#fallenfic

MOON 4

Canarywish awoke to the soft sound of rain rattling against glass, enveloped in the warm safety of Moorthistle’s milky scent. Canarywish felt the soft rasp of her mother’s tongue against the top of her head, a gentle purr rumbling in the older molly’s chest. Canarywish let out a tiny sigh. It had been so long since she’d been like this, tucked against her mother’s coat and blind to the world’s dangers. Littleleaf would have been there too, whispering a bedtime story with the rain as ambience. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a raspy voice murmured, so close to Canarywish’s ear that she instinctually flinched. She could no longer feel her mother’s warmth, her scent fading. Canarywish scrambled to her paws, swinging around to face the elderly molly who’d been grooming her fur. “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Bess blinked slowly at Canarywish, round eyes filled with compassion. 

“Why were you so close to me?” Canarywish swallowed, throat feeling dry. 

“You were calling out in your sleep again,” Bess murmured. “You looked cold, too. Y’know, my nest really is big enough for two. When my kits were wee things they’d all pile in there with me.” Bess chuckled, lazily rolling to her paws. 

Canarywish hummed noncommittally, glancing towards the ice wall (“Window,” Bess had told her.) situated far above the plush nests the twolegs had created for Bess and Bess’ “temporary guests.” According to Bess, her twolegs often brought in strange cats, but only for a few moons at a time. Then, they’d go to their “forever homes,” or so Bess said. Bess’ forever home, she had proudly declared, was this very twoleg den. From her position, Canarywish could see that the rain wasn’t a figment of her latent dreaming. The rain was growing rather insistent, tapping frantically at the window like an unwanted guest begging to be let inside. It felt strange, not having to dread waking up early for patrols and knowing she’d get her paws wet. The sound of rain against stone soothed her, but the way the rain pressed down against her pelt felt suffocating. 

“Come on, now,” Bess purred sweetly. There was a merriment in the old molly that reminded Canarywish of Moorthistle in a heart-aching way. “Let’s get some breakfast in you. The housefolk picked up the good stuff: salmon meuniere! Well, not really, but the flavor’s the same. Canarywish parted her mouth, tasting the air. The mushy, wet stuff the twolegs gave them in lieu of freshkill looked utterly unappetizing, but the smell was admittedly tantalizing. The stuff tasted pretty good, too. Almost like real fish. 

“Okay,” Canarywish replied belatedly. “Let’s eat.”

MOON ???

“Mama, look what uncle Ravenstar caught! Isn’t it huge?” Canarykit squeaked, staring at the limp trout in awe. Ravenstar had presented the giant catch to her, gaze sparkling with amusement. 

“I caught this just for you,” Ravenstar replied softly. His voice was like the way water brushes against a rocky riverbank. The sound was utterly disarming. 

“Really? Mama, can I try it?”

“I don’t know,” Moorthistle was eyeing the trout uncertainly. “She’s a bit young for freshkill, Ravenstar.” Littleleaf murmured in agreement. 

“Sorry, bug. You’ll be big enough to be catching your own fish in no time, I promise.” As he spoke, Littleleaf gave Canarykit a few reassuring licks on the top of her head. 

Canarykit sighed dramatically. “I bet I’ll never catch a fish that big. How did you do it, Ravenstar?”

Ravenstar smiled. “Don’t worry, Canarykit. One day, I’ll show you.”

MOON 6

“Are you sure you have to go?” Bess fretted, weaving around Canarywish again and again. “It’s getting so cold out; you’ll freeze your little paws off! Why don’t you stay till it’s warm out again?”

“I can’t.” Canarywish hesitated. After the first few moons, Canarywish had started to let the twolegs brush her pelt. Now, her fur was clean and sleek. She felt strong and well-fed from the food and treats they’d given her. It was easy to see why some cats enjoyed the life of a kittypet. But not all twolegs were this kind. If Bess was right, these twolegs were going to hand her off to different twolegs soon. Canarywish remembered well the stories Ember would sometimes tell if she was feeling melancholy. Most of their clanmates murmured in pity, rubbing against Ember and telling her she didn’t have to be lonely anymore. Canarywish felt a different kind of pain for Ember, knowing their sorrow was a shared one. But while Ember had been alone in both body and mind, Canarywish was surrounded by clanmates, yet some days she still felt as isolated as a lynx wandering the endless tundra. 

“Well, why not?” Bess implored. “You said your family’s mighty big. If they’re so large, they’ll surely have sent out cats to find you. You should wait till they show up for you. Then they can take you home.”

“I-” Canarywish hesitated. Bess’ explanation made sense, but it had been six moons. Where were Canarywish’s clanmates? “I need to leave, Bess. My clanmates don’t know where I am. They can’t find me here.”

Bess sighed. “Oh, honey, I understand. Just please, eat before you go, and be careful.” Canarywish blinked slowly, nodding. “You can escape when the housefolk are comin’ in from the porch. They’ve got other housefolk over, so they’ll leave the door open long enough for you to make a run for it.”

“Thank you, Bess.” 

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. I hope you find your family.”

MOON ???

“You know, when I was a kit, I was scared of thunderstorms too.”

“Really?” Canarykit peered at Littleleaf with wide eyes, her tiny form trembling. 

“Mhm.” Littleleaf wrapped his paws tighter around Canarykit, pressing her close to his chest. Pressing her ear to his fur, Canarykit could feel the soft rhythm of his heartbeat, almost drowning out the occasional burst of thunderous noise. “My mama would sing to me when it stormed. Her voice was so soft, I’d have to strain to hear above the noise, but it’d always help me fall asleep.”

“What about Ravenstar? Was he scared?” Canarykit whispered.

“I don’t think so.” Littleleaf paused. “He didn’t have any problem sleeping through the storms, but if he noticed I was still up, he’d always wake our mama so she could sing.”

“Do you know how to sing?” Canarykit asked, flinching at another crack of thunder. 

“Only a little bit, but I’ll sing for you. Just listen close…”

MOON 8

Canarywish had never been truly alone before, but she understood the feeling. Her pelt, her whiskers, her toes—they were never alone, always surrounded by clanmates and family. It was her heart that remained isolated. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t know when the sorrow had crept in. Maybe during her apprenticeship, or maybe it had always been there. It was Mossfrog who she’d turned to during her darkest moments. Mossfrog understood what Canarywish was feeling. Canarywish wished desperately that Mossfrog were here now, so that Canarywish could just exist in her presence, knowing someone understood. 

Occasionally, Canarywish saw other cats as she wandered the seemingly endless twolegplace, but mostly they ignored her. Occasionally, some kittypet would ask her if she was all right, if she knew where she was headed, if she could use some help. She’d always ask if they knew how to get to the mountains, but the confusion evident on their faces was the only answer Canarywish ever got. 

She had been wandering for nearly two moons now and still had yet to find her way out of the maze of twoleg dens. It had been difficult to readjust to hunting after moons of eating kittypet food, but she was managing just fine on the surplus of rodents hiding between the dens. 

She was crouched beneath a sleeping monster, stalking towards a rat nibbling on twoleg rubbish when a scrawny tom burst forth from the weedy grass. The rat squeaked in alarm, disappearnig into a hole in the wall of the twoleg den nearest to the rubbish bin. “Perkele!” the tom wheezed. Canarywish could see his ribcage from where she was crouched and a jolt of alarm hit her. Fallenclan would never let an elder starve. Fallenclan would never let anyone starve, for that matter.

“Hello?” Canarywish mrrowed, slinking out from beneath the monster. The tom whirled on her, ears flattening. His gaze was suspicious, eyes glinting in the dull afternoon light. 

“Who are you?” the tom grumbled. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

“My name is Canarywish. Do you need help?” 

“Ha! Ei. Leave me alone. You cannot help me.” The tom turned away from Canarywish, flicking his tail in a clear dismissal. Canarywish hesitated. She couldn’t just leave him to starve. It wasn’t right. Mutely, she slipped past the tom, ears pricked. Birdsong could be heard all over the twolegplace, but many of the wandering kittypets lacked the discipline or desire to chase after them. Weaving through the tall grasses surrounding the twoleg den the rat had disappeared into, Canarywish came upon an oak tree. She could hear finches singing to each other, arguing or flirting, she couldn’t tell. 

Canarywish stilled, waiting. The twolegs often scattered little seeds for the birds to eat, even filling strange containers with them. It was only a matter of time before a bird came within reach. After several minutes of waiting, a finch finally fluttered down to snatch a few seeds off the ground. In an instant, Canarywish pounced, her paws slamming expertly into the bird’s back. Her claws hooked into its flesh, snapping the bird’s spine while its companions chittered frantically above her. Canarywish hadn’t eaten since the previous day, but despite her rumbling stomach she refrained from tearing into the finch. Instead, she turned, startling briefly when she realized the elderly tom had followed her. His pointed gaze was resting on the bird clamped in her jaws. She dropped the finch and nudged it towards the tom. “Here. I can always catch something else for myself.”

“Hm.” The tom snatched the finch, inspecting it warily. “Harley.”

“What?” 

“My name is Harley,” the tom huffed. “And you are a very good hunter.”

MOON ???

“Please, please, stay with me!” Canarypaw wailed. The pale grey tom had grown still, legs spasming for a final time. His gaze grew vacant, sliding past Canarypaw towards some unknown point beyond her head. 

“Let’s go, Canarypaw,” Ravenstar’s cool tone split the air fraught with Canarypaw’s panicked breaths. “You can’t save them all.”

“If–if there was a medicine cat, maybe-”

“No, Canarypaw. I warned you when we first saw him. His injuries were too severe. You made an effort, which is admirable but ultimately pointless.” A pause. “It’s time to go.”

The walk back to camp was silent.

MOON 9

“Where did you receive that injury?” Harley mumbled around a mouthful of squirrel. Canarywish grimaced.

“Some cat attacked me.”

“Describe.”

“Reddish-brown fur, amber eyes.” Canarywish wrinkled her nose. “He jumped me while I was heading back, but the moment I scratched his muzzle he started wailing about how he was ‘just playing.’”

“That is Louis,” Harley replied. “Stupid kit. The injury does not look severe.” He took another slow bite of squirrel, and Canarywish hummed thoughtfully. She had a tiny cut on her left flank now, but the bleeding had long since stopped. She would barely count the scratch as a wound. It isn’t something she would have bothered a medicine cat with, anyway. 

“You seem to know all of the cats here pretty well.” Canarywish wanted to add, So why are none of them helping you? She refrained. 

“Yes,” Harley licked a fleck of squirrel blood off his muzzle. “I was a house cat. My humans declawed me. You have noticed this by now.” Canarywish nodded. “That was not so bad, until I got sick. Then, they threw me out. The other house cats, idiots, did not want a sick cat sharing their food bowl.”

“That’s awful,” Canarywish replied, ears flattening. “What about now? You aren’t sick anymore, right?”

Harley scoffed. “You have showed me how to hunt with no claws. I do not need any more humans who will only abandon me again.” Despite the tom’s indifferent expression, Canarywish thought she could detect a note of sadness in his voice. 

“My clan wouldn’t abandon you.”

“You have said.” Harley waved a paw. “We are almost to the edge of the human-place. Your mountain is beyond the tall woods. You will be home soon and I will return to my peaceful solitude.” Without another word, Harley nudged the remaining chunk of squirrel towards Canarywish, then wrapped himself into a ball, tail covering his nose. 

MOON 10

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?”

“I am sure,” Harley responded briskly. “It is better for me to be alone, I think.” Canarywish opened her mouth to reply, but Harley didn’t wait for her to speak, instead disappearing back into the maze of twoleg dens. Canarywish waited at the edge of the woods to see if he’d come back, but after a few minutes of silence she decided to move on. She felt an errant tug of guilt, as if she were the one condemning Harley to his solitude. Should she have tried harder to convince him? No. It was his choice to stay behind.

As she began her trek through the seemingly endless forest, Canarywish was alone once more. 

MOON ???

“Canarywish! Frozenfog! Canarywish! Frozenfog!” Cheers rang throughout the camp, celebrating the two young warriors. Frozenfog held her head high, ears pricked forward and gaze gleaming. Canarywish attempted to smile, she really did, but she couldn’t help but feel like an imposter. 

She didn’t deserve to be celebrated alongside Frozenfog. Canarywish hadn’t earned warriorhood. When she looked down at her paws, it was almost like she could still see the way her soft fur had been dried reddish brown with blood. “Congratulations!” Moorthistle purred, weaving around Canarywish. Littleleaf pressed his nose to Canarywish’s cheek, purring softly. 

“Mama and Ravenstar both graduated early too,” Blossomfur commented. “Must mean you’re destined ot do great things, huh?” Beside her, Cloudtuft shifted uncomfortably. Ficklefern and Finchbeak lurked nearby as well, silently lending their support. Mossfrog emerged from a throng of their clanmates, gaze light with pride. 

It didn’t make sense. Canarywish was surrounded by so many loving, supportive cats. So why did she still feel so alone?

MOON 12

If she kept walking, Canarywish was beginning to fear that her paws would fall off. There had indeed been a mountain beyond the forest, just as Harley had promised, but it wasn’t her mountain. Canarywish could see more mountains in the distance, so she had continued her journey, even with dismay gnawing at her heart. How far had the twolegs taken her? It had been difficult to tell, trapped in a large monster with her clanmates’ panicked yowling. 

Canarywish could feel a storm stirring in the sky, the rain was taking its time tumbling through the leaves before splashing against her pelt. It was awhile before she finally found a decent resting place, spotting an abandoned warren. She could see that someone, a fox maybe, had scraped apart the entrance to make it larger. Regardless, even if a fox had been hunting rabbits, the den would be unsuitable for permanent residence.

Slipping inside, Canarywish had to fight to wriggle through the entrance tunnel, but after one final shove she was inside the warren’s main den cavity. The den was dark, its loamy earth smell flooding Canarywish’s nostrils. The scent was distinct from Fallenclan’s camp, but still familiar enough to offer comfort. Shaking off her pelt, Canarywish pressed herself against one of the den’s far walls, curling herself into a ball to wait out the storm. Her eyes were nearly shut when movement flickered at the edge of her vision. 

Immediately tensing, Canarywish lifted her head, straining to see through the darkness. Her claws slid into the dirt, shoulders bunching in anticipation of a potential threat. Then—“Boo!” Canarywish flinched, gaze locking onto a small, trembling figure. “Ha! I scared you so bad!” It took Canarywish a moment to realize the figure was trembling with laughter. She leaned forward, meeting the hazel-green eyes of a kit. His pelt was fully black, blending in near perfectly in the darkness. He couldn’t have been older than three moons.

“Hello,” Canarywish murmured hesitantly. “Are you… alone?” She couldn’t pick up the scent of any other cats in the den, but she had missed the presence of this kit, so it was possible there were other hidden figures. 

“Well, I was, but now you’re here, so of course I’m not alone,” the kit chirped. “Mama’s out hunting, so I’m waiting for her to come back.” The kit paused. “Mama said I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” His gaze darted towards the den’s entrance.

“If we tell each other our names, then we won’t be strangers anymore,” Canarywish replied. Thinking of Cloudtuft, left all alone in the mountains as a kit, Canarywish felt a jolt of dread. How long had this kit been waiting for his mother? “I’m Canarywish.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Wish,” the kit replied. Canarywish thought she could see his whiskers twitching with amusement. “My name’s Skipper.”

“It’s awfully cold in here, Skipper. Why don’t you sleep next to me, and if your mama isn’t back in the morning, we’ll go and find her.” Skipper hesitated for a few moments, then slowly padded over to Canarywish, pressing his pelt against hers and curling up into a little ball.

“Okay, but you have to tell Mama you aren’t a stranger or else she’ll get mad at me.” Canarywish hummed in agreement, wrapping her tail around the kit and resting her chin near his head. In the morning, she would figure out what to do with him.

***

Canarywish awoke to the sharp pinprick of claws in her shoulders. She had no time to react as she was forcefully dragged from her sleeping position, roughly shoved into the center of the den. Frantically, Canarywish tried to shove to her paws but she was slammed back into the ground, pinned beneath a black-furred molly who glared at her with fierce, hazel eyes. “Who are you?” the molly hissed, ears pinned. Her claws were still hooked into Canarywish’s shoulders, not quite drawing blood but still poking at her skin. Her long fur was some protection, but Canarywish’s heart was still pounding.

“Mama!” Skipper’s whined, and Canarywish could hear what she assumed to be the stomping of his tiny paws. “I told you, she’s not a stranger!”

“We don’t know her,” the molly, Skipper’s mother, snapped in response. “Stay over there, Skip.” She continued to glare at Canarywish. “Why were you with my son? Did Thistle send you? Did he tell you to steal my kit?”

“I—what? No,” Canarywish blinked rapidly, swallowing. “I was looking for shelter from the storm and found him alone in this den. I thought, maybe–”

“You thought what? That I abandoned him?” the molly growled. 

