#dustjump

"Did... did that really happen?" Quiver gaped as Splashstone finished his song. It all sounded so fantastical, the spirits of dead cats appearing and speaking to their living friends... well, now that she thought about it, it sounded a little spooky. But the way these TurtleClanners spoke of it, they hadn't seen it that way.

"It did," Dustjump, the old molly who had bound her broken paw, confirmed, her chin held high and pride glowing in her eyes. "We were all there, we all saw them that night."

Quiver crouched down, flattening her ears. "Are they... going to appear again?" She wasn't ready to meet any all-seeing ghosts. What if they didn't like her staying with TurtleClan while she healed? What if they found her as strange and off-putting as most cats seemed to? What if...? She felt her heart rate starting to pick up, heard her own blood rushing in her ears.

"No," Spindlefleck's tail draped over her shoulders pulled her out of her head more than her initial words. "Currentheart and Pearl said they couldn't just appear at will, and they selected Dustjump as their contact among us, besides."

Tidechaser had strode into camp in the pouring rain, pelt plastered to his sides, the water making the huge tom look so much smaller than he usually did. Sand had been trailing behind him, tail dragging in the mud and head low, looking like he’d just experienced the wreck anew. Dustjump hadn’t even needed to see the bloodied ginger fur of the cat across Tidechaser’s shoulders to know that another tragedy had caught up to them at last. It had been something called a boar, Tidechaser had told them. They’d never ventured this close to the coast before, but now that one was here, they all needed to be more cautious. Dustjump had barely heard a word he said, too absorbed with the loss of the young, energetic tom.

 For a while, it seemed like they could have made a life here. Had that been anything more than a grand illusion? There were no kits among them now. Many of the cats in their group were young, but in time, they would age and die as well, if disease or bloodshed or strange accidents like the one today didn’t take them first. And then everything they had built would be gone, nothing more than dust on the wind, with no-one left to remember that their paws had ever left prints on these dunes. The cats that had died on the ship had been the same. Her housefolk had been the same. They’d all been taken away, and when Dustjump was gone, everything she’d known about them would vanish, like they’d never even existed at all. It was a sad, bleak fate that they all shared. Dustjump wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so hopeless or alone, not even after the night of the wreck. What do we do now? If we’re all going to fade into nothing, why bother trying at all?

Dustjump felt a shifting under her feet and snatched her paw back with a hiss. She expected to see one of the little crabs that scurried across the beach without end. Annoying, painful, even, if they got you in the right place, but not particularly harmful. What she saw was too odd and dark to be a crab. She peered down into the sand, gazing deep into the creature's strange face and dark, shining eyes. She didn’t have long to look, though, because as soon as it had shaken itself free of the sand, it began pushing away with its strange, pawless limbs. Dustjump felt a spark of recognition. It was the flippers that gave it away. It was a turtle. She had seen a few in greenleaf up on the beaches, digging around in the sand. She hadn’t gotten close enough to see what they’d been doing then, but Dustjump supposed that the emergence of this strange, disproportionate little turtle indicated that they’d been kitting. Or whatever it was that turtles did. The little turtle finally disappeared over the rise of the dune, and Dustjump let her gaze linger where it had vanished. She wondered, vaguely, where it was going. Then she felt another nudge at her paw. Dustjump looked down to find the sand nearly churning beneath her paws as turtle after turtle fought its way free of the earth. How big are their litters, she thought in dismay. A few even emerged from under Currentheart’s body, and she could just make out her campmates murmuring to one another in confusion and discomfort.

There were so many of the creatures, coming out all over the place, scrambling in every direction. It felt almost disrespectful to Currentheart and the vigil they had been trying to hold. She was about to suggest moving their fallen friend when the little creatures, previously flailing about every which way in a chaotic display of confusion and fear, began to turn, one by one and in groups, all in the direction that the first turtle had vanished. Then they started pushing forward in a desperate struggle, as though something was calling them, guiding them… 

Dustjump’s breath caught in her throat. The words of the legend Tidechaser had shared moons ago rang in her ears: “if ever you or your descendents are lost on the way to the Realm of Stars, me and my kin will seek you out…” Dustjump inhaled sharply as Tidechaser spoke the words she’d been thinking into existence once more. “...and guide you on your way.”

