clan,” Terracottafoot sighed. “Convince him, fight him, do whatever you have to do. If he’s not stopped, the older generations of AshClan will all be dead by winter’s end.” Paleseed glanced back at the AshClan delegation. Save for Eelstar and Barkfur, every AshClan cat present was no more than a few years old. Would Paleshade leave them to die? No, Paleseed couldn’t keep asking what her namesake would do. But that was easier said than done.

“If Autumnstar is powerful enough to project a curse on AshClan,” Weedfoot muttered, “he’ll be a formidable foe in the Dark Forest.”

“He might have powers,” Paleseed said, “but he’ll still think like himself, won’t he? If we can’t outstrength him, we can outsmart him.” Hmm. Paleshade wasn’t much of a trickster. She would just give some grand speech and take Autumnstar down, if Weedfoot’s stories had any truth to them. Maybe Paleseed could bring more to the battle than a helpless mediator ready to be slaughtered.

“I’ll be right back,” Terracottafoot said, nodding with more enthusiasm than Paleseed had ever seen in the young cat. They hurried toward the main crowd, who continued to bicker about the stove as the sun battered the trees and fought its way into the clearing.

“It might be selfish to say this,” Weedfoot gulped, resting her tail on Paleseed, “but I’m glad you’ll be with us. I could use your support. Just promise me you’ll run if things get too dire.” Paleseed hesitated. Leave her mother and Darkkick to fight off Spirits of Shadow?

“That isn’t a request,” Darkkick huffed. “I still think you should stay here. The Dark Forest is no place for a non-combatant.”

“I really think I can help,” Paleseed said, raising her tail with false confidence. “If StarClan saw me with you, there’s something I can do to stop Autumnstar, something the two of you can’t.” To her surprise, Paleseed found herself believing her own words.

“You put more faith in what StarClan chooses to say than I do,” Darkkick muttered, fluffing her coat against a sudden breeze, “but so be it. I don’t doubt there’s something you could bring to this patrol.” Paleseed’s heather-blue eyes brightened at the compliment. Darkkick rolled her eyes, earning a chuckle from Weedfoot. At that moment, Terracottafoot slunk around the Leader’s Stone with a glowing stick in their jaws. Out of sight of most of the crowd, they ran back to Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick. They angled the stick against the leaves. The breeze sent sparks onto the dry tinder. The orange leaves began to glow.

“Lay down, quickly!” Terracottafoot ordered, setting down the stick. 

“Wait,” Weedfoot huffed as smoke drifted from the leaves. “How are we supposed to get out of the Dark Forest once our job is done?”

“Do you know how you wake yourself up from a bad dream?” Terracottafoot grunted, nudging Paleseed’s flank down. “It’s just like that. Hurry, the leaves won’t burn long!” The three RippleClan cats laid around the smoldering leaves. Terracottafoot sat beside the tiny fire, eyes closed tight. It was hard to imagine falling asleep with the fire in her blood, but Paleseed closed her eyes as well, praying that the Ashes in the Water were standing beside her, guarding her spirit as it shifted from one world to another.

Paleseed thought she would feel the transition. She was literally traveling to another level of existence, why would she not notice when she left the clearing and entered the Place of No Stars itself? But she still felt the small warmth of the burning leaves. She still heard the happy crowd, just beginning to play a few instruments to welcome in the festive day. She could even smell Carnationspeckle’s fish! So how would she know when she arrived?

“Open your eyes, Paleseed,” Weedfoot whispered. “We’re here.”

When Paleseed obeyed her mother, the warmth and music and scent of freshly-caught fish evaporated. The sound of the Harvest Moon still rang in her ears, as though occurring deep within the ocean. Yet the grass was gray, like life and light had been sucked out from the roots. Paleseed looked up. Barren branches criss-crossed over a black sky. A huge, yellow full moon watched the land like a vengeful eye. There were no stars in that black ocean, no glow to the world but the harsh, biting moonlight that refracted off the fog. Said fog clung to the ground, nipping at Paleseed’s paws as she stood. The scent of wood-rot and fungus filled her lungs. 

The Dark Forest was indeed that; dark, cold, absent of all the good in the world. Not a single conifer needle or leaf clung to the trees around the three RippleClan cats; instead, every branch poked and prodded at its neighbor for more room. There wasn’t even leaf litter to show there had ever been a summer in that barren land. Instead, mushrooms claimed the trees as their territory; flat, wide things of white and tan and brown. Even more mushrooms whose names Paleseed could not hope to guess sprouted from mounds poking out of the fog. Those mushrooms were the only life in the land. Bramble bushes speckled the shadowy landscape, thorns reaching out like fangs. Paleseed’s claws dug into the dry, red earth as a caterwaul echoed from somewhere deep within the forest. 

“The stories were right about this place,” Darkkick scoffed, shaking out the mist and dust collecting on her fur. Paleseed instinctively pressed into Weedfoot. All three cats gathered around each other, taking in the cursed trees and the sharp shadows. Autumnstar was out there, somewhere, instinctively drawn toward the living cats, unaware of the fate that awaited him.

“Where do we start?” Paleseed gulped.

“You could start by leaving, if you’re smart.” Weedfoot and Darkkick jumped between Paleseed and the stranger’s voice. Paleseed followed the sound up into a dead pine. A black, mud-like ooze dripped from the ginger molly lounging on the branches overhead. A solid, glistening layer of ice covered her extremities and dulled her monotone fur. 

“Newtstream,” Darkkick growled. She soothed her bristling fur and huffed, “It’s alright. She’ll pose no threat to us.”