“I just wanted to make sure he was safe,” Canarywish protested. The molly scoffed, but slowly loosened her grip on Canarywish. After a few tense moments, the molly stepped back. 

“Fine.” She turned towards Skipper. “Eat your breakfast, honey.”

“Mama,” Skipper complained. “You didn’t have to attack her.” Sulking, he pawed at a limp ground squirrel that was presumably meant to be his breakfast. “Can we at least share prey with her?” 

With her eyes adjusting, Canarywish could see that Skipper’s mother had white paws, but otherwise she was nearly identical to him. “No.”

“Please?”

“Skipper-”

“It’s okay,” Canarywish interjected, giving her chest a few disgruntled licks. “I can catch my own prey. My name is Canarywish, by the way.”

“What? What kind of name is that?” The molly grumbled.

“Canary is a normal name,” Skipper protested. 

“Wish isn’t a family name,” his mother argued, tail flicking.

“No,” Canarywish said. “Canarywish is my full name. I don’t have a ‘family name.’”

“Oh.” Skipper blinked. “That is a weird name!” He started giggling again but after one stern look from his mother, he diligently began to tear chunks from the squirrel, eating them in quick, ravenous bites. 

“Where are you from?” His mother asked, her demeanor guarded but distinctly less hostile than before.

“My family lives in the mountains. There’s a waterfall and a river that splits in two. Several large settlements of cats live around there. Do you know where that might be?”

“Maybe,” the molly replied slowly. “I try to avoid groups. I think I might know the place you’re talking about, though. It’s a several moons-walk away from here.” Canarywish’s heart sank. “My mother traveled through there once.”

“Grandma Lily?” Skipper asked between a mouthful of squirrel.

“Don’t speak with prey in your mouth. Remember your manners,” the molly retorted sternly, then: “Yes, Grandma Lily.”

“Could you take me there?” Canarywish implored. “I’m lost.”

“Like an adventure!” Skipper exclaimed, a chunk of squirrel meat flying from his mouth. At his mother’s look, he mumbled a quick, unapologetic “sorry.”

“Okay,” Skipper’s mother agreed, tone breezy. Canarywish was surprised by how readily she agreed, until she added, “but you have to hunt for us on the way there. You said you can hunt, yes? So that’ll be the price of having me as your guide.”

“Thank you.” Canarywish couldn’t help the purr that was rising in her throat. She was finally going home! “One more thing…”

“Hmm?”

“What should I call you?”

“Oh.” The molly blinked, seeming surprised. “Fang.”

“It’s good to meet you, Fang.”

“Let’s hope I’ll be able to say the same thing soon,” Fang huffed, turning back towards Skipper to cajole him into finishing his breakfast. Even Fang’s standoffishness couldn’t diminish Canarywish’s hopefulness. It might take several  moons, but she was going home.

MOON ???

“Nice one, Fawnpaw!” Ryewhistle cheered, bunting her head against her apprentice’s. 

“Thanks,” Fawnpaw replied breezily. She’d managed to snag two river voles as they exited their den, snapping their spines before they could even squeak in alarm. 

“You’re a fast learner,” Canarywish praised. She shot a glance at her own apprentice, but Jaypaw’s demeanor remained dispassionate. Bored, almost. Catching Canarywish’s eye, Jaypaw’s shoulders bunched uncomfortably.

“Good job, Fawnpaw,” Jaypaw muttered, nose wrinkling. Her gaze was narrowed slightly, but given that her voice was always a steady monotone, it was difficult to detect any disingenuity in her tone. Fawnpaw smirked lazily, gaze brightening. Jaypaw sighed.

“It would probably be easier to hunt if we split into pairs,” Jaypaw drawled. “Otherwise we’re spending a lot of time stepping on eachother’s paws.”

“Good idea!” Ryewhistle praised. She was always incredibly enthusiastic with the apprentices, perhaps too much so. Canarywish found the other warrior to be a bit overwhelming, but she knew Ryewhistle’s intentions were pure. “Fawnpaw and I will stay by the river. Why don’t you and Jaypaw head towards the sky pine?” Ryewhistle asked Canarywish. Jaypaw’s frown deepened. 

Canarywish replied, “Actually, is it okay if Jaypaw and I take the river? I don’t think you’ve taken Fawnpaw tree-climbing yet.”

“Oh, that’s true. Fawnpaw, I’m going to show you how to catch squirrels! Usually, we wait for them to come down from their trees, but sometimes it’s best to ambush them in their nests. You can also find baby birds or eggs…” Ryewhistle continued rambling, trotting off with her head held high. Fawnpaw murmured a quick “see you later” to Jaypaw, who nodded briskly.

As soon as the other two cats were out of earshot, Jaypaw stated, “You didn’t have to do that.” Canarywish didn’t respond, padding along the riverbank. As predicted, Jaypaw followed, adding, “I don’t need special treatment. I can handle disappointment.” A pause, then: “I’m not going to murder someone if I don’t get my way.”

Canarywish jolted to a stop, turning to face her apprentice. “What?”

Jaypaw huffed. “I see the way all of you look at me and my littermates. Cranepaw has it the worst. You all act like it’s just a matter of time before one of us snaps.”

“That isn’t,” Canarywish started, then hesitated. Undeniable hurt was shining in Jaypaw’s gaze. Canarywish exhaled softly, sitting down. “That isn’t why I asked Ryewhistle to let us take the river. I know you enjoy swimming. It relaxes you, doesn’t it?” Reluctantly, Jaypaw nodded. “You seem tense, so I thought some fishing might help. I’ve noticed that you compare yourself to the other apprentices a lot.” Jaypaw opened her mouth to protest but Canarywish kept talking, “I was like that, too. Not at first, but Ravenstar was a harsh mentor. He wasn’t cruel to me, but he wanted me to succeed. He wanted me to be the best warrior I could be.”

Jaypaw stilled. “Ravenstar was your mentor?”

“Yes.” Canarywish allowed Jaypaw a moment to process this before continuing, “I was always working twice as hard as the other apprentices. I was younger, but I managed to always beat Tinybird and Tempestflare at everything. It wasn’t a competition to them, but with the way Ravenstar would nod approvingly at me—it became important to me to be better.” Canarywish dipped a paw into the river, spreading her toes and allowing her pawpad to brush against the river rocks. The feeling was grounding, allowing her to continue her story. “But it didn’t matter how hard I tried. Frozenfog was always better. So I would sneak out and practice my hunting, every day. I was exhausted all the time but that didn’t stop me. Eventually, I was better than her, but only at hunting.” 

“Brambletuft said you’re one of the best hunters in the clan,” Jaypaw commented. Canarywish nodded. 

“A lot of cats say that. I don’t know if it’s true. My point is, I wasted a lot of my apprenticeship feeling anxious and like I was doing enough. Like I was failing everyone around me. Instead of befriending the other apprentices, I isolated myself. Frozenfog could have been my friend, but instead she was an obstacle to overcome.” Jaypaw shifted uneasily. “Fawnpaw wants to be your friend, not your rival.”

“She’s always making fun of me,” Jaypaw hissed, growing agitated. “She doesn’t even try but she always does everything perfectly anyway.”

“Have you told her how you feel? I don’t think her intention is to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“That’s okay.” Canarywish retracted her paw. “We have some fishing to do, anyway.” Just as she was shifting to her paws, Jaypaw spoke again.

“Thank you for being honest with me.” Not meeting Canarywish’s gaze, Jaypaw added, “Maybe sometime you could tell me about Ravenstar. What he was really like, I mean. I know he’s my father. I’m not stupid, even if no cat will admit it. I just want to know if what he tells—if what other cats tell me is true.” 

“Okay.” Canarywish took a steadying breath. “We can talk about him sometime.”

“Thanks,” Jaypaw mumbled. “Again.”

“Yeah.” Canarywish smiled, tentative. “That’s what mentors are for.”

MOON 14

“Then, you tense your haunches like this and—pounce!” Canarywish sprang forward, forepaws landing squarely on the leaf she’d been targeting. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes! I’m going to be the best hunter ever!” Skipper bounced up and down, shaking with excitement. Fang was nearby, grooming her paws. Ever since Canarywish had started hunting for the pair, Fang’s form had filled out, her pelt sleeker and muscles more evident. She had been so scrawny when they’d first met, it was a wonder that she’d had the strength to pin Canarywish. She now suspected that, if not for her surprise, she’d have been able to easily bat Fang away. Just like her name implied, Fang had a single, pointed fang peeking out, reminding Canarywish of Quailcall and Nightgleam. Fang also had a white patch above her nose, more noticeable in the sunlight than in the warren they’d met in.

Fang paused her grooming. “You’ll scare away all the prey if you keep wiggling around like that. Keep still, Skip.”

“Oh! Right.” Skipper stilled. He was still vibrating with energy, reminding Canarywish of how excited Daisyfreckle had been when Canarywish offered to show her some hunting moves. Daisyfreckle had only been a kit herself then. Ignoring the tug of longing in her heart, Canarywish motioned to Skipper.

“Okay, now I want you to try this…”

MOON ???

“Look! Canarywish, look! I caught a salmon!” Daisypaw was wriggling with delight, the limp salmon dropped unceremoniously in front of Canarywish’s paws. “I bet no Fallenclan apprentice has ever caught a fish this big! What do you think? Am I right?”

“Maybe,” Canarywish replied, mirth lacing her voice. “I think Sootstep caught a pretty big fish during her apprenticeship…”

“What!” Daisypaw’s eyes widened. “I’m going to go ask her. I can’t be claiming to have caught the biggest fish if it isn’t true,” she stated sagely. “Talk to you later, Canarywish!” With that, Daisypaw was haring across camp towards the warriors’ den, abandoning her catch with Canarywish. 

“She’s a lot like you, you know,” Ficklefern commented. Canarywish glanced at the other molly. She hadn’t noticed her approach.

“Really?” Canarywish’s tail twitched. Her posture was otherwise serene, demeanor guarded. “She has so much energy. I don’t know how she can manage to train and patrol all day, only to come back to camp and race about like a wild hare.”

Ficklefern chuckled. “Don’t you remember how excited you were to become an apprentice? I remember Moorthistle kept trying to groom your fur but you just wouldn’t stop fidgeting. You kept asking her who she thought would be your mentor.” Canarywish’s full attention was on Ficklefern now. The brown molly had a contemplative expression on her face, gaze distant. “You were so thrilled when Ravenstar said announced he’d be your mentor.”

“Oh.” Canarywish shuffled her paws, grimacing. Cats rarely mentioned Ravenstar anymore. It was a sore subject for many. So much of the clan had been complacent in his crimes, looking the other way or holding their tongues, even as his cruelty became more apparent. There was a lot of lasting guilt, Canarywish suspected. How long had Poppyfeather been left unavenged? How quickly had the clan accepted Cherrystar’s mysterious death? How many gazes turned aside as Sandsnap’s blood stained the ground red? 

“Sorry,” Ficklefern said. Her brows had furrowed slightly. “It wasn’t like you knew…”

“Of course.” Canarywish’s gaze slid away from Ficklefern, returning to Daisypaw who was now chattering loudly at Sootstep. The older warrior was listening intently, nodding occasionally. Her icy blue eyes twinkled with amusement. 

“I just meant to say,” Ficklefern continued. “You were happy once. I think, if you gave yourself the room, you could be happy again.” Canarywish could feel herself beginning to bristle. “It probably isn’t my place to say, but I just-”

“You’re right,” Canarywish interjected icily. “It isn’t your place to say.” Immediately, guilt flooded her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just—I’m not unhappy here. I just feel so… alone, sometimes.”

Ficklefern hummed in response. “I think you should take some time to think things through. Afterwards, if you feel up for it, you should come talk to me. It is my job to listen, after all.” The soft rumble of Sootstep’s voice carried across camp. Daisypaw’s eyes had grown wide, entranced by whatever knowledge Sootstep was imparting.

“Okay,” Canarywish replied. “I’ll give it some thought.”

“That’s all I ask.” Before Canarywish could say anything else, Daisypaw was racing back across the camp, tail held high and ears pricked forward. 

“Canarywish! Canarywish! Sootstep told me—oh, hi auntie Ficklefern.” Daisypaw came to an abrupt halt, dipping her head politely to the mediator. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, no. I was just heading over to check on Rookfeather. I’ll see you both later.” With that, Ficklefern padded away. Canarywish watched her go for a few moments before focusing on Daisypaw.

“So, what was it that Sootstep told you?”

MOON 15

“Have you ever had kits before?” Fang’s question caught Canarywish off guard.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You’re just so good with Skipper. It seems like you must have experience rasing kits. He’s my first kit, the only from my first litter. Raising him has been a challenge, at times.”

“In my clan, kits are often communally raised. Every cat helps out. I also have a little sister.”

“Oh.” Fang considered this. “Your parents didn’t make you leave after they had a second litter?”

“No.” Canarywish recoiled. “What type of cat would do something like that?”

Fang didn’t respond.

MOON 16

Canarywish panted, struggling to press back waves of nausea. The stench of fox remained, but the vixen itself had fled. “Canarywish?” Fang rasped, voice strained. “It’s okay; you’ll be okay. It’s only the one bite on your leg. Skip, go find some dock leaves.”

“But, Mama-”

“Flat, dark green. Near the tree stump we passed a few minutes ago. If you catch wind of another fox, climb up the nearest tree, like I showed you.” Skipper sniffled a few times, but didn’t protest further. Canarywish heard the pitter-patter of his tiny pawsteps racing away. He was old enough to be an apprentice now, but still far smaller than Daisyfreckle had been at that age. “What were you thinking?” Fang hissed. It took Canarywish a moment to realize the question was directed at her. There was no one else around now.

“The fox was going to attack you.”

“So you yell out a warning!” Fang snapped. “You don’t throw yourself in front of me like some sort of fool. Who taught you to get yourself killed for a stranger?”

Canarywish winced. “You aren’t a stranger.”

“Is this the kind of behavior your ‘clanmates’ expect of you?” Fang retorted, crouching to get a better look at the bite. She grumbled, hooking her claw into a clump of moss and pressing the damp, spongy plant against the wound. 

“They don’t ‘expect’ it, it’s just… it’s what’s right.” Canarywish was trying desperately to stay still as Fang cleaned out the wound.

“It’s foolishness. You’re worth more than what you can offer to other cats. Your ‘clan’ better appreciate that,” Fang huffed. “They don’t own you.”

Canarywish wanted to protest. Fang didn’t understand clan life. But Canarywish could feel herself slipping, tumbling towards a dark abyss. Faintly, she could hear Skipper’s voice, marking his return. Canarywish couldn’t make out the conversation. The last thing she remembered was Skipper’s pelt pressing against her own.

MOON 17

“Are you still awake?” Fang squinted through the dark. Canarywish gave a slight nod. Skipper was curled against Fang’s side, snoring softly. “How’s your leg feeling?”

“Better,” Canarywish murmured honestly. It still ached, but the bite hadn’t been deep enough to do permanent damage. Still, it had been an agonizing first few days. Fang had been gone often, hunting and also foraging for more herbs. Skipper would sometimes go hunting too, but mostly he kept Canarywish company. “I couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Nightmares,” Fang replied, sighing. Her tail was close enough to brush against Canarywish’s. Wordlessly, Canarywish twined their tails together. Fang tensed slightly, then relaxed, a weary smile crossing her features. “Have you ever known anyone brilliantly charming, but deep down their heart is wicked? They make all sorts of promises but beneath their smooth talking there’s a simmering hatred, and you know no amount of love will ever chase it away.”

“I think so,” Canarywish responded. At Fang’s expectant look, Canarywish added, “His name was Ravenstar.”

“Another clan cat, then? And I thought your name was odd.” Fang’s whiskers twitched, but after a moment of silent laughter she nodded for Canarywish to continue.

“He was my uncle and the leader of Fallenclan, for a time. He was effortlessly charming and clever, but reckless and arrogant, too. He murdered cats just for getting in his way and instigated a war with a rival clan. He was always so loving towards me, it’s sometimes hard to reconcile that with the cat he really was, at heart.”

“What happened to him?” Fang asked.

“He was punished by Starclan, then killed by Wolfstar. She’s Fallenclan’s current leader.”

“Clan life sounds pretty dangerous. I was in a group once, too. The leader was my mate. Things ended poorly, as you’ve probably surmised. I never expected to be a mother, especially not on my own. But I love Skipper more than anything. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe.” Fang’s voice lowered slightly, gaze darkening. “It’s better to live without authority, to trust yourself above all else. That way, cats can’t betray you. They can’t hurt you.” She paused. “But maybe living with other cats isn’t so bad, as long as they’re the right cats.”

“My clanmates are the right cats,” Canarywish insisted. “Even if they’ve made mistakes. It was wrong to follow Ravenstar, but you know what it’s like to love someone who isn’t good for you.” Fang’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You shouldn’t isolate yourself just because you’re scared of being hurt. You’ll just end up sad and alone.” Something painful rattled in Canarywish’s chest. 