Dustjump didn’t give herself time to think or doubt. She heard the yowls of shock and question behind her, and realized that she was already on her paws, already running. She didn’t stop to explain, she couldn’t stop. Please understand, she implored them in her mind. Please follow. 

Tidechaser must have taken off at the same moment she had, or heartbeats after, because he was beside her now, pulling in front of her. Oh no you don’t! She increased her pace, pushing faster, faster. She had to be there first. She didn’t know why she was so certain, she just knew. They set a brutal, paw-pounding pace over the dunes, kicking up sand in their wake. Up and down the dunes they went, following the trails of the tiny, dark turtles crawling towards the open sea. Dustjump’s jaws were wide now, her breathing heavy as her lungs ached with effort. When was the last time she’d run like this? The night of the wreck? No, she’d been too exhausted. Maybe never. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered, but not in the hopeless, soul-sucking sense she’d felt when she’d lost everything on that fateful night. Right here, right now, nothing else mattered, because this moment was so immense, so important that it swallowed everything else up. Her whole life, everything she’d ever known had been building to this moment.

They crested the rise of the last dune, looking down upon a beach alive with motion as hundreds of tiny turtles struggled towards a sea dancing with white starlight like it was their destiny. On another night, the site would have been breathtaking, but tonight Dustjump barely stopped to glance at it. She knew that her tiny companions would not mind. They were all striving towards the same vast ocean.

Dustjump reached the water heartbeats before Tidechaser did, both of them skidding to a stop on the wet sand, the gentle ebb and flow of the tide washing over their paws.The clouds had cleared, and the starlight was bright on the water now, nearly blinding in its brilliance. Dustjump took a deep breath and let her heart, not her mind, guide her.

“Currentheart, Pearl… I’m sorry it took me so long to understand. But I’m here now. And I’m ready to listen.”

The starlight on the water shifted, trembled, swirled, seemed to rise up out of the ocean to rest above it. And then they were before her. Dustjump gasped, and heard Tidechaser’s sharp inhale of breath beside her. They were beautiful. The memory of the dull, glassy-eyed corpse amidst the dunes above was obliterated by this vibrant young cat that seemed to radiate life and strength. Eyes shining with white fire, stars glittering in his pelt, he dipped his head to her. The cat beside him was no less resplendent, her ginger pelt glossy and thick with its own stars, a serene expression resting gently on her face. She swept her tail around her paws and spoke. “We are pleased to greet you, Dustjump and Tidechaser. We have been waiting.” Pearl’s voice was still her own, but there was a strength to it, a resonance that had not been present in life. Dustjump bowed her head before them, struck momentarily speechless by their majesty.

Thankfully, Tidechaser voiced the words that she could not seem to formulate. “How… how is this possible? The legend said… but I never suspected…” 

“All legends have a kernel of truth somewhere,” Currentheart responded, his voice echoing with light and life, “this one had more than most.”

Pearl’s starry gaze fixed on something behind Dustjump. The others must have followed us, after all. She turned to face her companions to a chorus of sound. Some exclamations were surprised, some confused, a few scared. Shell had clearly led the group, standing stock still a few paces ahead of them now, her eyes blown wide. “Currentheart… Pearl… I… Dustjump, what is going on?”

Dustjump opened her jaws to reply, but her words were drowned out by a howl so filled with grief and love and longing that it took her breath away. Sand barreled past Shell, past Dustjump and Tidechaser to collapse before the starry figure of Currentheart in a bundle of trembling cream colored fur. “Currentheart, Currentheart I’m so sorry, it should’ve been me, you shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way!”

“The choice was mine to make, my teacher, my friend,” Currentheart’s words were gentle, but firm. “I would make the same choice if I could go back to that moment, knowing what would happen.”

“It isn’t fair,” Sand moaned, “that I should live only by your loss. How am I supposed to live with that?”

“You do not live by my loss. You live by my gift. That which was freely given, out of love. Do not waste the life I saved by bemoaning the other paths fate might have taken. Honor that gift by living your life fully, by being true to yourself, by caring for those around you.”