“Terracottafoot sent you here, didn’t they?” Newtstream huffed. She jumped out of the tree and landed beside Darkkick. “The black marks on your chests, the sudden arrival on Harvest Moon… yes, it’s like I taught them. Why send RippleClan cats, however?”

“We’re here to stop Autumnstar’s curse,” Weedfoot explained, eyes stuck on Newtstream’s black goop.

“You were trying to save your Clanmates when you were alive,” Paleseed gulped, taking a risky step closer to the Dark Forest spirit. “There’s no reason for you to stop us.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to stop you?” Newtstream scoffed. “I’m just trying to spare you. It may be Harvest Moon, but deadly things still wander these woods.”

“We won’t be here any longer than we have to be,” Weedfoot said. “We’ll take care of Autumnstar and go.”

“I can’t say I’m too surprised to see you here,” Darkkick couldn’t help but grumble. “You did spit in StarClan’s face, after all.”

“I didn’t do enough to forgive myself, apparently,” Newtstream sighed, looking at the starless sky. “I just want to spend my damnation in peace, and Autumnstar wants me to help make his curse worse. The only thing keeping him from becoming as terrible as the worst Spirits of Shadow is his hurt ego. He feels his Clanmates, that StarClan himself, gave up on him and the virtues he tried to uphold. He could have led AshClan for many more moons if he let himself be wrong about your Clan. Instead, he spreads his frost across the Dark Forest and curses his Clanmates’ names. He’ll turn you into ice when he finds you.” As Newtstream monologued, Paleseed examined the dry grass around her. The entire forest looked like the aftermath of a great fire, destroying everything green in the world.

“Frost…” Paleseed muttered, looking back at the icy death wounds covering Newtstream’s extremities. “Autumnstar’s frostbite scars were some of his most famous characteristics. That’s why his curse is some form of eternal frostbite. The power of the Dark Forest exacerbates that legend. But frost has a big weakness. If… yes, if we don’t draw the attention of Spirits of Shadow…” Paleseed ran her paw against the harsh, rugged bark of a dead tree.

“What are you thinking, Paleseed?” Weedfoot asked. Paleseed turned back to the group, her eyes the brightest thing in the land.

“I have a plan to take care of Autumnstar,” Paleseed said.

(Paleseed: 29, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Weedfoot: 112, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Darkkick: 123, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

[Image ID: Downstar (now in an elder sprite), Rattlepelt, and Splashpaw look at Gentlestar, a brown tabby with a maple seed accessory, who introduces Asterpaw, a gray apprentice. Gentlestar says, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.” Under Asterpaw, it says NEW PLAYER: ASTERPAW, 10, MALE, THOUGHTFUL, HAS LOTS OF IDEAS.]

---

As Paleseed, Weedfoot, and Darkkick dreamed unbeknownst to all but a trusted few, Downstar cheered with the rest of the Clans as WheatClan finished their performance on Shardlings, the broken pieces of destroyed souls fulfilling dark desires on loop. The young apprentices were a great decision to play the part of the Shardlings, even if they lacked an artisan’s acting skills. For who could get mad at excited youths performing with their friends and kin?

“Maybe we should have asked you to help with our Leatherwaste performance, huh Splashpaw?” Rattlepelt, who sat near Downstar, laughed to the purple-ribboned apprentice.

“I suppose you should have,” Splashpaw laughed, “but I’m almost a historian. I don’t think I would have the same effect as the six moon old apprentices.” Someone on the other side of the swarm of Clan cats called for a race. Suddenly, dozens of furry forms shoved past Downstar, ignorant of her position. 

“A lot of energy, considering how close we are to sunhigh,” Downstar chuckled, smoothing out her disturbed pelt. “I’m ready for the feast.”

“It smells amazing,” Splashpaw purred, tasting the air. “We have this every Harvest Moon?”

“Hopefully you’ll have a lot more of these feasts in the years to come,” Rattlepelt chirped, picking up her fox pelt from where the excited crowd had shoved it off her back.

“Downstar! A moment, if you would!” Gentlestar weaved through the excited crowd, her maple seed necklace bouncing on her chest. The bright sun made her brown pelt look yellow. A small gray tom followed her, staring at Downstar.

“Your Clan put on an excellent show, Gentlestar,” Downstar purred as the WheatClan leader approached.

“So did yours,” Gentlestar chirped, touching noses with the RippleClan leader. “Hopefully we can share tongues some more later today. First, though, I wanted to introduce you to Asterpaw.” The gray apprentice stood beside Gentlestar, studying the three RippleClan cats before him. His fur was choppy, with a few small tabby markings along his face and tail. He was sleek compared to most WheatClan cats, who enjoyed the extra fat from their various herbs and crops in the bountiful moons.

“Greetings,” he said quietly, nodding to each RippleClan cat in turn.

“Are you a new apprentice?” Splashpaw asked. Asterpaw shifted back.

“He’s been an apprentice for over a season now,” Gentlestar explained, “but he hasn’t been allowed at Gatherings. I heard you used to be a troublemaker in your youth, Downstar. Asterpaw would want to challenge you for that title. He’s been the subject of three trials in the span of four moons.”

“What in StarClan’s name have you been doing?” Rattlepelt gasped as Asterpaw straightened up against the shocked expressions of those around him.

“I’ve been helping cats,” he huffed.

“Asterpaw has been caught numerous times stealing WheatClan resources and giving them to the southern farm cats,” Gentlestar said. A curt glare from the brown leader shut Asterpaw up. His yellow eyes screamed to talk back. “No matter how many times we’ve explained to Asterpaw that our prey and tools belong to us, he’ll still give what he can away.” 