“Even if I never see my family again, I still have all of the memories we’ve made together. I know that they love me, and I love them. When I feel alone, I just remind myself of all of the times my clanmates were there for me. I used to let that despair consume me, but my aunt, she—she told me something. She told me that even when my heart feels alone, my body knows the truth. That I just need to look around me at all the cats who love me. That even if I can’t see them, my mind can remember them.”

“No one’s ever loved me before. Not really,” Fang said dully.

“Your son loves you. Even if he someday travels far away from you, you can’t take away the fact that he loved you.” Canarywish let out a soft, barely audible laugh. “I love my clanmates. I love you, too.” 

Fang was silent for a long time. Then, she murmured, “You have more love in your heart than anyone else I know. Thank you, for letting me see it, even if it’s only temporary.” Canarywish rested her chin on her paws. Maybe it doesn’t have to be temporary, she thought. For now, though, it was present, and that was enough.

MOON ???

“I’m so proud of you,” Finchbeak purred softly, nuzzling Pigeontooth. The tom was purring as well, tail held high. Cranepaw pressed her pelt against Pigeontooth’s side, giving his shoulder a few affectionate licks. 

“It’s only a matter of time before you get your warrior name, too, sweetheart,” Moorthistle murmured, wrapping her bushy tail around Jaypaw. “Isn’t she doing well in her training?”

“Very well,” Canarywish confirmed. “I think we can have your assessment very soon, Jaypaw.”

“Sure.” Jaypaw was smiling, focused on her siblings. Pigeontooth beamed at Jaypaw.

“There’ll be a nest ready for you in the warriors’ den once you pass your assessment,” Pigeontooth promised. Cranepaw’s smile faltered slightly.

“Oh, Jaypaw, you aren’t upset? I mean, I’m sure you’ll be a warrior soon–”

“No, it’s okay.” Jaypaw flicked her tail dismissively. “I’m not worried about it. When I get my warrior name, I’ll be the best warrior that I can be. For now, let’s celebrate Pigeontooth.” Behind her Pigeontooth, Canarywish thought she saw a flash of relief in Finchbeak’s gaze, but it was possible Canarywish imagined it. 

“You three are growing up so fast…” Moorthistle rumbled, eyes watering. “Oh, Daisypaw will be a warrior soon, too. I can’t believe it.”

“We’ll have to section off a third warriors’ den at this rate,” Finchbeak joked. Her gaze fled to her paws when every cat’s attention turned to her, but she was met with only amused smiles. After several moons of overcrowding, Flamefall had finally decided to organize an effort to make room for a second warriors’ den. Cats could choose which den to sleep in, but with two dens there’d be enough room for cats to sleep comfortably. Still, most ended up sharing nests even now. Canarywish slept by herself, but sometimes Daisypaw would sneak into the warriors den to sleep beside Canarywish. Canarywish suspected that Daisypaw might share Canarywish’s nest once Daisypaw became a warrior.

“My paws are still so sore from weaving together so much of the bedding last time,” Moorthistle laughed. “You’d help me again, wouldn’t you, Canarywish?”

“Of course,” Canarywish replied immediately. 

“Hopefully we’ll have a little bit more time before that becomes a necessity,” Finchbeak hummed. 

“I wouldn’t mind having more space,” Canarywish admitted.

“More space means room for more clanmates,” Moorthistle purred. “Maybe Pondshine’s sister will join. I know he misses her a lot.”

“Her name is Spottedshade, right?” Finchbeak asked. As the conversation turned towards the topic of Shallowclan politics, Canarywish allowed the moment to ground her. Jaypaw seemed to perk up at the mention of outside clan affairs, and Canarywish felt pride swell in her chest. 

Initially, Canarywish had been scared to be a mentor, afraid to make the same mistakes that Ravenstar had with her. But Canarywish had grown to appreciate the young cat Jaypaw was growing into, someone reserved yet also kind and intuitive. She would make a fine warrior in her own time. 

Canarywish was looking forward to seeing the cat Jaypaw would become, without the shadow of her father looming over her.

MOON 19

Canarywish’s leg was nearly fully healed now. It still ached occasionally, but she could run and hunt without major complications. Skipper was nearly fully grown now, almost as tall as Canarywish. The tom was prancing ahead of Canarywish and Fang, humming a song Canarywish didn’t know the words too. Fang’s pace was slower, keeping even with Canarywish. “Be careful, Skip. You’ll trip if you don’t look out for roots.”

“I’m being careful!” Skipper promised, pausing his melody. “And that was one time, Mama.”

“You nearly sprained a paw,” Fang retorted, shaking her head slightly. “You cried for an hour.”

“No, I didn’t! I only cried for a few minutes,” Skipper argued. “Canarywish, you were there! Back me up.”

Canarywish considered. “It was more like half of an hour.”

“No!” Skipper wailed dramatically, collapsing. “Betrayal!” A second later, he was giggling. Fang sighed.

“I don’t know where he gets this energy from,” she muttered. 

“He’s a lot like Daisyfreckle,” Canarywish replied, stopping to stretch her back as Skipper rolled to his paws, pretending to attack a drifting leaf. “I think they’d be good friends.”

“Maybe.” Fang shifted uncomfortably. “It’s getting late. We should find somewhere to den up for the night.”

“All right,” Canarywish agreed. “Let’s try that log a ways back.”

“Sounds perfect.”

MOON ???

“Do you think you’ll ever have kits?” Littleleaf asked. Canarywish didn’t respond for several moments, chewing on a chunk of robin.

“I don’t know. Probably not.” Canarywish swiped her tongue over her maw, tracing away a few stray feathers. 

“That’s okay. Parenthood isn’t for everyone,” Littleleaf said gently. “Just know that whatever you and Daisyfreckle decide to do with your lives, Moorthistle and I will always support you.”

“Where is this coming from?” Canarywish blinked. 

“Well, your mother and I are starting to slow down. We’ll probably move to the elders’ den soon. I’ve just been thinking about how proud I am of you and your sister, and I hope you always know that. I love you, Canary.”

“I love you, too, Dad,” Canarywish purred gently, pressing her cheek against Littleleaf’s chest. “Always.”

MOON 21

It had been almost 22 full moons since Canarywish had been taken away from her clan. Now, she could see Fallenclan’s mountain, her mountain, in the distance. She, alongside Fang and Skipper, were cutting through Archclan’s territory, avoiding patrols as they did so. Canarywish’s heart was brimming with joy. She was almost home!

Once they finally reached Fallenclan territory, Canarywish broke into a sprint. Skipper bounded alongside her, whooping and laughing as he went. “Wait!” Fang’s voice cut through Skipper’s laughter, and both he and Canarywish came to an abrupt stop, turning towards Fang.

“Can we maybe take a break? I’m getting tired.”

Canarywish wanted to protest—they were almost there!—but the disgruntled look on Fang’s face convinced her to give in. “All right.”

“Skipper, why don’t you see if you can catch something for us to eat, since you’re still so full of energy?” Fang asked, settling into a loaf-position, her legs curled beneath her.

“Okay! I’m going to catch a really big rabbit this time!” The young tom grinned. “That’ll impress the Fallenclan cats. They’ll make me a warrior right away: Skippersong! Or maybe Skipperwish? Oh, or Tadpoleskip, because my fur is black like a tadpole.” Skipper grinned, continuing to list off potential warrior names as he flounced off. 

Canarywish sat down next to Fang, peering down at the shadow-pelted molly. “What’s wrong?”

Fang frowned, visibly disquieted. Then, she asked, “Are you sure you want to go back? To your clan, I mean. Maybe you wouldn’t be happy there anymore.”

“What?” Canarywish’s ears flattened. She had to take a deep breath to temper herself. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I want you to stay,” Fang pressed. “I don’t want you to leave, Canarywish. The three of us could be happy together. And maybe if Skipper leaves some day, like you said, then we can find somewhere to settle down, so he knows where to find us when he comes back to visit.” Fang’s sharp gaze was tentative, as if she were bracing for the inevitable rejection. 

“I have to go back to my clan,” Canarywish murmured. 

Fang’s expression was briefly stricken, but she quickly looked away, neutrally stating, “That’s fine. I was expecting you to say that.”

“But you could come with me,” Canarywish continued. “Fallenclan is always accepting of outsiders. Wolfstar wouldn’t even question it. You and Skipper would be welcome. Most cats in Fallenclan are super friendly, and even the ones that aren’t so friendly are still fiercely loyal to the clan. You both could be a part of the clan.”

Fang’s shoulders tensed, her tail swishing like a fern trembling in the breeze. “You said Wolfstar is a killer. You said your clan goes to war with rival clans. I don’t want any cat to have control over me or my life ever again. I don’t want my son being sent off to fight cats he doesn’t even know, or being killed for questioning Wolfstar’s rules.”

“Wolfstar isn’t like that,” Canarywish pleaded. “I promise. Fallenclan isn’t at war. We’re allies with every other clan except Shallowclan, and their leader, Fernstar, has come to an agreement with Wolfstar. There won’t be anymore fighting.”

“You can’t know that,” Fang growled.

“No, I suppose I can’t.” Canarywish pressed her nose against Fang’s cheek, then leaned back. “The future isn’t certain. I’d like for you and Skipper to come with me, but if you can’t, I’ll understand. We’ll still have our memories. You can’t take loved away.”

Fang swallowed, whiskers trembling. Without warning, Skipper burst out of the treeline, causing both Canarywish and Fang to flinch. “Skipper!” Fang snapped. “What did I tell you about listening to other cats’ conversations?”

“We aren’t going with Canarywish?” Skipper asked, devastation etched in his features. “We aren’t going to join her family?”

“It isn’t that simple,” Fang replied. Skipper lowered his gaze, tail drooping. Canarywish wished there was something she could say to make this better. Haltingly, Fang began, “You’re an adult cat now, Skip.” She inhaled. “If–if you want to go with Canarywish, you can go with her.”

“What about you?” Skipper pleaded.

“I can’t. At least, I can’t right now.” Fang hesitated. “I need time to think about this.”

Skipper wavered then, lifting his chin, he stated, “I’m staying with you, Mama.”

“Oh, Skip,” Fang sighed. “I’m sorry, Canarywish. I can’t promise anything, but I don’t want this to be goodbye forever. I’ll come see you again, and maybe then… maybe I’ll be ready.” Mirroring Canarywish’s gesture, Fang stood, pressing her nose against Canarywish’s. “Go find your family.”

Canarywish swallowed, nodding. Skipper darted forward, pressing his pelt against hers and purring. “Thank you, Miss Canarywish. I’m going to practice my warrior moves, so when we see each other again I can impress all of your friends.”

“I’m sure you will,” Canarywish whispered. When both Skipper and Fang finally stepped back, Canarywish gave each of them a slow blink. 

Then, she turned, and began the journey home anew.

MOON ???

“Just tell me who it is,” Blossomfur pressed. “As long as it isn’t a Shallowclan cat, there won’t be an issue. Even then, I suppose I’d manage for a third time.”

“Third?” Canarywish questioned. She knew about Pondshine, but she wasn’t sure about which other relative of hers had let their heart wander across the border. 

“Mmm, forget I said that,” Blossomfur replied, giving her chest a few licks for composure. She then returned her critical gaze back to Daisyfreckle. “Come on, Daisy. You can’t just tell your auntie that you have a crush and then refuse to say who it is.”

“You can’t laugh,” Daisyfreckle implored. “Promise.”

“I promise,” Blossomfur said, ears pricked forward in anticipation.

“You too, Canarywish.”

“I promise that I won’t laugh,” Canarywish agreed.

“Fine…” Daisyfreckle sighed dramatically. “It’s… Fishstick,” she whispered.

“Fishstick?” Blossomfur wrinkled her nose. “Really?”

“Shhh! You said you wouldn’t laugh,” Daisyfreckle complained. “She’s just really cool. I think she has a thing with Craneclaw, though, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“You don’t need a mate to be happy,” Blossomfur said, nudging Daisyfreckle’s shoulder. “Fishstick’s all right, I just thought you might go for someone a little more… laid back? Like Clayshade.”

“What? No. Clayshade is way too young for me,” Daisyfreckle huffed, rolling her eyes. “She’s like, a kit practically.”

“Hardly,” Canarywish couldn’t help but snort. “She’s bigger than you, Daisy.”

“No, she isn’t!” Daisyfreckle gasped, affronted. “She’s just… fluffy.”

“Which makes her bigger than you,” Blossomfur teased. “What about Bonestalk? You two seem to get along.”

“Ugh, no. He’s practically a kit, too. Who do you think I am?” Daisyfreckle shook her head dramatically, but one fang was sticking out in a crooked smile. 

“I guess you’ll have to wait for some outsider to join, then,” Canarywish laughed softly. “Or you could shoot your shot with Fishstick, who knows.”

“Like I said, you don’t need a mate,” Blossomfur added.

“I know, I know,” Daisyfreckle sighed. “I just want someone to love me the way Littleleaf and Moorthistle love each other. Like, romantically.” She blinked. “Sorry, Blossomfur.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Blossomfur snorted, but Canarywish could see that she was smiling as well. “You’re fully welcome to your hopeless pining.”

“It isn’t hopeless yet,” Daisyfreckle sniffed. “Craneclaw hasn’t made a move yet. There’s still time!”

“We’ll see,” Canarywish purred, wrapping her tail around her sister’s flank. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before Fishstick is falling at your paws.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Blossomfur chuckled.

“Blossomfur,” Canarywish chided, but she was laughing as well. Daisyfreckle gave another long-suffering sigh, but even she couldn’t keep the grin off her face. Soon enough, she was giggling too. 

MOON 22

A day had passed since Canarywish had left Skipper and Fang. She’d rested out in the territory, too exhausted to make her way back to camp. Now, as her paws traced familiar stones, Canarywish could hear the soft chatter of an early morning patrol. She recognized the voices immediately: Bluestorm, Batspring, Jaystripe, Fennelflower, and one new voice Canarywish didn’t recognize. It was strange, knowing that Fallenclan had moved on without her. Lives had continued, kits were born and outsiders joined the clan. Cats had probably died, too. Canarywish shook off the thought. 

“Wait, I smell a cat,” Bluestorm’s voice drifted towards Canarywish’s ears. His soft timbre was uncertain, as if he wasn’t quite sure that the scent he’d caught was correct.

“Is that…?” Fennelflower murmured.

“Canarywish!” Jaystripe raced into Canarywish’s line of sight. “Canarywish, you’re back.” The younger molly’s expression was neutral, but her eyes were shining. The rest of the patrol followed close behind, each letting out exclaimations of surprise and delight.

“Burnpaw, this is Canarywish. She’s one of our clanmates that got lost,” Fennelflower mrrowed to the apprentice beside her, the one voice Canarywish didn’t recognize.

“I know,” Burnpaw replied quietly.

“It’s good to see you again,” Batspring purred.

“Yes,” Canarywish agreed. As he clanmates chattered anxiously about who was going to bring her back to camp, she murmured: “It’s good to be home.”

MOON ???

“What does it feel like, to love someone and lose them?” 

“Well,” Mossfrog began slowly, her round eyes squinting thoughtfully. Canarywish was always reminded of an owl when looking at her grandmother’s soft, wide-eyed face. “That depends. There are several ways in which you might lose someone.”

“Like what?”

“Firstly, there is death. Death is permanent and cannot be undone.” The elderly molly exhaled. “My mother, Lightningtail. My littermates, Lionsong and Salmonskip. My mate, Rustbee. My friends, Owlscreech and Waspflight. They’re all dead now.” Mossfrog let out a slow, raspy breath. “That pain doesn’t leave you, but it does lessen over time. It helps, knowing that I’ll see them again someday. For now, though, I hold on to the memories of their love. I keep living my life, and when I see them again, I’ll have many new stories to tell them.”

Canarywish nodded, if not in understanding than in sympathy. The only cat she’d really lost was Ravenstar, but those feelings were complicated.

“Then, there’s separation. Sometimes, cats need to go their separate ways. There’s a chance they might come back, but oftentimes they won’t. Like with death, you just hold on to the memories you have of them. Then there’s change. Cats change, and sometimes they change so much you can’t recognize them. That’s a different sort of loss.” Mossfrog blinked slowly. “Thankfully, it isn’t one I’ve had to suffer.”

“But the memories,” Canarywish pressed. “Are they really enough?”

“It can be. Every day is different, but it’s important to keep living, even if it hurts. Especially when it hurts. I hope you understand that, Canarywish.”

“I do.” Canarywish wasn’t sure that she did understand, but she vowed to hang on to Mossfrog’s words.

“I love you, honey,” Mossfrog murmured.

“I love you, too, Grandmama,” Canarywish purred. “Always.”

“Always,” Mossfrog agreed. “Even once I’ve begun to walk with the stars, my love will always follow you.”