Dustjump stood beside Sand now, brushing her tail over his spine in a soothing gesture. The trembling stopped, and he drew in a long, shaky breath. “I’ll try,” he promised. “I’ll be the best cat I can be, and I’ll make you proud.”

“I’ll be watching over you, always.” Currentheart purred.

Dustjump hated to break in, but Tidechaser seemed to have no such compunctions. “Is that how this works then? When cats die they watch over us from the Realm of Stars, just like in the stories? And we can just talk to them whenever we want?” Pearl considered an answer, but Tidechaser didn’t give her time to formulate one, his tone growing suspicious, hostile. “I… I tried to reach you, once. When Wavehopper died. I sat for hours, staring at the sea night after night, talking to the air, hoping, praying that I would reach her. Why didn’t it work then, if it works now? Where is she?”

Oh, Tidechaser. Dustjump wondered if she would ever know everything there was to this cat she considered her friend.

Pearl sighed, her tail tip twitching. “There are a number of reasons you couldn’t reach her. It would take all night to explain all of them. But the biggest part of it is community. What you all have built here on this beach, with cats supporting one another, learning and growing and sharing experiences, is something very special. You are all part of something greater than yourselves, a great web of connections. You each have a unique bond to every other cat here, you each know small details about one another that perhaps no other cat knows. And most importantly, you share memories of one another. That kind of closeness–even to cats you lack a deep personal connection with–it doesn’t just vanish when a cat leaves the mortal realm to walk the stars. That thread of the web may be gone, but the threads that surrounded it, the memories that those still living share with the dead, those things linger, and it is that which keeps a spirit connected to the world of the living.”

“So?” Tidechaser growled, “I haven’t forgotten Wavehopper. I think about her every day. Are you saying I didn’t love her enough to keep her here?”

“Tidechaser,” Dustjump hissed a warning, but Pearl gestured with her tail to show that she took no offense.

“Tidechaser, which tree is less likely to fall? One with a single thick root, or one with many branching roots?

“One with branching roots,” Tidechaser growled,” but I don’t see why–”

“Connections between the living and dead work the same way,” Currentheart interrupted, his voice deep but gentle. “Many connections anchor a cat more closely to the living world than a single one, no matter how deep it runs.”

Tidechaser fell silent, his shoulders slumping.

“That does not mean your sister is lost, Tidechaser,” Pearl added gently. “She waits for you in our realm–the Realm of the Stars. You will see her again when you join us.”

Tidechaser nodded silently, his tirade at an end.

“So you’re saying that… because we all knew you two, and because we all know each other, we’re…linked?” Dustjump felt callus, moving the conversation away from Tidechaser’s sister, but she was desperate to understand what the starry cats were saying. Pearl nodded, and Dustjump continued. “And cats outside of this… this Clan of ours still walk the stars, they just aren’t tethered to our world?” 

“Clan,” Pearl purred, “that is the perfect name for it. Other cats have formed Clans, in other places, other times. This will be the first Clan to live along these shores, though. Yes, Dustjump, you understand my meaning very well. I was right to choose you. When the cats of your living Clan die, young or old, they will come and join our group in the stars–StarClan.”

“StarClan…” Dustjump breathed. The word felt powerful, felt right. Then the rest of Pearl’s words caught up to her. “Wait–you said you chose me? For what?”

“To be the first intermediary between us and your living Clan,” Pearl announced proudly. “It is a duty commonly given to a Clan’s Healer–though there have been other titles, should you prefer them– Star Seeker, Seer, Medicine Cat…” 

“Healer!” Dustjump blurted out. “I like Healer. It’s what I am, it’s what I do.” The other names also made her head spin with the implications, but she didn’t want to say that out loud. A Healer… she could be a Healer. “But why do you need an intermediary? You’ve appeared to us all tonight, why not continue to do that?” 

Pearl shook her head sadly. “Tonight is a rare night– the sky is clear, the moon is high, and we have only recently passed the Longest Night, and our realms are still close to one another. It is easier to touch your realm now than it otherwise will be. Even so, to appear to so many cats outside of the Longest Night is not an easy task. It is far easier to find a single cat to speak to–a cat who holds dear the memories of those who have passed, who is willing to follow her heart and listen to the whispers on the wind. When we wish to speak, we will most frequently speak with you. In dreams and in signs we will most often reach you, but if you need us, search for us in the reflections of the stars on the water, and we will come.”