“That’s not something a leader would usually admit to another,” Downstar noted as Asterpaw grew stiff as wood, fighting back the urge to defend himself. “That sort of theft is a serious issue, Asterpaw.” The flood inside of the gray WheatClan tom broke free.

“I don’t always take things from camp!” he cried. “I make some of my own stuff, too. The farm cats have their own society to the south, and they don’t have our freedom to act with humans constantly watching them. If they’re struggling to hunt for themselves, I give them a spare mouse or my share of a meal. I only want to take care of them!”

“Except you’re supposed to take care of your Clanmates, not those outside WheatClan,” Gentlestar reminded him. This time, Asterpaw did not back down, glaring back at Gentlestar with righteous strength. Gentlestar simply sighed, looked back to Downstar, and said, “We’ve decided that if Asterpaw is going to give prey to every loner and kittypet he comes across, he would do better in the Clan that’s more supportive of that behavior.”

“Wait,” Rattlepelt said, “do you mean you want Asterpaw to join RippleClan?”

“He’s shown WheatClan that he cannot be trusted,” Gentlestar sighed. “The only other option after so many repeated offenses in so little time was exile.”

“RippleClan loves to help outsiders, right?” Asterpaw said, stepping away from Gentlestar. “You’ve invited a dozen loners to join your ranks at this point. You understand what I’m trying to do.”

“We’re kind to loners, yes,” Downstar said, glancing toward Lemmy in the gaggle of queens, “but we’re still wise with our resources. There’s a border between helping others and hurting your Clan. If you want to be a RippleClan cat, you need to understand that.”

“If you can teach him that lesson, WheatClan will be impressed,” Gentlestar said. “Beyond his issues, Asterpaw is a good caretaker and minds the camp well. While we will miss him, he and the Clan all agree this is for the best.” Asterpaw nodded along.

“Another caretaker apprentice from another Clan…” Downstar hummed. She couldn’t help but chuckle at history repeating itself. “I trained Elmsprout when she left AshClan. It seems only fair that I train another caretaker.”

“So I can join?” Asterpaw asked, standing as tall as he could despite his short stature.

“You can’t be stealing from us, though,” Rattlepelt noted. “I’ll know if you steal my leather.” She adjusted her fox pelt, rubbing her face into the red fur lining the outer side.

“If you’re as troublesome as Gentlestar claims you are,” Downstar chuckled, touching noses with Asterpaw, “you need a more experienced paw to guide you. If this is what you want, you can return to RippleClan with us at the end of Harvest Moon.” Asterpaw hooked his tail high, purring at his new leader.

A hiss slipped through the happy noise of the Harvest Moon. A sharp yelp spun Downstar’s head around. Far away from the rest of the crowd, Weedfoot, Paleseed, and Darkkick slept beside one another. Terracottafoot looped around them, using them as a wall between themself and Waspdawn, whose shortened tail thrashed violently and who bared his teeth like a dog.

“What did you do to Paleseed?” Waspdawn yowled. He tried to get around the sleeping cats and strike Terracottafoot, but the nimble cleric led the codekeeper on a loop, staying far from Waspdawn’s angry claws.

“Please, you can’t disturb them!” Terracottafoot begged. “This is more important than you realize!” Downstar ran toward Waspdawn and Terracottafoot, but Troutpool beat her there.

“Waspdawn, you can’t attack a cleric!” Troutpool yowled, grabbing Waspdawn by the scruff and pulling him back. Waspdawn squirmed out of Troutpool’s weak grasp.

“They did something to them!” Waspdawn hissed. Cats slipped away from the excitement of the distant race and formed a crowd of onlookers, all eyes on Waspdawn. “None of them will wake up!” Terracottafoot crouched by Darkkick, who did not wake up despite the chaos around her. Eelstar shoved his way to the front of the crowd. He shivered as he stood, even though the coming sunhigh made it feel almost like summer again.

“Terracottafoot, what is going on?” Eelstar huffed. Terracottafoot rose, gray eyes hardening as they stood down their leader.

“I did what your pride wouldn’t let you do,” they snapped. “I got help!” Downstar slipped beside Weedfoot. She nudged her deputy’s shoulder. Weedfoot did not stir. Downstar put her ear to Weedfoot’s mouth. She was still breathing. Downstar shook her again, harder, but to the same result.

“What’s on their chests?” Rattlepelt called from the crowd. Troutpool joined Downstar and Weedfoot. She lifted Weedfoot’s heavy head. Black dye smeared the bottom of her chin, a trail running down her chest. Darkkick and Paleseed had the same marks. Troutpool gasped and dropped Weedfoot’s head. Her whiskers pushed back and her wide eyes stared at Terracottafoot.

“I know this ritual,” Troutpool muttered as Rattlepelt joined her little sister, offering a comforting weight at her side. “Every cleric learns it, even though it’s incredibly taboo. Terracottafoot… why did you send them to the Dark Forest?” Fearful gasps and yowls rippled around the Leader’s Stone. Codekeepers instantly fought to keep RippleClan and AshClan cats alike from swarming the scene, pushing and smacking them back with sheathed claws. Downstar shivered just like Eelstar. 

“Because they’re going to save my Clan,” said Terracottafoot, whose characteristic insecurity vanished like morning mist against the outrage of the five Clans, whose gray eyes continued to stare down Eelstar, almost taunting him to speak against his only cleric.

(Downstar: 122, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Rattlepelt: 46, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Splashpaw: 11, male, historian apprentice, bold, never sits still, lover of art)

(Asterpaw: 10, male, caretaker apprentice, thoughtful, has lots of ideas)

(Waspdawn: 29, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Troutpool: 24, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

[Image ID: Darkkick and Weedfoot face down Autumnstar, a Dark Forest soul. Weedfoot says, “You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?”]