Yawning, Canarywish nestled into Mossfrog’s feather-filled nest, purring softly. Today was one of her good days. She knew there was a chance tomorrow would be a bad day, but even so, Canarywish was determined to enjoy this moment while it lasted. 

Letting the love she felt in this moment wash over her, Canarywish closed her eyes and murmured, “Goodnight.”

-🐉 (canarywish fic! hopefully she is characterized accurately. i had fun playing around with these characters. also, the new characters are not ocs, they are guys i made up for the sake of this fic. that being said, if anyone wants to do anything with them, go ahead! 

it’s possible that tumblr has broken the formatting quite a bit but hopefully it remained somewhat intact. anyway - i know some people have asked about my getting an ao3 account. i haven’t been able to, but if someone wants to post any of my fics, literally just mention they’re by dragon anon and that’d be fine with me, since on tumblr it’s hard to compile them lol.

hope you all enjoyed. smiles evilly)

How ironic is that? You take the breath from a cat, from a cat twice as firey as he was small and who you’ve known for years, and with it goes yours.

Well, maybe it’s ironic. Maybe he’s seen too much vengeance from the dead to really think that, to not imagine it’s starry paws squeezing around his neck.

It wasn’t- He doesn’t deserve it though does he-? He’s heard all this stuff about Ravenstar, about all the cats he killed- ok, maybe that doesn’t change much after all, but surely preventing a- surely since Mason planned to kill-?

Who is he kidding.

Why, Mason? Wiggity Wacks wonders desperately, as he buries his face in the moss of his nest late that night. The collar, broken on the forest floor, sits in his mind. You aren’t from this clan either. You’re just- a hypocrite.

Oh, no, how rude is it to call a cat you just killed a hypocrite? It must be, like, the rudest, at least when the killing’s an accident and he really Didn’t deserve it, and Wiggity didn’t mean it, which he already said, but..

oh, oh this is all wrong.

and he can’t tell anyone, can he? Surely he’d be exiled, or maybe killed, maybe he’d just be ‘scum’ again like Mason said, maybe- Even if it would be fine he can’t Breathe around Mason’s paws to tell anyone, and he wouldn’t know who to tell, and he’s as dead as Mason is either way. To the guilt or the sentencing.

..dead either way.

Ok, ha, that’s dramatic. It doesn’t feel dramatic, it feels real, but so do like, really bad dreams, and he wakes up fine from those, so he just.. Outlasts it? Outlasts it. Does his best, lays low, lets absolutely nobody know. He can do this.

He can get away with murder.

Probably. Hopefully.

Stars, what a horrible thing to hope.

Sleepydawn's Journey

“This is it.” Tangletail turned to look at him, her green eyes glossy but unsympathetic. “End of the line, Sleepydawn.”

A thousand rebuttals bunched on the end of Sleepydawn’s tongue. For you, maybe. Or This won’t be the last time you see me. Possibly even something as simple as, You’ll regret this.

Sleepydawn said nothing. Tail dragging on the ground, he turned away from his clanmates and stepped across the border. 

He felt their eyes watching him as he went, as the ground turned from soft grass to hard dirt to even harder black stone. He itched to turn back, shoot them a glare or just soak in a final look at his clan. It’s in his nature to be impulsive. But where had impulsivity gotten him?

He rounded the corner of a twoleg nest, and then he was gone.

It was then, and only then, that he stopped, sitting hard on his rump in the narrow gap between structures. It smelled there--like rotting vegetation and some unique twoleg stench, but he had bigger problems than whatever odors he’d have to wash off his fur later. 

What would he do now?

He wasn’t a Fallenclan cat anymore. Not even a warrior. Maybe he could be, if he traveled around the territories--to Cricketclan, Gooseclan, Shallowclan, even. They weren’t even far, all things considered, and most of them would probably accept a new warrior, but the idea of belonging to a different clan, a clan besides his own, soured his stomach. He wasn’t meant to live in a swamp, or a dense forest, to live in nests made of reeds and moss. 

He wasn’t meant to be a loner, either, and yet…

He could wait for Levi. Levi, who was Ravenstar’s right hand, his deputy, should by all accounts be Sleepydawn’s leader now, even if he wasn’t Fallenclan’s. He could wait for Levi to join him, and Patchback, and whoever else as an outsider (If Wolfbite doesn’t kill them, first), and then… what? Start a new clan? How was that different from joining one that already exists?

Fallenclan was Sleepydawn’s home. That was who he was. Did Levi really mean anything to him outside of that?

Perhaps it was a question for a better day. Now, Sleepydawn was tired, and he was going to need to eat soon, even if he wasn’t hungry. Wolfbite had offered him a piece of prey from the fresh-kill pile before he left, and he’d refused, blinded by anger and despair and grief. He didn’t know what he’d be able to find in twolegplace, but there was no harm in looking. Hunting might help clear his mind, anyway.

Sleepydawn stepped further into twolegplace, and began his first day as a loner.

. . .

Twolegplace was. Different.

He’d been there before. As an apprentice, in any of his spare time he didn’t spend training, he liked to wander. Not far, of course, usually not more than a tree length in, knowing that twolegplace was dangerous and not for clan cats to explore, anyway, but enough to get a decent look at what the place had to offer.

Or so he had thought, anyway.

The place seemed devoid, at first, of anything but twolegs and monsters. They stalked around their flat, grassy patches of land outside, peered at him through the holes in their nests. Very few spared him more than a glance--just a couple of kits that crouched their long legs and made noises like a broken hiss-- pspspspsps.

He ran off quickly after that.

And the monsters, of course. They were everywhere. Mostly asleep, thank the stars, either resting on those patches of smooth black or silver stone, or tucked inside perfectly sized nooks in the twoleg nests. The ones that were awake slowly prowled up and down the rocky pathways, growling and rumbling all the while. Sleepydawn gave them a good berth, knowing that they wouldn’t stray from their marked walkways, on edge despite his knowledge. If nothing else, their constant noise made it difficult to listen for other dangers.

After a long while of aimless wandering, though, he found that perhaps twolegplace wasn’t as devoid of life as he thought. 

There were birds everywhere. Just as abundant as they were in the mountains, maybe more. They seemed drawn to these odd little twoleg structures that seemed to be filled with seeds and nuts--perhaps something to lure them out of hiding so that the twolegs could catch a meal? It was smart, but if that was the case why didn’t he see any twolegs hunting them? Rather, most twolegs seemed to give the things a decent berth, as if perhaps they didn’t want to frighten the birds away. The birds didn’t seem too startled, anyhow, like they were used to the twolegs wandering nearby. Probably they were.

There wasn’t a lot of ground prey, besides a few lizards and squirrels, but those all scattered before Sleepydawn could get close, not yet trying to catch something now that he knew it wouldn’t be too hard to find a meal when he was ready. 

There were other animals too, not just twolegs and prey. Cats--a not-insignificant amount of them, lounging on sunny rocks, or inside twoleg nests, but more importantly…

Dogs.

Inside twoleg nests. Bound to twolegs by long tethers. Barely trapped in big, wooden enclosures. The fur on the back of Sleepydawn’s neck raised, the old injury on his leg aching. 

He didn’t like dogs. Hadn’t for a long while now.

He did what he could to avoid them, and began to look in earnest for a meal.

. . . 

Sleepydawn knew the story of his grandfather, okay?

Otterslip. Born an outsider, adopted by the clan leader and the deputy, raised a warrior. Adopted kits of his own. Lost one. Lost his mind. Killed the medicine cat. Got exiled.

Sleepydawn was not his grandfather. But he’s not his father, either.

His father, Sleepycloud. His namesake. Born to Bluefern, Evie, and Newtscar, grew up to be one of the greatest warriors the clan had ever seen, scarred in valiant battle in the war against Shallowclan, drowned trying to save Foxdust. Spent every living (and dying) moment being a hero.

Sleepydawn wasn’t like him. Maybe it wasn’t a good thing, like he’d always told himself it was.

He wanted to be different. He wanted to be different in a good way. Stronger, more heroic, more valorous. Maybe he could make deputy, where Sleepycloud never could.

Looking at himself, trying to sleep uneasily in twoleg territory, belly full of outsider prey, exiled from his clan, perhaps Sleepydawn was more like his grandfather than he realized.

. . .

Sleepydawn rose with the sun the next morning, leg aching from an uncomfortable rest underneath a bush, and began to walk. 

He didn’t have a destination, really--he just knew that with each breath he took so close to Fallenclan territory, yet forbidden from entering it, he felt sick. Like he ate something rotten, and he couldn't get his mind away from the heavy, nauseating feeling in his stomach. He needed distance, now, more than anything.

Maybe not more than food. Despite his nausea, he was starving.

If he were still with Fallenclan, he’d go to the freshkill pile and pick out something from last night. It’d be a bit stale, and cold, but filling, and it would give him the energy to go catch something fresher, or to go mark the border and pick out something fresher when he got home. Now, there was no freshkill pile, no border, no patrol. It was just Sleepydawn and his grumbling belly.

He found and caught a squirrel without much trouble. It was difficult, when he was already hungry and still groggy from sleep without Hazelthorn or Frecklefox or Ashblink to groom his pelt and make fun of him when he’s tired and incoherent--think about something else.

It was difficult, when he was already hungry and still groggy from sleep, but he managed, and the fresh taste of prey-blood on his tongue was worth it, sweet and nourishing. He swiped his tongue over his lips, but didn’t get the chance to eat any before a voice piped up.

“Wow, that was great!”

He was bristling immediately, whipping around with a hiss. The grassy enclosure had reeked of kittypet already, layers and layers of scent, like a territory, so he hadn’t noticed the cat approaching. She was sitting primly next to the entryway of the twoleg nest, ears twitching. A lithe brown tabby, with a green collar.

“I’ve never been able to catch a squirrel before,” She chirped, unaffected by his hiss. “I mean, I’ve gotten lizards and baby birds and things, but never anything like that.”

Sleepydawn bared his teeth. “I’m not sharing.”

The kittypet looked a bit disappointed, but not necessarily surprised. “That’s alright, I just ate. I’m Katie, what’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

“That’s a weird name. Nice to meet you, Noneofyourbusiness!”

For a second, he was appalled at her stupidity, but then he saw the mischievous gleam in her eye, and it turned to anger. He wanted to swipe at her face, or spit, or just scare her off, but he saw the skinny, leggy look to her, and the size of her eyes and ears. She wasn't much older than a kitten, maybe seven moons old, and Sleepydawn wasn't so cruel that he’d attack one that young, or that untrained. He gritted his teeth through the anger and picked up the squirrel, making to leave.

“Wait!” Katie cried. “I’m sorry, I’m just kidding around. Are you new to the neighborhood? I haven’t seen you around before.”

Sleepydawn stared for a second, then reluctantly dropped his prey. “I’m not a kittypet.”

A frown. “What?”

“I don’t live with twolegs.” He snarled. “I don’t stay in a nest or let them pet me with their awful naked paws.”

“Oh, you’re a stray.” Katie blinked. “Or- are you feral? You don’t like housefolk at all, huh?”

He huffed an angry breath. “Obviously.”

“Katie!”

There was another kittypet. No collar, but he could smell the stench of twolegs clinging to every fur on her pelt. She was mostly black, with a white muzzle, paws, and underbelly. Crouched on the wooden wall, she looked down on the both of them with fear.

“Katie, get away from him!”

“It’s okay, Socks, he’s nice!” Katie chirped. “Or, well, he’s actually pretty crabby, but still. He’s just feral.”

“He’s not just feral,” Socks hisseed. “He’s a mountain cat, Katie.”

Now Katie began to bush up, her eyes going wide. She looked at Sleepydawn and slowly took a few steps back.

Good, he thought vindictively. They should be scared.

Sleepydawn bared his teeth a little at the both of them, hoping that the squirrel-blood from earlier was still clinging to his gums. He wasn’t sure if it was or not, but they both shrank away anyway, bristling and tense.

“I’ll be leaving now,” Sleepydawn spat, tilting his head up a bit to glare. “Unless you want to talk more.”

“No,” Katie mewed softly. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Sleepydawn huffed, picked the squirrel up in his mouth, and hopped over the wooden wall.

He ate his breakfast behind another twoleg nest a bit further away, but it didn’t taste as good as it did before. He told himself it was just because it’s cooled, now, and wasn’t quite as fresh, but there was a small, quiet part of him that whispered food always tastes better with company.

He bitterly told the voice to shut up, and took another bite.

. . . 

The sun sets, and rose again. Sleepydawn had to assume he was on the other side of the twolegplace, now. It was a long, long ways away from home, but. Not far enough. It was there that he had his second encounter with kittypets.

He was in one of those grassy enclosures behind a twoleg nest. He’d crossed so many by now, wanting to avoid the stone pathways outside where the monsters roamed. He stayed on top of the wooden walls, mostly, but this enclosure had a bit of water in it, and his mouth was dry.

Halfway through drinking, he heard pawsteps behind him.

Choking on water, Sleepydawn was off like a startled rabbit, tearing at the ground under his paws. There was heavy breathing behind him, growling, and then a few barks. It wasn’t a huge dog. It was smaller than the one that Sleepydawn nearly lost his leg to.

But he couldn’t think.

Riddled with fear like a bug-chewed leaf, Sleepydawn ran for the first familiar thing he saw--a tree--and scrambled up it, hearing teeth snap at his heels, just narrowly missing his tail as he shot up the trunk. He got halfway before he could convince himself it's far enough, trembling and breathing heavily.

Below, in the enclosure, a twoleg burst out of the nest, growling and barking back at the dog in its own clumsy language. It grabbed the beast by its collar and dragged it backwards. Just as the two disappeared inside, another form slipped out.

Sleepydawn barely noticed. All he registered was that the dog is gone, he was safe, the dog was gone-

He was having trouble breathing.

“All right up there?” Called a voice, croaky with age.

Sleepydawn crushed his eyes shut, gripping the branch under his claws with a vicious force. The dog is gone, the dog is gone, the dog is gone.

A sigh, faint. “I’m too old for this.”

Sleepydawn didn’t register the cat crawling up the tree, not even when they settled next to him. Long fur, gray, maybe, a stench of twolegs. Sleepydawn was trembling too hard to notice.

“Calm down.” A tongue rasped reluctantly over his head, face, ears. It was a familiar gesture, and he relaxed into it a little--flashing back to when he was a tiny kit and Ivybounce would do the same to him, laughing and calling him Sleepykit, my little sleepy kit, when he would yawn and complain.

“You’re alright.” The grooming paused when the cat spoke, then continued. “Deep breaths, son.”

Sleepydawn snapped back to reality abruptly. He was a warrior, crouched in a tree shaking with fear from a dog while a kittypet calmed him down. As if he couldn’t be any more of a failure. With a snarl, he snapped his teeth at the kittypet until they draw back.

“Ungrateful little shit, aren’t you?” The cat huffed, not looking particularly alarmed, just ticked off. “Saved you from panicking out of your skin and that’s what you give me?”

“I wasn’t panicking,” Sleepydawn lied, fur bristling along his spine even more than it already was. “I’m a warrior.”

“Mountain cat, huh?” The kittypet scoffed. “Met one of you once when I was young. Not so scary. That how you got your scar? Battle?”

Sleepydawn glances down at his scarred leg. The fur is parted oddly all down that limb, awkwardly trying to grow around the thick pink tissue. Ravenstar had called it a mark of a true warrior. Sleepydawn called it painful.

“A dog.” He answered without thinking.

“That explains it.” The kittypet shook their head. “Listen, it’s late, you’re clearly exhausted. Stay here and I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“I don’t want your kittypet food.”

“How about a bird, then?” The kittypet chuckled a little when they saw the hungry look on Sleepydawn’s face. “That’s what I thought. I’ll be back.”

He told himself he’d climb down and run the moment that the kittypet disappeared, but he found his body strangely shaky and weak. He spent a few minutes trying to gather the strength, and then the kittypet was returning, sitting on the grass below with an oriole in their jaws.

“Dinner,” They called. “Hop down into the yard, the dog is locked inside now.”

Sleepydawn swallowed. His voice was uncharacteristically weak when he meowed, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. And anyway, Buttercup is no wild dog. She likes to chase, but wouldn’t know what to do if she caught anything. You ever catch her chasing you again, just give her a scratch on the nose and she’ll head home.”

Sleepydawn reluctantly chose to trust the kittypet for now (not that he had much of a choice), and climbed down from the tree, only a bit shaky when he landed. The kittypet dropped the oriole in front of him and didn't speak until Sleepydawn started to eat.

“My name is Dust Bunny,” they said. It was a bit of an odd name, but it was clanlike, and it made a part of Sleepydawn relax. “You can call me Dusty if you want. This is my housefolk’s yard and you’re welcome to stay in it for the night, if you want to.”

He didn’t want to. But he does think that he wouldn’t be able to go much farther without a rest.

“I’ll sleep in the tree,” he grumbled out between bites. 