Dustjump dipped her head, honored by their faith in her. “I will be ready to listen when you call,” she promised humbly.

Pearl turned her blazing gaze away from Dustjump, focusing on Shell, who sat up straighter. “And you, dear Shell… oh, what can I even say? I am so proud of you.” There was a fondness in Pearl’s voice that had been present for no other cat, and Dustjump wondered at the bond they shared. “You have been the North Star to the survivors, guiding them through the wreck and helping them build a new life here. Shell is no more, for I name you Shellstar, guiding light of your Clan. Think carefully on the cat you wish to lead the Clan next, and make them your deputy, so that even after you are gone, the Clan will not be without a guiding star.” 

“Shellstar,” Dustjump breathed her friend’s new name like a prayer, and swept through the rest of the survivors like a gentle breeze. 

“Shellstar, Shellstar, Shellstar…” 

“Cats of the shipwreck, survivors, warriors,” Pearl raised her voice to address the rest of the group as the whispers of Shellstar’s new name faded out. “We led you here tonight to show you that what is lost is never truly gone, so long as you keep faith and hold it in your hearts. You are more than you were when you arrived on this beach– you are a Clan, and a Clan supports its members through all manner of hardship. But each Clan must have a name that defines it–a name that binds its members together through meaning and memory. By what name do you wish to be called?”

Unlike when Currentheart had been named, there was no discussion amongst the onlookers, no pondering of options. This name would define not a single cat, but every cat among them, as well as their descendents far into the future. To put forth an option that you lacked absolute conviction in was unthinkable. You either knew the Clan’s name, or you didn’t.

And Dustjump knew.

“TurtleClan!” The word ripped free of her chest like a bird taking flight, like something she’d held inside her heart for moons finally breaking free. “We are TurtleClan, always striving towards the sea and the stars, honoring those who came before us with our every breath.”

Silence.

And then cheers. “TurtleClan! TurtleClan! TurtleClan! TURTLECLAN!” 

Currentheart raised his tail for silence, and the cheering slowly faded out. It was Pearl who spoke. “Cats of TurtleClan, we implore you to live truly, to care for one another, and to act with honor until it is your time to join us in StarClan. We are with you always, through your pains and glories, through high and low, times both harsh and kind. Never forget where you came from, or all that you have gone through to get there.”

It was a farewell, and they all knew it. On the distant horizon, Dustjump could make out the slightest lightening of the sky. The night was coming to a close, and the stars would soon fade into dawn. “Go in peace,” Dustjump whispered. “I will be ready to receive your messages, when you are ready to share them.”

Spindlepaw-- no, she was Spindlefleck now-- Spindlefleck's eyes found Foam in the crowd. Her former mentor’s gaze shone with pride as their eyes met. Integrity and strength of spirit… those were the values that Shell had chosen to describe her. Values that she never would have developed without his guidance. She blinked her gratitude at him. Thank you, my teacher.

Shell leapt down from the Tallmast, striding forward to touch noses with Spindlefleck. “Well done, Spindlefleck,” Shell murmured, “and congratulations. We have all been looking forward to this day for many moons.” 

Not as much as I have, Spindlefleck added silently. 

“Now, there’s one final thing,” Shell purred, Guiding her over to where Dustjump was waiting, tail wrapped around her paws. Beside her lay a large, flat stone, caked with layers of old mud in varying shades.

“Have you gathered the earth you want to use?” Dustjump asked. 

“I have,” Spindlefleck meowed. “I gathered it this morning before hunting.” 

Each cat to make their right of passage selected and gathered earth from somewhere on the territory to use in mixing the mud that they would use to leave their pawprint on the passage boulder. From the corner of her eye, Spindlefleck could see Currentheart weaving his way through the crowd with the leaf-wrapped pile of earth she’d collected early that morning. She felt a rush of gratitude for her friend–she wouldn’t have wanted to step away from this for a moment. As Currentheart placed the bundle on the stone and Dustjump began to unwrap the bundle, Shell raised her voice so that all of the gathered cats could hear. “Whence comes your chosen earth?” Shell asked.