---

Paleseed would be the one to spring the trap. It was her idea, after all, and it would keep her out of the fight. Newtstream had wandered off, unable (or perhaps unwilling) to assist anymore than she had. That left Weedfoot and Darkkick standing among the trees. Waiting. Watching. Holding their breath at the slightest shift in wind.

“Are we sure Autumnstar will come this way?” Weedfoot asked.

“Terracottafoot’s performance of the ritual was sound,” Darkkick huffed. “Autumnstar’s spirit is being pulled our direction as we speak.” Weedfoot peered into the moonlit fog. The trees grew hazy the farther she looked. A distant howl filled the silence between the pair.

“Darkkick,” Weedfoot said softly, “if I don’t wake up, make sure my family knows why I did this.”

“If I don’t,” Darkkick said, “tell Spikecrash I’ve enjoyed growing closer to her.”

“I’ll tell her you loved her,” Weedfoot purred.

The moonlight in the distance glinted against yellow eyes. Weedfoot froze, and not just out of fear. A thin coat of frost crawled under the fog, lurching from the shadows. It stung at Weedfoot’s pads and forced her back. Darkkick shivered through it. Ginger and white paws, sticky with goo and shimmering with frost, stepped out of the haze. Ice ate at his scar tissue. The face that came into view was not one of malice, but shock.

“Is that you, Weedfoot?” Autumnstar gasped. The frost grew thicker and thicker where he stood. The frost collected over Weedfoot’s paws, trying to glue her to the dead grass. Weedfoot kept moving, shifting her stance and breaking the ice. “You’re not a cat I expected to see here. Especially not alive. And Darkkick, of all cats! I never expected to see your face again. So you’ve joined up with Weedfoot and her kin. Did you send the pair of you here?” Darkkick raised her hackles, hissing.

“You couldn’t rest in peace, could you Autumnstar?” Weedfoot growled. “Do you even realize you’re hurting your Clan? Your Clanmates are dying, you’ve cursed them. You need to undo it.”

“I wondered if my anger held the power so many artisans and historians claimed it did in this place,” Autumnstar muttered, lifting a paw and allowing his cursed goop to drip onto the dead grass. “If that is how their betrayal manifests, so be it. May StarClan judge their foxhearted ways just as they judged me.”

“I would have thought you’d curse RippleClan,” Darkkick scoffed.

“You may not believe me, but I know the truth about your Clan now,” Autumnstar snapped. A flick of his tail sent ice sprinkling onto the side of a withered oak. “Our ancestors decided five Clans can exist around StarClan’s Shrine. My fight is not with RippleClan.”

“AshClan is full of your friends, your kin,” Weedfoot yowled. “I remember how much you cared for them. Why hurt them?”

“Why do you care?” Autumnstar groaned like an impatient apprentice. “You’re not AshClan anymore. The culture and traditions I fought to uphold mean nothing to you now.”

“I did care!” Darkkick yowled, marching closer. A flash of frost shot out from around Autumnstar. It struck at Darkkick’s legs, leaving crystals on her long fur. She hissed, gritting her teeth as her legs buckled. “I cared about AshClan up to the moment you exiled me for following StarClan’s decree! How is that ‘upholding tradition’?”

“I exiled you because I thought you were lying,” Autumnstar growled. “Why would I believe StarClan would suddenly side with the cats sewing discord into my Clan, working against so many of the values I held dear? I thought it was a conspiracy, that you had been won over. I stopped the war when I learned the truth. I respected RippleClan’s land, became civil to Downstar. And what did I get for changing my ways? StarClan struck me down. The friends and kin I spent my life defending began to curse my name. Of course I cursed them back!” Weedfoot couldn’t feel her paws. Her skin burned from the cold. Ice pinned her fur to her skin. It grew thicker and thicker. Pulling away grew harder and harder until all Weedfoot and Darkkick could do was squirm in their crystal chrysalis. “I fight for my Clan, only to be spat on for my efforts. If they’ll call me a curse on their Clan, that’s just what I’ll be!”

“Paleseed!” Weedfoot yowled. Her eyes turned to the treetops over Autumnstar. Flames danced in front of the giant moon. It licked at the end of a pointy gray branch. Paleseed stood defiant in the lifeless tree, holding the stick high, teeth dug tight into the bark. The fire brightened her spotted fur and burned her heather eyes.

Paleseed set the flame to the tree. The fire eagerly jumped to the dry tinder. Brilliant orange light exploded against the fog. Paleseed ran and jumped from one tree to another, setting each aflame.

“Are you mad?” Autumnstar roared. “You’ll kill yourselves before you kill me!” Blood pooled in Weedfoot’s paws in response to the sudden heat. Frost turned to dew. Darkkick lifted herself from the grass, shaking the quickly melting ice off her long black fur like dust. In the shining firelight, Autumnstar seemed like any other opponent Weedfoot had overcome before.

Darkkick attacked first. She head-butted Autumnstar, knocking him toward the flames, now leaping to other trees of its own merit. Weedfoot struck Autumnstar upside the head before he could collect himself. They rolled through the fog, two against one. Weedfoot’s pelt grew soaked as she fell on her back, saved only by Darkkick dragging Autumnstar away.

“It’s done!” Paleseed cried. In between flashes of fur and fang, fire consumed every exit. The heat replaced Autumnstar’s supernatural chill entirely. Paleseed stood on the other side of the fire, coughing, eyes watering at the smoke that now ate at the moon.