“The manners on you,” Dusty snorted. “Did your mother raise you to talk to your elders like that?”

Sleepydawn bristled a little. Not because he was mad, no--because Dusty was right. Ivybounce would be disappointed in him. For more than one reason.

His heart ached at the thought of her.

“...Sorry.” He meowed after a minute of pause. “Thank you for the food. And the shelter.”

“That’s more like it,” Dusty sat and wrapped their tail around their paws. “The tree is fine and all, but there’s a bit more shelter inside the shed, and Buttercup can’t get in there, which I can guess you’re worried about.”

Sleepydawn swallowed down a heated retort at the same time he swallowed down the last bit of oriole. “Thanks.” 

As he washed his face, cleaning the orange and black feathers off his muzzle, he considered Dust Bunny. They were old. Elder age, certainly, with white hairs around their muzzle and an audible creak from their joints. It was beyond Sleepydawn how they managed to climb up and down a tree and still catch him a bird with energy to spare, but perhaps living with twolegs would do that to you. He knew they tended to grow fat on plentiful food. Perhaps in their younger days they had even more energy. Enough to wander across twolegplace, to poke at the mountain cat borders, meet a Fallenclan cat or two. Still, this den was a long way from Sleepydawn’s home. It was unlikely they would have met a Fallenclan cat unless they, too, were wandering.

“You said you met a mountain cat before,” Sleepydawn meowed. “Will you tell me about him?”

Dusty’s ear twitched. “What makes you think they were a him?”

They must have caught the disappointed look on his face, because they chuckled a little. “You knew him, huh? Well, I don’t envy you if you did. He was a nasty son of a bitch. Long brown fur, stripes over his eyes, scar on his cheek, sound familiar?”

“Otterslip,” Sleepydawn breathed.

“That’s the one.” Dusty tilted their head. “He said he was exiled, but that he’d be returning home soon. That his clan would ‘come to their senses’. Seemed very determined. You wouldn’t happen to know how that story ended, would you son?”

Sleepydawn avoided the old cat’s gaze. “Yewberry and Ivybounce--his kits--found his body a long time back. Infected wound, but they weren’t sure what from.”

“Figured as much.” Dusty nodded. “Not the dying part, that is, just that his clan wouldn’t accept him home. Once you get exiled from a group like that, I reckon there’s not much of a chance of returning.”

Sleepydawn flinched. It must have been visible, because Dusty’s eyes narrowed.

“...Well, I’ve told you a story,” They meowed eventually. “How about you tell me one? How’d you get that scar?”

Sleepydawn blinked. It wasn’t the story he’d been expecting to be asked about, but- he wasn’t any more excited to tell it, really. He flicked his ears backwards a bit and thought, for a long moment. Dust Bunny waited with a patient expression.

“My leader,” Sleepydawn said finally. “He ordered me to chase a dog off our territory. Normally it’d be a mission for a whole patrol, but he wanted me to prove myself.”

“Hm.” Dusty blinked. “And did you?”

“I nearly died,” Sleepydawn admitted, his throat getting a bit tight like it often did when he spoke of that day. “But yeah. I managed to injure it bad enough that it fled, and made it back to my camp. After that, Ravenstar accepted me as one of his most trusted warriors.”

Dust Bunny looked at him for a long moment. “Accepted you as a trusted warrior, huh? But only after you’d proven yourself like that?”

Sleepydawn nodded. An excuse perched on his tongue, It’s typical clan behavior, you wouldn’t understand. But he didn’t want to lie to this kittypet. Not after the meal and shelter that had been offered.

“Sounds like some leader.” Dusty’s voice was dry with sarcasm. “Tell you what, I’m gonna hit the hay. You have a good rest and I’ll see you off in the morning, alright?”

“Alright,” Sleepydawn agreed hollowly as the kittypet padded across the yard, into the twoleg den, and disappeared.

. . .

When Sleepydawn awoke, he became quickly aware of the ache in his leg.

The small, abandoned twoleg nest (a shed, Dustbunny had called it) was sturdy, safe from dogs, and solid enough to keep the draft mostly out, but it did nothing for his old injury. He’d chosen a high ledge to rest on, and tried to sleep on only that before giving up halfway through the night and curling up in a weird, crinkly sort of twoleg material that smelled like a thunderpath. It had a bit more cushion to it, at least, but he still found his sleep restless and woke with a deep, sharp ache running all the way from his paw to his shoulder.

Moons ago, when he first healed from the injury, Bristleheart took him on a walk and explained that he would always feel that pain, as long as the leg remained, and that he had to exercise it in particular ways in order to keep the pain to a minimum and to keep himself from damaging it any further. He’d then proceeded to run Sleepydawn through a series of stretches, each of which made his leg hurt more than the last. 

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he hadn’t kept up on the exercises. First it was stubbornness, then lack of time and energy, that pulled him away. He tried to do them a few times a moon, but why would he keep up with them if they only made him hurt worse?

Now, he pulled himself upright and moved into the first position. A sharp twinge fired up into his spine, and he bonelessly collapsed. This had been easier when he was younger.

“‘Morning,” A drawling voice meowed. Dusty poked their head through the cracked entrance of the shed and looked around for a moment before peering up. “There y’are. Sleep well?”

“Fantastic.” Sleepydawn replied in a flat voice, shaking out his bad leg before hopping down to the ground, leaning heavily to his right. “Twoleg dens really are a wonder.”

“Yeah, well, more comfortable when you’ve got a pillow or two to keep ‘ya warm.” Dusty licked their lips. They smelled like meat, almost, but dry and strongly hinted with twoleg stench. “Should I catch you another bird?”

Fire suddenly rose in Sleepydawn’s stomach. He was tired of being in pain, of being uncertain, of missing his home, of being coddled. “No. I’ll be moving on.”

Dusty had the nerve to look surprised. “So soon? Where are you traveling to in such a hurry?”

Away, Sleepydawn thought. Anywhere but here. Anywhere that I can’t be looked at by another cat like I’m something alien and unnatural. Anywhere but home.

“None of your business.” He meowed instead.

. . .

He left Dusty’s yard as the sun began to stream over the trees, and didn’t stop walking until it was at his back again. 

Unsurprisingly, his leg still ached. Now the others did too, down to each pink paw-pad. His back and neck throbbed with dull pain from being upright all day. His tail was sore where it had been dragging on the ground.

Having passed through twolegplace and ended up in some sparse oaken woods, he tried to haul himself into a tree, failed, and squeezed himself into an abandoned rabbit’s burrow instead. The earth, not wet but still leeching the heat from his pelt with every breath, pressed softly against each side and crumbled a little around his ears. He’d be filthy in the morning, and even more hungry than he already was. 

Being underground was comforting though, in a way. It was nothing like Fallenclan’s camp, which was rocky and sandy and really only earthy in a few places, but the way that the starlight seeped through the entrance a few tail-lengths in front of his muzzle was familiar. Wrapped in dirt, he closed his eyes and imagined it was fur, instead--he was a kitten again, Ivybounce was cleaning the space between his eyes, Hazelthorn and Frecklefox were curled against him.

His leg ached some more. He fell asleep.

. . .

Sleepydawn had gotten used to crossing thunderpaths. 

The first time he’d done it, he was terrified. It seemed like the end of the world when a monster came snarling around the corner from so far away. Fallenclan didn’t have any thunderpaths inside their territory--there was one, on the border, but it was quiet and usually barren. One could sit at the edge of it for a whole day and see less monsters than there were toes on their paw.

Now, more recently (he refused to think about how long it had been. It couldn’t have been more than a few moons, surely), it was routine. Look left, look right, scamper across when it was safe and pay no mind to the big metal beasts.

Today, Sleepydawn looked left, looked right, and scampered across. He looked for the sharp gleam of metal in sunlight, in those massive black paws, those shiny silver teeth, enormous and impossible to ignore.

He wasn’t looking for whatever had hit him. Small, boney, like a collection of metal sticks, with two big but slender paws, and a single twoleg perched on its back.

If it was a true monster that hit him, he’d be dead. Whatever this one was (a baby monster, maybe?), the impact itself hurt, but it wasn’t what left the damage. What damaged him was the slender paw that rolled over his bad leg when he’d thrown himself backwards, and the sharp metal that came crashing down on him once the baby monster had lost its balance on his body. Sharp bruises and gashes formed on his skin, and he shrieked at the same moment the twoleg did, both of them pressed into the hard black stone.

A full grown monster, ash-gray and snarling, rumbled to a halt next to the collapsed baby. The sight of that alone was enough to force Sleepydawn to his feet, adrenaline flooding his pain receptors, and hobbling off into the woods.

He knew the feeling. His leg was broken again.

The twolegs began to chatter behind him, their meows high with alarm. Sleepydawn pushed forward into the woods, away from them, blinded by pain and terror and dread. 

Something dark descended over his head, like a great black heap of snow falling from a tree branch, except it was faintly warm and reeked of twoleg stench.

Sleepydawn screamed, lashed out with both his front paws, and blacked out as the pain overwhelmed him.

. . .

“What are you doing?”

Hazelkit turned to look at him at his question. In her mouth, a clump of oddly-smelling grass, which she spat out to answer him, struggling to get the last few blades off her wet tongue.

“Bristleheart gave us this lemongrass,” She explained, inky-black tail waving slightly. “He said if we rub it around camp, it scares away snakes!”

Sleepykit wrinkled his nose. “So, chores?”

“We’re protecting the camp,” Frecklekit interjected, chest puffed out. “It’s an important job.”

Sleepykit pondered this for a moment, debating pros and cons. “Can I join?”

His sister, in all her graciousness, heaved an over-dramatic sigh. “I guess.”

At this, Sleepykit perked up, and swooped down to grab a mouthful of the grass. It had a harsh, acidic smell to it, but he bravely wrinkled his nose and plodded his way towards the camp entrance, head tilted back to keep the long ends from dragging on the ground. 

Broccoli was sitting guard at the mouth of the cave, sharp amber eyes peering over the horizon. At Sleepykit’s approach, he turned, a warm smile on his face.

“What’ve you got there?”

Using his paw to quickly scrape the plant off his tongue, Sleepykit responded, “Lemongrass! Bristleheart says it scares away snakes, so me and Hazelkit and Frecklekit are rubbing it everywhere! It’s really stinky, though.”

“Very clever,” Broccoli praised. “Sounds like something your father would have done.”

Sleepykit frowned.

Cats told him that his father, Sleepycloud, had been one of the bravest warriors ever. He was born in Fallenclan and spent his whole life protecting it--and he died trying to save another cat, Fox-something. Sleepykit never got to meet him, but he was named after him, and cats said he looked just like him.

But Sleepykit was the one rubbing lemongrass around camp to scare away snakes. Not Sleepycloud.

He opened his mouth to tell Broccoli this, but the other cat had already turned away, finished with the conversation. Sleepykit’s jaw closed with a quick click, and his tail lashed. Whatever. Mama said it didn’t matter what other cats thought about him, anyway.

. . .

“I hear you got hit by a bike,” was the first thing Sleepydawn heard when he woke up, shrouded in a haze of pain, his head cloudy with some fog he couldn’t identify. “What was that like?”

He was… underground. Or in a den. Everything was silver and white and far away.

“Hey, are you listening, tripod?” 

The world faded out.

. . .

“You look very handsome,” Ivybounce gave his face a last few embarrassing licks before nudging him forward. “Go, go, she’s about to call you.”

“Sleepypaw, step forth.”

Craning his neck to stand as tall as he could, Sleepypaw padded across the sandy earth towards highledge. Frecklefox, newly named, grinned at him from alongside Hazelthorn, both of them gleaming with pride.

He took his seat just below the ledge, looking up at Cherrystar. She smiled down at him, eyes crinkled, before speaking.

“Sleepypaw, you have worked hard to learn the ways of the warrior, and have earned your name. From this day forth, you shall be known as Sleepydawn. Fallenclan honors your vigilance and welcomes you as a full warrior.”

Hazelthorn! Frecklefox! Sleepydawn! The clan’s chant rose around them, spiraling into the air. Sleepydawn stepped back to join his siblings and felt a smile grow on his face.

It’s a different name, he told himself silently, eyes closed to bask in the praise. My own. No one else’s.

He opened his eyes again to catch his mother’s gaze. She was grinning, wide and sunny, but tears were rolling down her cheeks.

No one else’s.

. . .

He woke again. Possibly. A little more aware this time, he noticed something sharp stuck into his right front leg, like a thorn. He wiggled, found it didn’t hurt too bad, and left it alone.

A wet sound, like someone throwing up. A faint smell of blood. Something overwhelmingly sharp and unnatural. And twoleg, twoleg, twoleg. So many smells…

“Hey, wanna hear a joke?” Someone mrrowed. “I’d tell you one about fish, but I don’t think it would land!”

Sounded like something Frecklefox would say. Sleepydawn tried to reply to his sibling, but found that he was asleep before he could.

. . .

I’m not him. Sleepydawn wobbled on his paws, dangerously close to the edge of a steep hill before getting his bearings again and moving away, still, slowly towards camp. His body felt oddly light, yet so, so heavy. Every movement was a marathon.

I’m not him. Blood ran lazy rivers down his shoulder, tracing delicate lines around his paw and leaving a messy red trail behind him. He half-thought his ear might have been torn, too, just a bit, but it was hard to tell.

I’m not him. Sleepydawn had survived his big hero moment. Sleepycloud hadn’t. 

I’m not him. Sleepydawn was not his father.

. . .

Wakefulness came back to him slowly. First, he was aware of the sensations in his body--a low, dull pain, something foggy and fuzzy, like he was filled with cobwebs, and some kind of bedding underneath him. Then sound, smell, and the dry dry dry taste in his mouth. The sharp thing in his leg was gone. He cracked open his eyes and found that they were sticky and clumped with goop, like he’d been asleep for days and days without knowing. He drew a few raspy breaths. His throat was sore.

Oddly, his leg didn’t hurt.

He wobbled upright, eventually, and looked around. Flat, silver walls on every side except for one, which was caged away with some kind of mesh. Behind it was an alien landscape--every angle sharp and perfect, smooth wood and metal and materials he didn’t know the name of. Two twolegs milled around beyond.

He lurched away, but there was nowhere to go. He was stuck--at their whims, no matter what they may be. Saving him, maybe, for a meal. His shoulders hit the wall behind him with a shockingly loud bang. Why couldn’t he catch his balance?

“Hey, are you awake already?” Meowed a voice. It sounded a little familiar. Young, feminine. A second later, a little golden and white paw poked into view at the bottom of the mesh wall, flapping around like it was trying to catch a bird. Or someone’s attention.

With the terror running a line down his middle, words failed him. He managed only a low, strangled growl. His throat was sore, like he’d swallowed twigs.

One of the twolegs turned its odd, naked head over to him, and made a quiet noise. It didn’t approach, didn’t make a move towards him, but just its pale eyes facing him sent a horrible involuntary shudder down Sleepydawn’s entire sternum.

After a few moments, it finally looked away, but that awful, crawling sensation didn’t leave him. Trapped. Trapped to their whims, like every horror story he’d heard as a kit--he remembered the tale of Jaggedstripe, who wandered into a silver mesh box like this one and hadn’t been seen for moons, returned different and more hollow with tales of the creatures that stuck her with silver thorns and wrapped woven grass cords around her throat. 

He had to get out, as soon as possible. The longer he stayed, the less likely he was to leave, but when he tried to step forward--

Something was on his leg. Clinging, wrapped around, like an awful, shiny green limpet. It was unnaturally colored, like newleaf grass but a hundred times more vibrant. It didn’t hurt, but it was heavy--he couldn’t feel the leg underneath, not even that buzzing hum that would tell him it was asleep. Just nothingness. If it werent for the very tip of his paw poking out, he would have thought it had been taken off altogether.

His voice was a whispered rasp when he finally breathed, “What is…”

“I knew you were awake!” The young voice meowed again. “I’m Fishstick. It’s been so-o-o boring in here, there hasn’t been any other cats in ages. Just me, a couple dogs, and a raccoon the other day.”

His heart skipped a beat at the mention of dogs, but his brain caught on the name. “Fishstick… are you a warrior?” She sounded far too young, but…

“No.” Fishstick’s voice was suddenly glum. “I wish. That’s just the name my mama gave me ‘fore she ran off. What’s yours?” The blooming hope in Sleepydawn’s chest withered. Of course not. Even if she had been a warrior, she certainly wouldn’t have been a Fallenclan one. Gooseclan, maybe--she had the sort of rounded accent that he’d come to associate with that clan, though he was coming to realize it might be from the proximity to Twolegplace that gave them that inflection. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he responded, suddenly exhausted. Despite the Twolegs, and the mention of dogs being near, he slumped down. His eyelids stubbornly drooped, but he blinked a few sharp times to keep them open. “I need to… get out of here.”

“Don’t we all,” Fishstick snorted. “Did they take your leg? I heard ‘em talking like they might.”