“From the tops of the cliffs upshore of camp,” Spindlefleck responded, her meow strong and clear.

“Why did you choose this place?”

Spindlefleck knew that some cats might have given a long, drawn out explanation. Not her. “I love the feeling of the wind in my fur. When I stand against the ocean breeze atop the cliffs, I feel strong and free.”

Shell dipped her head. “Well spoken. We will now mix your chosen earth with water from the sea upon this stone, where each of us mixed our own passage markers. The remnants of mud left here by each of us will mix with the earth you have chosen, binding you as one of us.” At her words. Dustjump squeezed out a sodden moss ball above the pile of earth, mixing it around with a paw until it congealed into a thick paste. 

Silently, Spindlefleck stepped forward, coating her paw in the mud. It was cold and gritty against her paw pad, and she repressed a shiver. It might be unpleasant, but she had to bear with it. This was her right of passage! She wasn't a kit in the nursery, mewling at the slightest discomfort. She was one of the survivors now. A full member of the group. An equal. Finally, finally she was an equal to all of the others. Finally they could stop treating her like she was too young or too inexperienced to be taken seriously. It had been a long time coming.

With her paw tucked up to her chest, she limped across the clearing. The crowd of onlookers parted for her as she went, with a few cats offering quiet words of congratulations or welcome. When she reached the Passage Boulder, Spindlefleck spent a moment scanning the striped face of the rock for where she would make her mark–there. Currentheart’s mark stood alone, towards the entrance of the den the adult cats shared. With a deep breath, Spindlefleck reached out her mud-coated paw, and pressed it slowly, firmly against the surface of the stone, just a little below her denmate’s mark. The mud squelched back between her toes as she pressed down, but she did not tremble: her heart was too full of joy for anything else to register. She had waited for this day for so long. Finally, she had caught up to her friends.

“We are proud to have you join us,” Shell meowed formally, “you may not wash the mud from your paw until sunhigh tomorrow. Bear it proudly a symbol of your new rank among us, and know that from this day forward, wherever your path takes you, your campmates will follow in your pawsteps to support you.”

Spindlepaw slid around the striped, granite boulder that shielded most of the entrance. She loved the rough texture of the rock on her thin fur, and she shivered with pleasure as she felt a knot in her fur tug free at the sensation. 

As her eyes adjusted to the dark of the den, Spindlepaw felt her gaze pulled to the opposite face of the striped boulder, where she knew a few dried, clay paw prints were scattered. The survivors had started calling this rock the Passage Boulder- every cat that graduated to full adult status in the group left their pawprint on the inner face when they moved into this den. One day soon, her pawprint would join the others on the mighty rock. She knew just where she would put it, too- right next to Currentheart’s mark. 

Spindlepaw pulled her eyes away from the Passage Boulder. She wouldn’t ever get to leave her mark there if she didn’t complete her training, first, and that started with waking Foam. She didn’t have to search far for her mentor. He made his nest near the entrance of the den, his large body blocking most of the wind and rain for the other cats further inside.

 Spindle raised a paw to give Foam a wicked jab in his side, and froze as a sour scent hit the roof of her mouth. Something was wrong. She narrowed her eyes, peering closer at her mentor’s sleeping form. The brown and white tabby’s fur was unkempt, sticking up at odd angles. Even without the strange scent, that would have been enough for Spindlepaw to know that something was wrong. Foam’s fur was never a mess. He took great pride in keeping his long fur well groomed and sleek, combing out any tangles from the day before he went to sleep.

“Foam?” Spindlepaw’s quiet mew trembled a little at the end. What was going on?

The brown and white heap of fur shifted, and Foam’s head appeared from over his shoulder, eyes dull. “Spindlepaw,” he rasped, “I’ll be–” his words broke off into a coughing fit. “I’ll be out soon,” he gasped when the fit finally ended. “I just need a moment.”

Spindlepaw felt the fur on her tail starting to bush. Her mentor was clearly unwell. “Foam, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he coughed, “I just didn’t sleep well last night, that’s–” another coughing fit cut him off.