“You’ve weakened him!” Weedfoot cheered as she freed Darkkick from Autumnstar’s strong hold. “There’s nothing else you can do here, Paleseed. You need to wake up.”

“I don’t know how!” Paleseed yowled. “This doesn’t feel like a dream!”

“You can see, but your eyes feel closed, don’t they?” Darkkick snapped, dodging Autumnstar’s strike. “You can still hear Harvest Moon in the distance. That’s how it is for us. Force your eyes open! Listen to the crowd!”

“I love you both!” Paleseed cried. Her wide gaze held Weedfoot’s attention, even as she scratched and clawed at Autumnstar. The fire blossomed, rising like the tide and receding just as fast. Paleseed was gone. Paleseed was safe.

A lucky blow; Weedfoot kicked her leg back, only for Autumnstar to lock his fangs deep into her ankle. He was a rattlesnake, injecting cold poison into Weedfoot’s blood. The deputy yowled and shivered as Autumnstar’s icy claws continued to spread his mouth’s icy venom. That close to the flesh, the fire could do nothing to stop his dark power. Weedfoot dug into Autumnstar’s face, even as her leg remained stuck in the dead leader’s vicious bite. 

Darkkick slid on her back, appearing under Autumnstar’s stomach. She pushed up, hard as she could. Autumnstar’s fangs lifted from Weedfoot’s ankle with a vibrant spurt of blood. Weedfoot’s spasming muscles kicked Autumnstar away.

Here are the fallen Ashes in the Water, the AshClan cats who stood against their Clanmates and asked for a different life; Lavenderleaf, Redcloud, Sprucespring, Wasppaw, Finstrike, Burdockstream, and Paleshade. StarClan knew of their mission and accepted their cause, welcoming the group into StarClan despite how they turned against their Clan. This is for them!

Weedfoot slashed at Autumnstar’s eyes. Autumnstar shrieked, trying to blink the blood away. Darkkick fulfilled her namesake; she kicked, hard, right against Autumnstar’s side, sending the suddenly blinded leader stumbling into Paleseed’s flames.

The effect was nearly instant. As Autumnstar caterwauled, form flailing in the fire, sharp-angled shadows bounced off his silhouette. Shardlings. The living shadows, with too pointy ears and fang-tips for tails, the broken remnants of a Dark Forest soul, dead twice-over. They scattered with the smoke, mimicking their host’s fading screams. Autumnstar grew smaller and smaller in the fire’s glow.

Weedfoot turned to Darkkick, wondering, praying, screaming inside, still absorbing the pain in her leg and everything unfolding around her. But Darkkick was gone. Darkkick was safe.

But Weedfoot bore witness. She was still a historian. This was her duty.

The last shadow of Autumnstar shifted and danced in the fire, with only its ears and tail suggesting a feline shape. But this Shardling did not bounce into the Dark Forest to search for its broken kin. No, this Shardling stared at Weedfoot. Bright yellow eyes glared at her with more hatred than any soul, dead or alive, could muster. It screeched with a sound like screaming wind. Flames reaching out to restrain it, the Shardling launched at Weedfoot.

Weedfoot was not safe.

[Image ID: Darkkick, Paleseed, and Weedfoot sit together as Rattlepelt tells Weedfoot, “I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Under Weedfoot, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED LEG. Under Rattlepelt, it says LEVEL UP! FIERCE -> BLOODTHIRSTY.]

Weedfoot screamed. She spasmed against the gray… no. The green grass. The grass was green again. The voices that once whispered far in the distance were now up close and yowling. The sun. The sun had returned, dancing directly over the Leader’s Stone. A huge crowd surrounded Weedfoot, gasping and yowling in response to her sudden panic.

“I’ve got you, Weedfoot!” Rattlepelt sat at Weedfoot’s side. She wrapped her prized fox pelt around Weedfoot’s burning leg. It was still bleeding, even though Weedfoot’s body never entered that cursed forest. “Troutpool and the other clerics are making emergency bandages.” Rattlepelt pressed both front paws into Weedfoot’s wounds. A bit of blood stained her gray skin.

“We weren’t putting on a show here.” Darkkick! She and Paleseed sat with Terracottafoot, cleaning the black dye off their chests with wet moss rather than groom it and get sick.

“I did try to send them away,” Terracottafoot gulped.

“Move, that’s our mother!” Weedfoot’s four other kits pushed through the crowd, Waspdawn in the lead. The golden tom ran into Weedfoot. Puddlewhisper and Lavendertwist wrapped around their mother. Even Scaleripple, sensitive as he was, laid his head on Weedfoot’s tail, purring. Paleseed left Darkkick and Terracottafoot to join her family. Waspdawn tackled his sister, trying to hold both kin close. James trailed after them, lucious tail tucked under his legs.

“Where are you hurt?” James asked. He noticed Rattlepelt’s bloody paws and groaned, closing his eyes. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to look. I’m just grateful you’re awake.” Weedfoot couldn’t help but laugh; even as she awoke from a battle in the Dark Forest, James was still the snob she knew and love. James pressed into Weedfoot’s neck.

“Weedfoot.” Weedfoot’s family shifted to reveal Downstar, standing with Eelstar at the front of the crowd. “Terracottafoot told us of their vision and your quest. You should have told me about this.”

“This wasn’t your problem to solve,” Eelstar said. His voice lacked its usual bite as he stared at the fox pelt around her leg.

“I’m sorry, Downstar,” Weedfoot gulped, voice shaky from the experience, “but this was too important to let you stop us. StarClan said we were the best ones to handle Autumnstar.”