He shook his head before realizing the young molly couldn’t see it. “Still there.”

“Bummer. I could’ve called you Tripod, since you don’t wanna give me your real name. I could just call you what the Upwalkers are calling you.”

Sleepydawn scowled. Why was he entertaining this young fool? Still, curiosity tugged at him… “What are the Upwalkers calling me?”

“Mr. Mayor Whiskers,” Fishstick said, with a smugness to her voice that suggested this was perhaps something to make fun of. Sleepydawn wasn’t sure what Mr. or Mayor meant, but Whiskers seemed a fine name, at least. Hazelthorn had once wanted that to be her full warrior name--Hazelwhisker. She’d gotten Thorn, though, and liked it even better. 

“It makes me sound tough, but mysterious”, she’d meowed, a twinkle in her slitted eyes. “Your name is awfully cutesy, though. A nice, sleepy morning, no dawn patrol, just cuddled up with your little brothers and sisters…”

He’d swatted her, after that. Always hated his name, branded his father’s son until the day he died. When he’d fallen into step with Ravenstar, practically his second deputy, he’d thought about asking if it could be changed. Somehow, it felt like a defeat to do such a thing--like admitting he couldn’t be bigger than his father’s name. He didn’t know what he’d have changed it to, anyway, but Whiskers was alright. Better than Fishstick, anyway.

He thought about telling her this, but stayed silent. He was more mature than to make fun of the name of a cat who must have barely been apprentice-aged. 

“Anyway, Mr. Mayor,” Fishstick meowed again, incessant, “I heard you got hit by a bike. How’d that happen? They’re slow as slugs.”

A ‘bike’. Was that what kittypets called those small monsters? Sleepydawn’s tail twitched in annoyance at the teasing, but he kept his mouth shut, watching the twolegs beyond. One was sitting on some odd contraption, its paws on another, even weirder machine that seemed to be giving off a white light. The other had a stick in paw, and was scratching it on the surface of a very thin plank of wood held in its opposite paw, periodically glancing up at the array of the objects--bottles?--in front of it. 

“What am I in for, you ask?” Fishstick continued. “Well, I’ll tell you. There I am, headed down an alley for some dumpster diving. I’d smelled chicken in there, see, and it was fresh. Hadn’t been rotted or nothing, not even gotten soggy in garbage water, so I’m off to find it. There it is, middle of the alleyway, sat on a nice paper plate. I was so hungry I didn’t even notice the cage over it until it was too late. Soon as I got a bite, wham! The cage fell, and I was stuck. ‘Course, if I’d noticed it beforehand I’d’ve slipped out and given those Upwalkers what-for, but as it was I was too hungry to do much. Next thing I know I’m in here. They said something about getting my weight up so they can spay me, no thank you! I’ve got a plan to get out of here before anything like that happens.”

Sleepydawn perked up. “A plan?”

“Oh, that caught your interest huh? Yeah, a plan! See, I’m gonna act all sweet to the Upwalkers, like I’m a real tame kitty, then, when they let me out on good behavior, I make a break for it. Course, I’ll have to get through the door, but I’ll break that branch when I get to it.”

“It’s cross that branch,” Sleepydawn muttered. “Breaking the branch is something else entirely.”

“Whatever,” Fishstick groaned. She sounded like Minnowpaw, whining about being sent on dawn patrol.

Regardless, the plan… could work? Sleepydawn didn’t know enough about the habits of Twolegs to say for certain, but it sounded possible, at least. Could he do the same? Act sweet to get his way? He could recall, faintly, doing it as a kit--looking up at Ivybounce with the biggest hazel eyes he could muster to plead for a bit of extra playtime before bed. It worked sometimes, but now--he had a feeling it wouldn’t be as effective. Not with the scars twisting up his leg, his crooked fangs, the always-tired look in his eyes. It was un-warriorlike to act like that towards a Twoleg, anyway. 

He’d find some other way. For now, Sleepydawn rested his chin on his paws and pictured a mountain climbing up into the clouds.

. . . 

The Twolegs stopped in front of Sleepydawn’s cage twice a day to refill his food and water. Sleepydawn, who had already been hungry and thirsty before he’d been hit by a bike, didn’t last long before eating and drinking--the food was dry, with some kind of wet paste, like chewed meat, piled on top of it, occasionally littered with an odd, bitter taste. The water was bland, somehow, which Sleepydawn found odd since he had thought water was already bland, yet somehow this Twoleg water managed to be even blander.

And he still had no plan.

Not even the beginnings of one, though it was difficult to concentrate with Fishstick’s incessant yapping. Only four moons old and already convinced she knew everything, had seen everything, and had everything to say about it. 

She acted like any other excitable kit, or apprentice. She also didn’t treat Sleepydawn like he was something strange or other--until she found out where he’d come from.

“-I found a big fish in a trash can once, but I guess that doesn’t count as catching it, really,” she meowed. “But once in this Upwalker’s backyard I found these huge birds, bigger than me, and they had all these little babies running around, and I got one of those before the mama chased me off. What about you?”

“Hm?” Sleepydawn grunted, having been practicing his skills in tuning her out entirely.

“What’s the weirdest prey you’ve ever caught?” “A kitten. Just about your age, killed it bloody and ate it, now shut up.”

“Oh come on,” Fishstick whined, just as complainy but not quite as gullible as a clan-raised kit. “If you tell me the weirdest prey you’ve ever caught, I’ll shut up.”

“Forever?”

“For the rest of the day, but you also have to tell me how you caught it.”

Sleepydawn marinated on this for a moment. Fair enough price. His ears were about to start bleeding.

“Well,” he began, pretending to not notice the excited squeal that Fishstick released. “One early newleaf morning, I was out on a hunting patrol when I stumbled across a fawn. Usually the mother deer will fight you away from their young, but this one was left behind while she went to find food. It tried to run as soon as I pounced, but Boulderstep jumped on top of it, too, and the weight of us both was enough to bring it down. Took the whole patrol to carry it back to camp.”

For a moment, Sleepydawn was lost in the memory. He remembered it clearly--it was one of the first hunting patrols he’d gone on after his leg healed. Ravenstar ordered him to lead it--even though Boulderstep was his senior, and the better hunter. Perhaps cowed by Ravenstar’s insistence, nobody had challenged his leadership the whole way. They stalked out of camp into the early morning fog, brisk on the tips of their noses, and found the fawn in a cluster of spruce trees on the edge of the plains. Nothing had ever tasted as good as the prey-blood sweet on his tongue as he helped drag it home. Ravenstar had been sitting on the camp-ledge when they arrived--not calling a meeting, simply observing his clan--and his eyes had shone with pride. After the clan’s excitement over the huge prey subsided, he was pulled aside next to the medicine den to hear Ravenstar’s muted words. 

“I knew I made the right choice.”

“Hold on,” Fishstick blurted, completely bypassing the impressive catch and nitpicking on the details. “Who’s Boulderstep?”

“My-” A lump suddenly formed in Sleepydawn’s throat. He swallowed it, and it scraped the whole way down. “A clan cat I once knew. Not really a friend.”

“You knew clan cats?”

Sleepydawn groaned internally. “Used to. Weren’t you supposed to shut up for the rest of the day?”

“What kind of clan cats?” Fishstick pressed. “Do they live in the plains? The forest? Where are they? How long ago?”

“Oh be quiet!” Sleepydawn snapped. “Why do you care, anyway? You think they’d let a soft kitty like you join up with them?”

“I’m no soft kitty!” She argued loudly.

“Sure are acting like it, every time those Twolegs come in here. You really think your plan will work? You think they’ll just let you out? Wake up and smell the daisies, kitty, you’re not getting out of here. We’re both going to sit here in these little cages eating slop and withering away until our hearts give out or the Twolegs get tired of us and kill us. Welcome to the real world.”

Silence, finally--blissed silence. It echoed in the metal cages and out in the harsh room beyond. Sleepydawn sunk into it like a fresh bed of moss, letting his eyes slip shut.

Then-

Sniff.

Fuck.

Sleepydawn shook his head, quietly. He really never had been good with kits, he always backed out of kitsitting, and helping his clanmates train their new apprentices. Still, making a kit cry was a new low--one he wasn’t proud of.

“Fish-”

“I’ve been a loner- ever since I was a kit,” Fishstick meowed, her voice cracking with tears. “Never lived with Upwalkers, just around ‘em, and I- one time I heard stories about these cats. These cats that lived in big groups and always fed each other and protected each other, and- I’d always been by my lonesome. Always have been. And I thought that sounded like- something real special. I’m going to be a warrior, even if I have to fight my way through a hundred Upwalkers. You don’t know nothing about me, and I ain’t no soft kitty.”

“Alright.” Sleepydawn acquiesced quietly. He’d seen things that would make her stomach curdle. Done things that would give her nightmares. “You’re not soft.”

“And I’m gonna be a warrior. Say it.”

“You’ll be a warrior.” Sleepydawn hoped she never knew the battle. The heartbreak. He wondered if all the love he’d lost was worth it.

“That’s right.”

Fishstick was mostly silent for the rest of the day. Sleepydawn found it difficult to enjoy.

. . .

A day later, Fishstick woke him by slapping her paws against the bottom of his cage.

“Psst! Mayor!” A pause. “Mr. Mayor!”

“What?” Sleepydawn grumbled, knowing she’d only stop if he responded. 

“Do you think I really could fight an Upwalker? To get out, I mean?”

“Dunno.” He huffed. “Maybe. There’s usually two of ‘em, though.”

“Oh yeah.” He could hear the frown in her voice. “D’you think I could escape ‘em, then? Just slip out from their paws during the next checkup?”

“You’re forgetting this whole place is closed off. Where would you go?”

“Right.”

Sleepdawn waited, then let his eyes drift closed again.

“Well, what if-”

. . .

“Tell me a story.”

“Hah,” Sleepydawn responded dryly.

“Ugh.” Fishstick’s little cream-colored paw appeared at the bottom of his cage. “Come on, Mayor, I’m bored out of my fur! Just one!”

Her words devolved quickly into a wordless, petulant whine. Reminded sharply of Frecklefox, flattening his ears to his head, Sleepydawn snapped, “Fine!”

Instantly, the paws disappeared, and he heard a shuffle, as if she was getting comfortable. Typical.  He wracked his brain for a story, and found only one--a story that had been haunting him for many moons. 

“Once upon a time… there was a cat.”

“Strong start.”

“Can you shut up and listen?” He huffed.

“Once upon a time, there was a cat. His name was Sleepydawn.

“Sleepydawn was a Warrior. A clan cat. When he was born, his father was already dead. His mother had discovered that she was expecting in the same moon that he died.”

“How did he die?” Fishstick chirped.

Sleepydawn bit back a retort. Then slumped, a little. He didn’t have the energy to be mad, or to lie. “He drowned trying to save his clanmate. Failed.”

Fishstick gave a sad little whine. Sleepydawn pushed on.

“When Sleepydawn was born, he looked so much like his father that his mother decided to name him in his honor. That’s where he got the Sleepy part of his name. Though they matched in name and appearance, Sleepydawn wasn’t anything like his father--his father was a hero, an amazing cat who dedicated his life to protecting his clan. Sleepydawn tripped over his paws on hunting patrols, and bit his own tongue more times than he ever bit an enemy warrior. In the shadow of his father, he grew up angry and resentful. Not many cats liked him.

“The clan that Sleepydawn lived in was under the reign of their leader, Ravenstar. Ravenstar was a harsh and sometimes unfair cat, but Sleepydawn looked up to him. One day, when a dog found its way into their territory, Ravenstar decided to have Sleepydawn chase the dog out by himself, rather than send a patrol after it.”

“Why?” Fishstick interrupted.

Sleepydawn opened his mouth to reply, and found his tongue curled. A gaping absence of explanation found a home in his throat. Why?

“I don’t know,” he finally meowed. “Maybe Ravenstar wanted Sleepydawn to prove himself. Maybe he wanted Sleepydawn to learn a lesson. Whatever the reason, Sleepydawn refused. It was a suicide mission for the most skilled of cats, of that which Sleepydawn was not. But all it took for him to change his mind was for Ravenstar to suggest that this was the way to prove he wasn’t his father. And before he knew it, Sleepydawn had left camp.

“He found the dog on the plains, hopelessly chasing rabbits. Sleepydawn fought with everything he had, but the dog was quick, and vicious. It bit nearly clean through his leg, shaking him like a terrier with a rat. He thought he would die that day, alone on the plains, facing a dog by himself, leaving his family behind to grieve. Instead, he got lucky. The dog stumbled its foot into a rabbit warren, and it left an opening just big enough for Sleepydawn to tear its throat out.

“The dog fled. Sleepydawn would never find out if it died or not, because he couldn’t follow it. He’d chased it off the territory, and very nearly died in the process. He struggled his way back to camp, trailing blood all the way, and when he returned, Ravenstar praised him. It was the most that Sleepydawn had ever gotten--a cat telling him that he was better than his father. He knew then that he would follow Ravenstar to the ends of the earth.

“And that’s where Ravenstar led him. After that day, he grew only crueller and crueller, starting wars and even killing his own cats in the middle of camp, and Sleepydawn was at his heel every step of the way. He did terrible things in Ravenstar’s name.

“Eventually, Sleepydawn’s clanmates revolted against Ravenstar. He was killed, and Sleepydawn, along with Ravenstar’s other followers, were banished from the clan forever. The End.”

Silence, for a few moments. Sleepydawn wondered then if his story had lulled Fishstick to sleep, when:

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean that’s it?” He huffed in response. “I said the end, didn’t I?”

“Yeah but.” Fishstick shuffled above him. “Stories are supposed to have a happy ending. The villain gets punished at the end, and everyone lives happily ever after. There’s supposed to be a moral to the story.”

“The villain did get punished,” Sleepydawn snorted. “Ravenstar died, Sleepydawn got exiled.”

“But he should have realized the error of his ways!” Fishstick cried. “He should have joined with the cats that killed Ravenstar, and become the hero!”

Sleepydawn let those words hover in the air for a few moments, then laid down, curling his tail over his nose.

“Yeah, he should have.”

. . .

Their opportunity to escape arrived one cold morning, as Sleepydawn woke with his face pressed against the artificial moss bedding.

Less than a moon had passed, from what he could tell through the clear-covered opening that he could see from the mouth of his cage, but it felt, in many ways, like an eternity. Fishstick woke him most days with her mindless chatter, and kept him from dozing the day away with much of the same. This morning was different in that he woke to her screams.

“Don’t touch me!” He heard her howl as he woke with a start, the sound of clattering metal and mumbling twolegs alongside. “I’ll take your pelt off! Don’t!”

He jolted upright as quickly as he could with his cast, flooded with instinctive adrenaline. Just below him, a twoleg was crouched with its hands near Fishstick’s cage, repeatedly reaching forward and flinching back and making soft cooing noises.

“Fishstick!” He called out.

“Help!” She wailed, sounding every bit the young cat she was. “They’re trying to take me and- I don’t know what they’re gonna do!”

She sounded near tears. Sleepydawn didn’t think, just knew that he had to get the twoleg’s attention away from her as quick as he could, and he couldn’t fight them.

He slammed his cast into the wall of his cage, flinching at the loud bang and the shooting pain, then collapsed on his side, splaying all his limbs out and summoning the saddest, most agonized sounds he could.

The twoleg immediately lurched to look up at him with wide eyes, hesitating only a moment before closing Fishstick’s cage and reaching up to open Sleepydawn’s. 

Its paws moved over him, gently stroking his pelt and prodding him. He resisted every instinct that screamed at him to attack, thrash, escape; knowing that he needed to remain the center of attention even through the uncomfortable sensation of touch.

After a moment, the twoleg scrambled away, leaving his cage open.

As soon as its back was turned, Sleepydawn jumped up as quietly as he could, and hopped down to the smooth, cold ground. He landed awkwardly, but sent a silent thanks up to Starclan when it was, at least, silent.

“Mayor?” Fishstick cautioned.

Behind him, she was still locked in her cage, pelt ruffled. She had pale ginger striped fur and creamy white paws and muzzle, her pupils narrow slits. Huddled at the back of the metal box, she looked smaller than she probably was, even puffed up in fear.

Sleepydawn glanced behind him to make sure that the twoleg was still occupied before hobbling over to the mesh of the cage. “How does this open?”

“Bite there,” Fishstick hurried closer, gesturing with her nose as he followed her instructions. The metal cut into his mouth as he pressed down, made his teeth ache, but after a moment of increasing pain it began to swing open.

Fishstick pushed her way out instantly, jostling him in her hurry, and immediately rushed to his side, stretching up to her tiptoes to wrap her neck around his.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She trilled, grin stretching her muzzle even as he pushed her away.

“Enough.” He huffed, and started quickly hobbling to the doorway, cracked open just a smidge, a miracle upon miracles. “Let’s hurry out of here and then we can go our separate ways.”