Spindlepaw’s ears pinned back, her eyes growing wide as she drew away from the clearly sick cat. “I’m going to get Dustjump,” she meowed firmly.

“I don’t need Dustjump, I’m feeling fine–”

“What’s going on here?” Tidechaser’s deep mew cut into the conversation. “Can’t you two take this outside? You’re going to wake the whole den.”

“I think Foam is sick,” Spindlepaw meowed frantically. 

The large tom leaned over from his nest to sniff at Foam’s pelt. He recoiled with a hiss. “I smell greencough!” he growled. 

“Greencough? Is-is that bad?” Spindlepaw meowed. But she didn’t need an answer. The expression on Tidechaser’s face told her all she needed to know

“Fetch Dustjump. Now.”

Spindlepaw took off across camp without another word.

Spindlepaw paced back and forth outside of Dustjump’s den. As soon as she’d seen Foam, the old tabby molly had enlisted Tidechaser’s help in moving the sick cat into her den, away from the rest of the healthy cats. When Spindle had tried to follow them in, Tidechaser had barred her way.

“Stay back,” the pale tom had growled. “You can’t help here.”

Spindlepaw had wanted to protest, wanted to tell Tidechaser that he was her mentor, that she should be in there with him, but she knew that the tom would never be swayed by her pleas. Besides, a small voice in her mind whispered, he’s right. And so she paced, waiting for news of her mentor’s health. 

When Dustjump finally emerged from the den, Spindlepaw was on her in a heartbeat. “How is he? Is he going to be alright?”

Dustjump’s eyes were dark with worry. “I don’t know, Spindlepaw,” she admitted. “It’s very early in the season for greencough, but that’s what he has. It can be fatal if it isn’t treated.”

“But you can treat him, right?” Spindlepaw heard her voice crack with fear. She couldn’t lose Foam, not now. He was the cat that had saved her from the sinking ship, the cat that had taught her everything she knew, the cat who represented everything Spindlepaw hoped to someday be. 

“With the right herbs,” Dustjump meowed carefully, “I can help him along the path to recovery. But nothing is certain.” 

“Let the air out,” Dustjump instructed. 

The breath left Foam’s lungs with a sigh.

“Again,” Dustjump meowed.

Foam repeated the exercise, holding his breath. He could feel a bit of dust tickling his nose, but he couldn’t sneeze, not now. He closed his eyes tight, trying to ignore the sensation. This time, the exhalation came with a sense of relief as the dust drifted away from his nose. Dustjump pulled away from Foam’s chest, her eyes bright.

“Foam, you’re all better! You can return to light duties starting tomorrow. No long patrols, and stay out of the water until the half-moon.”

“You mean I don’t have greencough any longer?” Foam meowed.

“Yes,” Dustjump confirmed with a purr, “you’ve managed to recover. It can be a deadly disease, but you’re a young, healthy cat. If anyone would have been able to recover without herbs, it would have been you. Still, we should count our blessings. This was by no means a certain outcome.”

Brokenmast dragged himself out of his nest, over to Foam. “Congratulations!” He purred, butting his head against Foam’s shoulder. “I’ll miss having you around, though. Even if we did have to shout across the den to talk.”

“I promise I’ll visit you often,” Foam purred, “and before long, you’ll be able to move to the communal den as well.”

Brokenmast peered down at his splayed legs, focusing hard enough to tremble as he flexed each leg in turn, moving toes, ankle and knees. Over the last moon, his mobility in the limbs had improved remarkably, though they could not yet support his standing weight. “I hope you’re right,” Brokenmast meowed. “I’m really starting to believe it might be possible.”

“It is possible,” Dustjump cut in, “and you’re getting close.”

Brokenmast opened his jaws, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a call from just outside the den’s entrance. “Dustjump, what’s the verdict?” Spindlepaw. Foam felt guilty, leaving her to her own ends these last few moons. Luckily, Shell had ensured she was always paired with another adult for training each day, so she hadn’t fallen too far behind, but still. Foam was supposed to be her mentor. He wanted to be the one to guide her training.

“You can come in, Spindlepaw,” Dustjump replied. “He’s all better.”