“It was terrifying to see,” Lavendertwist gulped. “Mom, you and Darkkick were just laying there, shivering! And then all these scratches and bruises began to appear, even though no one was touching you! And then your leg opened up, it was… I don’t even know what to say! What happened in the Dark Forest?”

Yes… what had happened? The Shardling had had its jaw around Weedfoot’s throat. It should have killed her. It wasn’t a thinking being, it was a bundle of lost emotion and instinct, a small piece of what used to be Autumnstar. It didn’t have the capacity to spare. So why did it? All five Clans stared at Weedfoot, awaiting her answer. What could she say? Only the truth.

“Autumnstar can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Weedfoot said.

(Weedfoot: 112, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Darkkick: 123, trans female, lonesome, talented swimmer, understands nature)

(Paleseed: 29, female, mediator, insecure, incredible runner, steady paws)

(Rattlepelt: 46, female, artisan, bloodthirsty, leather artist)

(Waspdawn: 29, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Puddlewhisper: 29, trans female, codekeeper, righteous, natural intuition, ghost sense)

(Lavendertwist: 29, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Scaleripple: 16, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(James: 139, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

“Do you think we could ask Brightnight?”

“Brightnight knows how to heal, but she doesn't understand these things.”

“I hope StarClan was talking more of a possibility, rather than certainty.”

“I hope so, too…” Asterpaw showed his claws. “Because if he does anything, I’m going to kill him.”

Asterpaw was small and untrained, but above all he was shy. The tyrant Lynxstar would easily subjugate him if the two of them came to blows. Worse than that, Lynxstar would guarantee him a death so cruel and painful it would be remembered as legend for generations to come.

Horsepaw shivered. She couldn’t lose her only friend like this.

The next day, Lynxstar woke the two apprentices early. His pupils were straight, his fangs were sharp, and his long, thick coat only made him look bigger. A terrifying sight to open the eyes to. With a shrill voice, he greeted: “Good morning, pipsqueaks! Afternoon, even!”

“Where are you taking us?” Horsepaw asked.

“To take a look around, no biggie. I can’t expect the prince to die for his clan, if he doesn’t know what he’s fighting for!”

“He’ll just kill us?” Asterpaw whispered, the eve’s courage vanishing.

“Not just yet, if he’s smart,” answered Horsepaw.

“That’s not comforting…”

“What are you two chitter-chatting about in the back?” Lynxstar’s voice came again, loud and musical. “I’ll start feeling left out!”

That was the first time Asterpaw was allowed to leave the caves and, even if it was under such dreadful circumstances, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of childlike wonder once his pupils became accustomed to the overwhelming light of the outside world. The winter breeze greeted him with a hit violent enough to make his entire coat bristle at once. He quivered when he inhaled the cold air. It felt as if he was breathing onto ice, and he began to sneeze.

The young apprentice experimented with his first few steps, the snow softly melting away around his pads as he did so. He leaped, surprised. It was too cold for it to be comfortable.

He heard Lynxstar’s giggle, as he spoke: “During the first founding, EarthquakeClan cats had some extra fur on their toes so walking would be less uncomfortable. You seem to have inherited the traits of a stray, though, Asterpaw!”

“How do you know about this?” Asterpaw hissed.

Lynxstar’s voice became very serious when he answered: “My mother told me these stories all of the time…”

The sparked Asterpaw’s interest. If he remembered correctly, he was one of the first clanborn EarthquakeClan cats; even Horsepaw, who was his age, had only been abandoned by the border rather than born from a clanmate. If Lynxstar knew those stories, it meant he had been around clan life for even longer than Pikestar had.

“I did not know you belonged to another clan…” the apprentice remarked.

“I don’t belong anywhere, prince,” he hissed, and then trotted further away.

Horsepaw gave Asterpaw a ‘that was weird’ look, and then shrugged. “Maybe, he was exiled,” she mocked. 

Her initial suspicions on how the day would play out were proven correct when Lynxstar began to take notice of every hard-to-get-to corner in EarthquakeClan’s territory, complementing their discoveries with comments on how patrols wouldn’t usually come that far and how pitiful it was if there was some good, fresh meat to be taken around those areas. This was just going to be a fear-mongering expedition, and since it wouldn't add to their training, she decided to not pay much attention.

“Do you want to train our fighting skills together, Asterpaw?” Horsepaw offered, once they came back.

“I’m too tired,” he replied.

“I’ll train by myself, then. You never know when you’ll need the skill.”

“And who will you train with?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find someone.”

Their next training session was much better, though it clearly expected similar reactions from the apprentices: it was a fighting assessment, where Lynxstar would see how the two apprentices fought before directing their classes to fit their specific strengths and weaknesses. That session was just an excuse to show off how easily he could dodge their attacks, and how fast he could immobilize them if it proved to be necessary — even when it was the two of them at once. It wasn’t for nothing that he was known as an excellent fighter amongst his clanmates: he was unbeatable, and if he had allies, unkillable.

“He made a mistake this time,” Horsepaw commented. “He showed me how he fights.”

“And you expect to get better than him in a day?”

“No, just good enough to give him a good scare.”

It was on their third training session that a truly relevant event took place. A bouleversement in how the felines viewed their relationship with one another.

It was supposed to be the training session where the mentor came back with perfectly tailored classes for the two apprentices, so they could build up from the previous lesson, but he came acting as if he had nothing prepared. 

Horsepaw could not contain her frustration: “You’re just wasting our time!”

“But I’m taking your training very seriously!” Lynxstar commented, while purring in amusement. “It’s just that I’m so clumsy! Ough, the crushing responsibility of leadership! Asterpaw, please promise us that you’ll never be like me once you’re the great Asterstar.”