“What?” Fishstick hurried along with him. “Wait- you have to show me where those warriors are, so I can join them!”

“I have no such obligations,” Sleepydawn huffed. “Now, be quiet.”

“No!” Fishstick jumped in front of him. “No, if you don’t- you have to swear that you’ll show me where the warriors are. Or else.”

Annoyance flared deep in his chest. He bared his teeth, stretching to his not-unimpressive height to loom over her. “Move.”

“No.” Fishstick hardened her expression and drew to her full height, her head only reaching his shoulder. “If you don’t give me your word, right now, I’ll scream. Then we’ll both get caught.”

Manipulative little shit!

“You-” Sleepydawn gritted his teeth, tried to remind himself that the most important thing right now was getting out, and then they could argue about this. “Fine, yes, word given, let’s go.”

Fishstick’s face lit up like a forest fire, and just like that she was racing him for the exit, unbeknownst to the twolegs behind them.

Freedom, at the tips of his whiskers again.

. . .

Sleepydawn had done many things in his life that he wasn’t proud of, but nearing the top of the list was losing an argument to an apprentice. Twice.

So he was taking her to Fallenclan’s territory. Fine. He wouldn’t even have to cross the border--or even get close to it. Just as soon as it was in eyesight, he could tell Fishstick to look for the mossier side of the mountain and make a beeline for the second-biggest cave. As long as she didn’t describe him too in-depth to the cats that she found there, she’d be fine. And if she did, he had to hope that his siblings would convince Wolfstar to let her stay anyway, regardless of what awful cat led her there.

“We’ll have to figure out how to get that cast off you,” Fishstick chirped, trotting along at a pace that made him ache up to his shoulder. “You’re slow.”

“I’m old,” which wasn’t really true, but a lifetime of hardships and work made him feel older than he should. “You’re too fast.”

“Anyway, I used to know a kittypet who lived around here, he had a cast once.” Fishstick waved her tail for him to follow. He briefly considered making a break for it. “He’ll know how to get it off.”

Sleepydawn wasn’t keen to take advice from a kittypet, but after only a bit of bullying from his young companion, it turned out that the cat’s advice was good. Sleepydawn soaked his cast leg in water for only a few minutes before it started to slough away in stringy green chunks. The white wrapping underneath, which felt a bit like thick cobwebs, followed without much trouble.

His leg underneath was skinny and hurt to put pressure on, but not so much that he couldn’t walk on it. It had always been a little crooked since his accident, so when he found it straighter than before, that surprised him more than anything else. He hadn’t known that was possible.

“Yeah, there’s something to be said for Upwalker medicine,” Ace, the kittypet, meowed conversationally. “Can’t have kits anymore, but it’s a small price to pay for a lifetime of good health.”

…Sure.

Ace invited them to sleep in a comfortable nook underneath his Twoleg’s shed, which Fishstick accepted before Sleepydawn could even think about refusing. He also offered them some dry kittypet food, which Sleepydawn stood his ground on.

“Absolutely not,” He snapped. “I’ve been eating that shit for way too long. Come on, Fish.”

Fishstick hurried after him, jumping along like a tadpole that had just grown legs. “Are you gonna teach me how to hunt?”

“I’m not your mentor,” Sleepydawn snorted. “I’ll catch something for the both of us. You’re gonna follow along quietly and keep an eye out for twolegs.”

Fishstick gave a deep, exaggerated sigh, but didn’t argue, apparently realizing she’d filled her quota of being annoying for the day.

Hunting with his leg still injured was difficult, to say the least, but working around it was something he was used to. It didn’t take long for him to find a sparrow, feeding on fallen seeds two yards over from Ace’s; carefully, he stalked it, keeping most of his weight on his three good legs, always aware of Fishstick a few fox-lengths back, watching silently for once in her life. He pounced, and made sure to land on his right forepaw, using his left to gently grab the bird and hold it in place for a quick, crunchy bite to the back of the neck.

“This one is yours,” Sleepydawn rolled his eyes at the sheer excitement in Fishstick’s expression, nudging the prey towards her. “I’ll catch another.”

He meant to leave her behind immediately for his own meal, but found himself hesitating, just for a moment, to watch Fishsticks’s face as she bit into fresh prey. If her stories were true, she’d had it before, but you wouldn’t know that from the blissful look that washed over her as she ripped away a mouthful of feathers and went for a bite, chewing slowly with her eyes closed.

Against his will, Sleepydawn cracked a smile. Whatever. Apprentices were fine sometimes.

. . . 

“Is Fallenclan big?”

“Hmm.” Sleepydawn hummed, eyes closed, chin rested on his paws. He usually fell asleep fairly quickly, but even still, Fishstick seemed to know exactly when to pipe up to draw him out of his nearly-achieved slumber. “How so?”

“Like, a lot of cats.” she hesitated. “And the territory, too. Clan cats have a territory, right?”

“Mm-hmm.” Sleepydawn resigned himself to a few more questions before he’d try to convince her to go to sleep. “They’ve got a mountain and some plains. And there’s lots of cats.”

“More than I’ve got toes on my paws?”

“More than twice that,” He cracked one eye open to see her faint outline in the dim light that peeked into the space under Ace’s shed. “Go to sleep. It’s a long journey.”

“How long?”

“Sleep.”

Fishstick fell quiet, blissfully. Sleepydawn began to drift gently away, until-

“What do you think you’re doing.”

“I’m cold,” Fishstick responded, shuffling over and burrowing into her side, jamming her icy-cold nose directly against one of the scars on his leg. “Goodnight.”

Sleepydawn opened his mouth, fully intent on telling her to get the hell back to her side of the space, but…

She was quiet, at least. He might not get that if he started her back up again.

Whatever. He’d tell her off in the morning.

. . .

It wasn’t like Sleepydawn had a small family.

His family was pretty large, actually. He had five siblings in total, though one died before he was born, another when he was an apprentice, and a third when he was a young warrior. His parents were both long dead by the time he was exiled, but both of them had siblings too--giving him a total of four aunts and five uncles, though he’d met only a pawful of them. There was a myriad of cousins, and a niece and nephew as well, the children of his oldest sister.

It had been so easy, at the time, to ignore them all. Looking back it hurt like a thorn in his chest.

He’d been such a lonely kit, and such a bitter apprentice, and throughout his warriorhood so angry that he didn’t blame the cats that didn’t reach out--they were probably afraid he’d claw their pelt off. He spent the young and formative moons of his life so twisted up inside himself that he refused to take the time to make friends, bond with his mentor, or get into mischief with his fellow apprentices. He grew up stunted because of it, and then in his adulthood only latched onto Ravenstar, who fueled his anger rather than trying to soothe it, and fed into his attempts to break free of his father’s memory.

He’d been such a miserable apprentice, despite growing up surrounded by family and could-have-been-friends.

Fishstick didn’t seem to have the same troubles as him.

Her energy was limitless. Her enthusiasm had no apparent bounds. He walked slowly in a straight line, conserving his energy, and she criss-crossed, jumped up onto fences and halfway up tree trunks, over creeks and then back again just for the thrill. Every night she crashed like she’d never had the opportunity to sleep before--shoving her way into his side and passing out before he could complain. 

One morning, the sun rose, and with it came a gentle flurry of snow--a rare sight to see off the mountain that was once Sleepydawn’s home. When he woke, and felt the damp, bitter chill that he knew so well, he resigned himself to an extra-cold and miserable walk, today, or until the snow melted--frozen paws and whiskers and soaked fur. Fishstick, on the other paw, lit up as if she’d never seen something so wonderful before, barreling out of their shelter and into the thin layer of white snow with an air of glee around her more vibrant than anything Sleepydawn had seen in the last four moons. 

She spent that day with even more energy than normal, if that was a possible thing to achieve. The grin never slipped from her face, she raced in circles around him as they traveled, and she even bullied him into a short snowball fight. That whole day, he watched her with quiet eyes, and a thought lingered in the back of his mind.

Is this what I could have been?

. . . 

The snow didn’t melt, per se, but no more fell after the first day--it left a thin coating on the tops of leaves and grass, like gently-laid spiderwebs, melting into their fur as they stepped on it. It disappeared from any twolegplace almost instantly--either melted on the bare stone that the twolegs built their homes around, or shoveled away by the twolegs themselves with great stone scoops to make room for monsters to roam. Perhaps monsters were vulnerable to snow and ice? Something to consider.

Regardless, it left the land bitterly cold as Sleepydawn and Fishstick traveled along. His bad leg always ached a little extra when it was especially cold or wet outside, but even without that added bit of discomfort, they were left stumbling and clumsy after a while, forced to make frequent stops to huddle in some meager shelter and get the feeling back into their paws before continuing. Still, Fishstick’s spirits stayed bright--she suggested scenic detours that Sleepydawn would immediately refuse, and begged on their breaks for him to teach her a battle move or how to catch birds out of the air, despite his reminders that their breaks were meant for resting, and her grin hardly faltered. He finally caved and showed her a basic hunting crouch before they went to sleep one night. He told himself she’d need a leg up, as a former loner in Fallenclan. He ignored all evidence that she’d probably fit in better than he ever did.

Aside from all that, several days of their journey were spent cold, stiff, and vaguely miserable. Distracted.

It made sense that neither of them noticed the dog until it was too late.

It happened quickly--quicker than Sleepydawn could keep up with. One minute, serene, annoyed calm, the next, a dull growl, a single, grating bark, and a brown dog the size of a bicycle was bearing down on them, snapping its teeth as the two of them leapt into the air and tried to flee.

Panic overtook Sleepydawn’s mind like a fungus. He suddenly couldn’t think, couldn’t feel--it was just ice in every bone of his body, a tight, frozen grip, screaming without words or logic. He was blind, deaf, moving without telling his body to move.

And then Fishstick screamed.

Everything snapped back into place, like a bone being reset. Still, panic, but now he could see pearly white fangs closing down around his young companion, and his legs listened as he told them to carry him closer. He remembered his training like he remembered how to breathe--he flew at the dog’s face and howled and raked his claws over the eyes and nose, sinking his teeth clean through one of the ears. The dog howled in response, flinging its head hard enough to send Sleepydawn several feet away, a chunk of meat and fur clenched in his jaw, still. It howled all the way home as it fled back to its twolegs.

Like Buttercup, he thought nonsensically, blood ringing in his ears, a metallic taste clinging to all the corners of his mouth.

Fishstick wasn’t hurt. They called it a night early and found a twoleg’s shed to sleep in, curled up on a high shelf. Sleepydawn wrapped his tail around her and groomed her fur until she fell asleep.

. . .

His journey before he had been hit by a bike seemed to take moons and moons, but it seemed like they’d only just left the twoleg’s clutches before Fallenclan’s mountain started to loom in the distance.

Fishstick’s questions came in greater frequency and urgency the closer they got. She asked who the leader was, and what kind of prey the cats of Fallenclan ate, and how long they’d lived on the mountain. He answered most of her questions, usually truthfully. An ache was forming in him, deeper than the one in his leg. Once they reached the territory, he’d have to leave her behind. He’d be alone again.

Thoughts appeared in his mind, unabbiden--what if after he left her at the border, she found another dog? Or a group of rogues? Or a patrol in a particularly foul mood? What if she wandered straight past Fallenclan, across the river, and met a Shallowclan patrol, instead? There were too many variables. He’d have to take her directly to camp--or as close as he could get before they met a patrol, anyway. He wouldn’t linger. Just long enough to make sure she could stay there, and wasn’t turned away. Would Wolfstar do that? Sleepydawn wouldn’t know.

The first step across the border was like sinking into cool water after a day in the greenleaf sun--the tense muscles of his spine relaxed, a soft breath escaped his lungs. This was home.

Not his. Not his home.

Behind him, the world. In front of him, his world. And to the left, nestled into a bed of rocks and lichen, a sacred place, that he’d only walked past before, never into. The sun was setting, anyway. He directed Fishstick towards the cave with a nod of his head, and the two of them ducked under a curtain of moss into soft darkness.

“We’ll shelter here for the night. In the morning, we’ll make the last leg.”

“Ha! Leg.” Fishstick swerved to bump her whole body into his weak side. He dodged without much difficulty. 

“Show some respect, why don’t you?” He growled. “This is a sacred place. The only place we can speak to Starclan.”

Fishstick quieted, a little, as Sleepydawn led them both down into the entrance of the Glowcave. The light from outside faded out slowly, then began to pick up again as glowing mushrooms appeared on the walls, pocketed by thick curtains of lichen. The air was slightly humid, but the ground wasn’t muddy, just slightly damp enough to stick to his paws in little crumbles.

“Woah.” Fishstick craned her neck to look at the mushrooms overhead. She seemed uncharacteristically meek. “Is it… okay for us to sleep in here?”

“It’s fine,” Sleepydawn snorted. “Starclan isn’t going to kick us out for needing a place to rest.”

Hopefully, he added to himself.

Though he kept the appearance of the confident older cat Fishstick expected him to be, inside, he was wide-eyed as a kit. He’d never seen the Glowcave himself, very few cats had--and it was stunning. At the end of the cave, so brightly lit by mushrooms it might as well have been twilight, they found a little pool of water, fed by a natural spring. Fishstick immediately went for a drink.

Something tickled his mind about that--wasn’t that how you visited Starclan’s territory, by drinking? Whatever. Maybe a visit to her ancestors would humble her.

Sleepydawn curled into a neat ball a few tail-lengths from the water, under a few particularly large mushrooms. After a few moments, Fishstick appeared to burrow into his side and dig her elbows in his ribs. He sighed in resignation.

Comforted in the thought that Starclan would protect her while he slept, Sleepydawn faded away.

When he woke up, it was to the sweet smell of crushed grass under his paws, and a warm breeze. There was no little golden tabby to be seen.

“Hm, Fish?” He meowed, cracking his eyes open, suddenly jolting up. “Fishstick? Hey, Fish!”

“It’s alright, she’s safe.”

Sleepydawn turned. There was a cat there that he didn’t recognize--black and white, with a jagged scar between his eyes. He smelled faintly familiar.

“What do you mean she’s safe?” Sleepydawn snarled. “Where is she? What have you done?”

“She’s with you,” The cat meowed, calm, but with a slight tremble in his voice. “Sleeping in the Glowcave.”

Sleepydawn paused.

He was in a field, he realized. Long grass surrounded him in a huge circle, but the stuff he stepped on was only up to his dewclaws, soft and tickling his fur where it swayed gently in the breeze. The sky above was a dark blue of twilight, dotted with puffy pink and purple clouds. The sun was setting on the horizon, bright as a marigold. The temperature was just on the edge of too warm, exactly as Sleepydawn liked it. He could smell honey and rabbits on the air.

“This is… Starclan.”

“It is,” agreed the cat, whom Sleepydawn was realizing was probably long dead.

“I’m… allowed here?”

Something in his voice, the smallness of it, the surprise, seemed to make the cat in front of him break. His mouth wobbled a bit, his ears twitching as if in a valiant attempt to stay facing forward. He blinked rapidly a few times.

“Oh, Sleepydawn,” he whispered. “Of course you’re allowed. If you want to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sleepydawn snapped.

“It means you regret what you did,” the Starclan cat meowed. “And that if given the chance, you wouldn’t repeat your mistakes. You’ve done awful things, but in your heart is a good Fallenclan warrior.”

“I’m not a Fallenclan warrior anymore,” Sleepydawn lashed his tail, shaking his head to rid himself of the avalanche of emotions this cat was dumping on him. “And I won’t be again. As soon as I show Fishstick where the camp is, I’m leaving. I won’t even give them the chance to chase me away.”

“Do you think they would?”

“Sure,” he scoffed. “Flamefall would bite my tail off if given half the chance. I’m sure Wolfbite- Wolfstar isn’t keen on having Ravenstar’s followers in her camp.”

“I don’t see you following him, now,” the cat sat down, curling his tail over his paws. “Or his memory, for that matter. Not everyone can say the same, you know.”

A pause. “You never killed in his name.”

“I would have,” he snapped. “If Ravenstar had told me to kill a clanmate, I would have.”

“Which one?”

“What?”

“Which one?” The cat blinked. “If he’d told you to kill Hazelthorn, would you? What about Ashblink? Or Feathersight, or Marshjump, or Gizmo. Would you have killed them if he told you to?”

The words he wanted to use made a nest and died in Sleepydawn’s throat. “Who are you?” He meowed instead.

The scarred cat looked at him, long and sad. “I’m sorry.” “For what?”

“For making you live in my shadow. For dying before you were born. For leaving your mother to raise you without me.”

It was Sleepycloud.

This was the cat that Sleepydawn had spent his entire life underneath. That he’d nearly died for. That he’d destroyed his leg in the name of. This cat had caused his mother immeasurable grief, and his littermates, and himself. This cat had ruined his life.

“...Dad?”

“My baby,” Sleepycloud fell forward, no longer holding back his tears, and tucked his head over Sleepydawn’s shoulders. “Oh, little bug, my baby. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” Sleepydawn, a fully grown adult, wept into his father’s chest. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. I should have died instead.”