Horsepaw lunged, but Lynxstar dodged her attack. 

“Be careful,” Lynxstar advised, cynically, “I could have almost thought you were trying to hurt me. That could get you exiled.”

She lunged again, only this time she managed to cling onto his back with her claws. He was always expecting her to attack from the front or from the sides the day before. A holler of surprise and pain echoed in the otherwise still forest, as Lynxstar leaped, almost convulsive, in an attempt to make the young apprentice fall.  

Horsepaw used his surprise to her advantage: she took her claws near his throat, but only managed to tear some of his fur away. No blood was drawn from the area. She screamed, desperately: “Asterpaw, come on! We need to kill him nine times!”

He managed to move one of his legs. Then the other. Until he finally managed to join in. He hopped into action, his laws biting onto one of the despot's pointy ears. Now, blood was drawn.

Lynxstar managed to swing enough to throw Horsepaw away, swiftly switching focus to Asterpaw. His long, curvy claws hit the young tom from multiple places he could not predict; no matter how agile his movement was, he was always ill-timed; and Lynxstar pressed the young prince against the floor, his tail swinging.

In the meantime, the she-cat’s body hit a leafless tree, and she grunted in great frustration. She had been so close. She had been so close. She had been so close she knew she was capable of giving the finishing blow, and she would not stop until she had.

She stood up her head, fierce, but instead of finding the same deadly expression on the leader’s green eyes, she found a sudden dismay. Not just any dismay: the one that accompanies the inevitable. She looked in the same direction he was looking at: a branch big enough to break her spine quickly descended towards her.

It all happened in a nick of time: one moment, Horsepaw was aware of danger; the other, she had been pushed away from it; then the next, an unbearable pain struck her. The spine itself was safe, but her tail was not, the cracking noise told her.

“Horsepaw!” Asterpaw ran towards her. “Horsepaw, are you—”

“Get me out before he kills us!”

“Okay, okay!”

While Asterpaw worked, Horsepaw looked around, desperately searching for Lynxstar. He was nowhere to be seen, at least on the spots where she was looking: when she looked at the branch, she found him, his head right under it.

Asterpaw managed to roll it enough to set both of them free, but warned: “You can’t move just yet! I’ll get back to camp and call for help. Brightnight will know how to take you out of here without breaking it more!”

Horsepaw was not listening. Not only was the pain deafening, the image of the still tom she attacked was distracting: half of his face was crushed, and the gray fur of yesterday was now vividly scarlet. The horror of realization was permanently marked on what was left of his broken skull, his claws were still visible; and yet, his pelt still danced with the wind just as if he was still alive.

Still, it wasn’t in the fright of the scene that Horsepaw focused, and it was clear when she said: “He pushed me…” 

Asterpaw looked, shut his eyes, and ran towards camp. There was no time to lose.

“He pushed me…” Horsepaw repeated to herself. Why?

Alone, she watched as the carcass’ head began to again take its original form — none of his other injuries would heal, only the one that had killed him. Blood would not vanish, but the bones were rapidly reconstructing their structures, and Horsepaw would listen. Then, she listened to the carcass’ initial gasp for air, which was strange because she did not hear any sound she recognized. Finally, Lynxstar moved, contorting his face while cowering. His eyes gained color as he moved them to gaze at Horsepaw, but they did not regain the sarcastic expression they usually carried. They looked tired. He stared at her mangled tail and, under his breath, he muttered: “Well, you won’t lunge at me that easily for a while.”

After a short pause, he concluded, purring quietly: “But you’ll learn again. And when you do, you won’t be mouse-brained enough to try to claw my throat out of my neck when you can’t even look at where you’re scratching!”

Horsepaw did not know what to say, but she did move her ears: there were footsteps coming, and they did not belong to a cat.

Lynxstar cursed and said: “A guy’s luck can be that bad, can it…?” he looked at Horsepaw and asked: “You wouldn’t be able to run right now, would you, love?”

Horsepaw frowned, but still shook her head in answer.

“Oh wow… a guy’s luck can be that bad, then,” he said while he forced himself to stand up. His body kept swinging from side to side, but he remained in an acceptable enough fighting position.

The gigantic silhouette of a predator became clear, and it was looking at them with great interest, most of its traits hidden by the environment. Horsepaw could only sense its smell and see its yellow, killer eyes.

“What animal is this?” She asked.

“Ah, it’s nothing! Just a mommy snow-leopard!”

“What…?”

“Hey, horsey, if I were you? I’d hide my face. Like, immediately.”

Raventuft, Riverfur, Brightnight and Leopardwillow all agreed to follow Asterpaw back to where he had left the others, but none of them was expecting to find a dead snow-leopard at the scene.

“Lynxstar!” Raventuft and Riverfur said in unison, running towards him. The tom was lying on a pool of blood, with scratch marks big enough to kill, and yet somehow he was still breathing.

“Is it you, ducky?” Lynxstar feebly asked. 

“Of course it’s me!” Raventuft cried, pressing his muzzle against his head. “What in the name of our ancestors happened here?”

He smiled. “I killed a mommy snow-leopard, ducky! I wish you could have seen it! She didn’t… stand a… chance…”

Lynxstar’s eyes rolled back and his head fell in a thumping sound. Despite the scare, his chest still steadily moved up and down, and Brightnight began tending to his wounds right there and then.

“What happened here?” Leopardwillow demanded, while she looked at Horsepaw and Asterpaw.

“Can you wait until she’s done with the poppy seeds?” Asterpaw asked.

“No, it’s alright,” Horsepaw answered, already feeling the numbness of the seeds she was given, “I can talk. It was my fault.”

“Excuse me?” Leopardwillow and Asterpaw’s voices came in together.

“I didn’t look where I was going, remember? That branch was going to crush me, so Lynxstar didn’t let it. The leopard was probably hunting nearby and heard the commotion. After all, which cat doesn’t like easy prey?”

Leopardwillow fell into thoughtful silence. “Lynxstar… was protecting you?”

The silver apprentice nodded. “Yes. He was. Why? Did you think it was his fault Asterpaw came in to call you?”

Flustered, Leopardwillow became unable to answer. Of course she thought the incident had been an assassination attempt! Who could blame her for it? Still, if what Horsepaw was saying was true, then she would’ve heavily misjudged the warrior. After all, she had never heard of any other cat determined enough to kill a large cat by himself.

Brightnight fixed her posture, and spoke, as she stretched: “He lost a life today, but he won’t be losing a second one so soon. Now, let us see how that tail is doing, Horsepaw. Are you awake enough to answer my inquiries? Good.”

Man, that was awkward. That was extremely awkward.

Horsepaw had just left the medicine cat den, her tail now looking like nothing more than a cotton ball; but she was alive and slowly learning how to compensate for her newfound lack of balance. She was sitting in front of him now, and it was killing him from the inside out. Why couldn’t she just curse him and walk away?

“So, uh…” Horsepaw broke the silence, looking at her toes, “How’s your head?”

Lynxstar responded, muffled: “Ah, you know… fatal injuries heal, non-fatal don’t… yeah… Not sorry for the nightmares I gave you, though, you gotta admit that resurrecting like that was pretty hardcore.”

“I… guess it was, yeah.” 

“Yeah.”

Lynxstar was beating his tail on the floor, impatiently, until he couldn’t take it anymore: “Why did you lie?”

“Lie?”

“That you weren’t looking when the tree was falling down on you.”

“I didn’t say that. I said that the branch was going to crush me, and that it was my fault you were injured. I didn’t tell one lie to Leopardwillow.”

“But you lied by omission!”

“Do you want me to un-lie then?”

“No!” he cleared his throat, and repeated: “No… I just want to know why, and then we can go back to hating each other’s guts. I kinda miss that.”

Horsepaw hesitated, and when she spoke, it sounded as if she was being forced to admit to an embarrassing childhood story: “You threw yourself to a snow-leopard’s jaws because I wouldn’t be able to run away from it. I think I can pretend you weren’t scaring Asterpaw the same day you do that.”

“You were the one who wanted to assassinate me!” 

“And you never thought about killing me or Asterpaw? Right.”

Lynxstar opened his mouth to protest, but not a word came out of it. He huffed: “I hate you.”

“Likewise. But I owe you one, now. Two, perhaps.”

“Hey, horsey… you know you don’t need to be all honorable and formal, right? You’re just a kid, not a senior warrior.”

Horsepaw slowly tilted her head.

“I don’t know, whenever you start talking… it freaks me out. Feels like you’re forcing yourself to sound more serious when you should be getting all wide eyed about fireflies or whatever. I know nobody wanted to be your foster mom around here, but we all took turns taking care of you. You’re just as EarthquakeClan as any of us are.” 

Horsepaw was not expecting him to say any of that, but he was right. She always felt as if she was an outsider inside of the clan, and as an outsider she needed to try and skip steps to be respected. Even if he didn't have the best tact to speak of the issue, it felt nice that he noticed it.

“Yeah, so all of that to say: I don’t want you to owe me anything. Still want you to blindly obey me, though. Can you do that for me?”

Horsepaw snorted, purring in amusement. She had almost forgotten that Lynxstar was not that much older than her and Asterpaw, becoming leader at less than 24 moons. Of course he was still immature, especially in his sense of humor. “Not a chance!”

“Come on, I don't want to get rid of you! That’ll be like exiling my daughter! Do you want me to feel like I’m exiling my daughter?”

"Maybe," she answered, showing her tongue at him, while she walked towards the apprentice's den.

He followed suit, but walked towards the leader's den instead. Raventuft waited for him, serious. "We need to talk."

Lynxstar pulled up his best abandoned kittypet eyes. "I hate it when you say that."

"You became leader this moon, and you already lost a life! Are you understanding the gravity of the situation?"

Oh, so the abandoned kittypet eyes was not going to work that moon. "I'll just sit around and watch the next time an apprentice is about to die, got it."

"And why couldn't you? You never cared about breaking the Warrior Code!"

"Maybe I don't want to be like him!" Lynxstar turned his head away. "Maybe I want to be better than him. Maybe."

Of course, he was moping about Darkstripe. He was always moping about Darkstripe.

Raventuft sighed. He could be affected by his mate's first death, and how wasteful it was in the greater picture, but he could not deny he had a point. "You do know that Asterpaw still might pose a threat to us... right?"

Lynxstar lowered his ears. "I do."

"This is your plan, I'm just helping you go along with it."

"No, it's your plan. My plan was worse."

"Whatever, it's our plan now. And we either intimitate him, or..." he paused, waiting for Lynxstar to complete the thought.

"Kill him."

"Eeeexactly! And if I remember correctly, you were only thinking about the murder the first time we went through this! What changed?"

Lynxstar lied down in a corner, covering his face with his tail. There were a couple of marks in it that would easily make him pass as a tabby, not a spotted cat. They would very similar to Asterpaw's marks, if only his tone of gray was closer to blue. Then he remembered Asterpaw's face when Horsepaw pounced on him, and how powerless he seemed; how easy it was to defeat him.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I really don't know."