“Never,” Sleepydawn’s father clamped his head down, pushing him further into his chest. “Never, I’m so glad you’re alive, that you got to live and hunt and fight. And I’m so sorry for the path you’ve had to walk.”

It’s not your fault, Sleepydawn almost said. Wanted to say. He wasn’t sure if it was true. Sleepycloud didn’t let him say it.

“You are my son,” Sleepydawn’s father drew back just enough to press their foreheads together. They had the same eyes. The exact same eyes. Sleepydawn was looking into a reflection of his own form. For the first time, he saw in himself what everyone else had seen. “You are your mother’s son. You are your siblings’ brother. You’re a guardian to this young cat that you’ve brought to live the life of her dreams. You’re a fantastic warrior. Even in exile.”

Sleepycloud’s eyes were teary, and glimmered with stars. “I have no right to ask anything of you. But…”

Sleepydawn grit his teeth, throat feeling thick. He wanted to know. “Tell me. Ask.”

His father’s eyes fell shut. “Let yourself love. Let yourself be loved. Let yourself enjoy life and know that you’ve spent yours serving and toiling and you deserve so much. Please.”

The new, starry world faded away.

Fishstick didn’t have any dreams, when she woke--Sleepydawn asked her just to be sure, but it seemed she hadn’t been visited. Presumably, she didn’t have anybody waiting for her, there. Not in that afterlife.

If he thought she’d been excitable before then, it was nothing compared to her attitude that morning. She frolicked and leapt about like a fawn in newleaf, thrilled more than anything to be a warrior at last. It was a wonder she didn’t alert any patrols to their approach as Sleepydawn carefully led her towards camp.

He wasn’t sure if it would be his last time in Fallenclan territory, but he treated it as if it was. They passed through the plains, close enough that he could point out the Honey Spruce to her, instructing her to keep her distance. Then, they followed the creek upriver, towards the Starpool. He made Fishstick pause, then, so the two of them could watch the fish swimming under the surface for a few minutes. The reflection of the sun on the water dazzled them both. He showed her the best place to cross the creek, over a neat set of close-together stones, and laughed at her when she misjudged a jump and got her hind legs wet.

They had to travel a bit around, for the best path up to the camp. In the far distance, Sleepydawn pointed out the Sky Pine, the tallest tree in the territory, standing stoically near the Gooseclan border. He remembered trying to climb it, as an apprentice. Fishstick probably would, too. One day soon.

Everywhere, the smell of Fallenclan. Like cold mountain water and moss and wet earth and birds. The closer they drew to the camp, the stronger that scent became. Sleepydawn’s lungs ached with it, and not for the first time, he debated turning back. 

It was too late, anyway.

Before the mouth of the cave had even come fully into view, a voice called out. “Stop where you are!” A long-furred yellow molly stalked towards them, expression harsh and guarded for a moment before falling slack in surprise. “It’s…”

“It’s me.” Sleepydawn agreed. “I know I’m- not welcome here. I’m just delivering someone.”

He tilted his head to look behind him, seeing Fishstick. Her eyes were wide, fur prickling on the back of her neck as Moorthistle approached them. 

“We’re here to speak with Wolfstar,” Sleepydawn dipped his head in submission. “And then I will leave.”

“...Alright.” Moorthistle agreed after a moment of careful consideration, green eyes flicking over them both. “Ashblink, I’ll be back in a moment.”

A solid lump formed harsh in his throat as Sleepydawn followed Moorthistle, past his mate. Former mate. Their relationship had been strained before he’d been exiled, and when Ashblink hadn’t come to say goodbye before Sleepydawn left, well… he understood what that meant.

I didn’t treat you well, he realized silently as Ashblink’s cold blue eyes followed him. I’m sorry.

Fishstick had none of the struggles that he was carrying--once she’d gotten over her initial awe, she was trotting after him like a puppy, tail held high and eyes bright, peering at the walls of the cave and the cats that were beginning to gather around them like she’d never seen such things before. Maybe she hadn’t.

She’ll make a good warrior, Sleepydawn thought suddenly, surprising himself. 

She really would. Despite her annoying demeanor, which was something that, really, all apprentices had to some degree, she was intelligent, and curious, and eager to learn. Perhaps one day she’d win a battle single-pawed against a group of rogues, saving her entire patrol, or she’d bring home a ptarmigan in the middle of leaf-bare when the rest of the clan was freezing and starving. She’d probably be a better warrior than Sleepydawn ever was. 

But she wouldn’t be here without me, he realized.

This was how he repaid them. Mistlefrost, Wolfstar, any other cats he’d hurt. He brought to them this promising young cat with her whole future ahead of her. Even if he couldn’t serve Fallenclan himself anymore, he could do this.

He loved his clan. With every breath.

Wolfstar padded up to the two of them, her chin tilted up and her blue eyes icy. The star-shaped white mark on her forehead was still startling to see, such a blatant show of Starclan’s favor. She was their leader. Their true one.

Sunwish stopped in her tracks. Her whiskers twitched. She did a quick once-over of the medicine den and found no one. No one except, of course, herself- and a little apprentice who was supposed to be sorting herbs but was instead dawdling, staring wide-eyed at her with a bristling tail.

Upon confirming that he couldn’t have been speaking to anyone else, Sunwish sighed, “Great StarClan, Stormpaw, where do you kits learn to say such nonsense?”

What a ridiculous idea. She doesn’t hate the boy. She was there when he was born- inspected each of his littermates and confirmed to their mother that they were all healthy. Besides, she probably physically couldn’t hate him, since she was not keen on getting her ears scratched out by her own apprentice. Silverbelly adored her little brother, and Sunwish adored Silverbelly, and therefore as a rule, Sunwish had to be fond of Stormpaw as well.

An old, familiar hurt made itself at home in her heart- honestly, just because she doesn’t bother to smile or laugh often, just because she wasn’t amusing or easy to like- she doesn’t mean to be unlikeable on purpose. If only they would understand-

Stormpaw, evidently not satisfied with Sunwish’s answer, was still dawdling. Sunwish was used to Stormpaw, the enthusiastic, diligent apprentice. She was not at all used to Stormpaw, the dawdling, moody little apprentice.

Sunwish glared at him, trying to look reasonably stern. She felt suddenly very self-conscious and worried that she looked instead like she hated him passionately, so her glare became a feeble one and she settled for mimicking his blank stare. “Stormpaw, your sister will be very cross with you if she comes back and finds that you have not finished your work. Focus, now.”

Stormpaw halfheartedly returned to his herbs, shuffling the horsetail into a loose little pile. Success.

An issue still remained, that Sunwish was not particularly pleased with the look on his face. Trying to get rid of it at once, Sunwish clarified, “I don’t hate you, kit. I don’t even dislike you.”

Stormpaw mumbled.

“Speak up,” said Sunwish. “I’m old.”

This was objectively false, but an apprentice wouldn’t know any better.

“You hate training me,” Stormpaw mumbled, though louder now. “Whenever Silverbelly is busy, you never teach me anything! You just kick me out of the den or tell me to go hunt with my littermates.”

Ah.

So.

That was the problem.

Sunwish found herself despairing and wishing, just a little, that it had simply been her personality that had been causing the problem once again.

“You know,” Sunwish tried, “it’s healthy to get fresh air every now and again.”

“I get fresh air! And if you want me out of camp so badly, you could just send me to find herbs!”

“A good work-life balance will do wonders for your life expectancy, kit. I know these things. I’m a medicine cat.”

“Ma’am, I just-”

“I’m sure Holly didn’t live to her old age by spending all day running around finding herbs all day and quizzing herself in her sleep.” Sunwish tapped Stormpaw’s side with her tail. “Which you do, by the way. It’s very annoying. If you can stop talking when you sleep, please do. Anyway, you can go ask her, as soon as you get your work done.”

“Ma’am-”

“Actually, why don’t I finish up for you, hm? Since you’re having so much trouble focusing today. Look at you, Stormpaw, you put nettle with the marigold, and you’re usually never this careless.”

“It’s only there ‘cause I wasn’t finished!”

“And why aren’t you finished? Just take a break, kit. I believe Hailpaw’s going out hunting. Go on and join her, now.”

Sunwish tried nudging the apprentice towards the entrance of the medicine den, only for Stormpaw to bare his teeth at her. “You’re doing it again!” he cried.

Sunwish attempted to blink innocently at him. “Yes, yes, you caught me. I admit it, you’re a very talented hunter, especially for a medicine cat apprentice.” She was hoping the flattery would be enough for Stormpaw to drop the matter, but he simply started lashing his tail in agitation. “The other day, Goldenstar and I shared the rabbit you helped Moonpaw catch. It was so good I was hoping you’d bring me another one. The Clan could always use more prey, besides.”

“The Clan doesn’t need me to hunt,” Stormpaw countered. “Goosepaw and Hailpaw alone could probably feed the whole Clan. Ask Hailpaw to catch you a rabbit. She’s going to be a warrior. It’s her job to catch rabbits.”

Sunwish lowered her voice. “Oh, is that what this is? Did you get into a fight with your sister?”

“No!”

“Or is it Otterslip?” Sunwish said conspiratorially. “He’s a bit annoying, isn’t he?”

“Otterslip is fine. Stop making excuses!”

“You’re making excuses,” Sunwish said, unable to help herself, because she was apparently just as petty as an apprentice. She tried again to nudge Stormpaw out of the den, only for the apprentice to flop to the ground, bringing up a cloud of dust.

Stormpaw sneezed.

“Bless you,” said Sunwish.

Stormpaw didn’t bother to thank her, which was rude. Instead, the apprentice bared his teeth at her again, which looked rather silly from his position on the ground. “I’m not leaving!”

Sunwish sighed. “I know.”

“And I know that you never wanted me to be a medicine cat in the first place, and I’m not leaving until you tell me why!”

Silence.

Sunwish cast one last, desperate look out of the den. Hailpaw and Otterslip were clear out of view. Damnit.

“Alright,” said Sunwish. “Alright.”

Stormpaw squinted at her with great suspicion. “Alright?”

“Sit up straight and I’ll tell you.”

Stormpaw picked himself off the ground and sat up perfectly straight. Sunwish made to nip at his scruff, hoping to pick out the dust that had gathered in his fur.

“And groom your pelt. For StarClan’s sake, Stormpaw, you’re all covered in dust, and are those leaves? You really do spend too much time here.”

Stormpaw shook her off and whacked her face with his tail for good measure. Sunwish sputtered indignantly.

“Well?” Stormpaw demanded.

Sunwish took a deep breath.

When Stormpaw was just a little kitten, there had been a period of time when Sunwish and Silverbelly did not speak to each other except to argue and yell. The subject of contention was, of course, Stormpaw- Stormkit, then- who wanted to be a medicine cat “more than anything else in the world,” as Silverbelly had put it.

Silverbelly had it her way in the end, of course.

Finally, Sunwish forced herself to begin.

“Everyone in the Clan thinks that you’re brilliant.”

The apprentice narrowed his eyes. “And you don’t,” he accused.

“For StarClan’s sake, kit, let me-”

“Well, I don’t care!” Stormpaw said, riled up enough for the fur on his shoulders to bristle. “I don’t need to be brilliant to be useful. Even if I’m not half as talented as you or Silverbelly, I’m still going to be a good medicine cat and help loads of cats ‘cause I’ll work for it. I don’t care if it’ll take me forever to get my name.”

Sunwish put her paw on Stormpaw’s head. She closed her eyes, breathing out a tired little sigh.

“Stormpaw,” she said.

Stormpaw huffed angrily at her. Sunwish drew her paw back, a little wary now. He might bite.

“Stormpaw, you are brilliant,” Sunwish told him, because it was the truth, and not because she was a little afraid he might bite her. He’s never been a bitey sort of kitten, but one never really knows, and his brother Dawnshine used to bite so often that she worried it might run in the family.

She watched the apprentice deflate, the fur on his hackles lowering as his expression turned to confusion. “I don’t doubt your abilities. That’s exactly the problem.”

“What- but… then why…?”

The boy had been talking nonsense earlier, but his words made her heart ache all the same. I don’t need to be brilliant to be useful. She had feared exactly this.

Stormpaw would make a wonderful medicine cat. Not because he has a connection to the stars, not because he’s clever with herbs- but because he cares. He loves learning about herbs. He wants to help cats. Right now, the only thing that makes him is a passionate, precocious apprentice.

That won’t last forever. One day, he’ll be full grown and he’ll have his star-given name, and FallenClan will depend on him- truly depend on him, as more than an apprentice who runs around doing busywork. He’ll be a real medicine cat, and he’ll be as brilliant as everyone says he is. By then, his future will be set in stone. It won’t if he no longer loves being a medicine cat anymore. It won’t matter if patients he couldn’t have saved slip away beneath his paws, if the blood and the loss and the grief and the blame become too heavy to carry. He’ll be brilliant and useful useful useful- too useful to give up without a fight.

Goldenstar is her best friend. But there had been a time when Sunwish had loved Scorchstar, too- had looked up to her, had listened with rapt attention to her stories, had beamed at her old leader as Nettlestem smoothed her fur down as a mother would.

And Scorchstar had told her that she had to be a medicine cat. For the good of the Clan.

Sunwish knows that right now, if she asked, Goldenstar would let her step down. But Sunwish had never been more than mediocre. Sunwish had never been more than bitter and resentful and impatient. If Stormpaw- grown-up, fully-trained Stormpaw, after seasons spent cementing his role in the Clan, proving himself to be caring and brilliant- could Goldenstar let him step down? Could FallenClan? Stormpaw the medicine cat would be good for the Clan. Everything Goldenstar did, everything Scorchstar did, was for the good of the Clan.

Scorchstar had never considered letting Sunwish go, and Sunwish had never been brilliant.

“When I was a kitten, a cat named Wildfang died,” Sunwish began. “Have you heard of her?”

“I- no,” Stormpaw said, taken off guard. “Who was she?”

“She was the medicine cat before me,” Sunwish explained. “When she died, the Clan was left without a healer, and without a cat to speak with StarClan and interpret their signs. There was no one suitable for the role- there were only warriors, and Goldenstar was training to be a warrior. I had not started my training yet, so they had to make do with me.” She couldn’t help the tightness in her throat. “I wanted to be a warrior.” The best in the whole wide world.

Stormpaw made a sympathetic noise. “That must have been hard,” he said softly.

“It was. I was angry for a long, long time.” She still was, most days. But Sunwish wasn’t about to say so to an apprentice. “You take your training very seriously, kit, so you must know that being a medicine cat is difficult. What I don’t think you understand is that it’s just as difficult to stop being a medicine cat. There are so few of us, and the Clan is always in need of a healer. And when you’re in the medicine den for all your apprentice days, and no one bothers to teach you to hunt and fight, it’s much harder to learn warrior skills when you’re older.” Sunwish bent down to nose at the apprentice’s forehead. “Great StarClan, Stormpaw, I know you chose this, but I don’t want you trapped here because of a decision you made when you were a kit. When I was a kitten, I would eat my own whiskers once they'd fallen off.”

“Did they taste good?”

“Not at all.”

“Then I think I’m going to start collecting them. My whiskers, I mean, now that you’ve given me the idea. I’m going to put them in dirt and make them stand straight up, like flowers, and in a few seasons I’m going to show all my whisker-flowers to the new kits and have them help me name them.”

Sunwish snorted. “You’re very odd,” she said dryly.

“No, you are. You ate your own whiskers.” Stormpaw was smiling now, which was a relief. The relief didn’t last long; his expression became more serious. “But I don’t feel trapped, ma’am. I love everything I’m learning right now. You don’t have to worry. I think I would feel trapped, if I had to be a warrior forever.”

“That’s another thing,” Sunwish went on. “I didn’t want you to be a medicine cat, but that didn’t mean I wanted you out of the medicine den forever.” She frowned, her claws flexing against the ground. “It’s the way things are done, but it isn’t right, how we train our medicine cats. Having a little kitten decide on the role they’ll have for the rest of their life, put them in training where they’ll be given quizzes and drills for all of their young life, put them in the face of a real disaster with nothing but tests and memorization to prepare them. No, no. I’d rather have taken you as an apprentice after you’ve completed warrior training first, Stormpaw. Maybe even after you’ve had kits, or an apprentice of your own. So I know that the future medicine cat will be experienced, and used to taking care of other cats.” She sunk her claws into the dusty ground. “...and that they have the skills to return to being a warrior, if things don’t work out.”

Stormpaw’s eyes were alight with understanding. “Is that what Silverbelly did?”

“No, no. She was just like you, kit. Begged me to teach her long before she saw her sixth moon.”

“Did you pitch a fit when she asked, too?” Stormpaw asked wryly.

Shame swirled in her belly. “No,” said Sunwish. “No, I- I agreed. I never said a word against her becoming a medicine cat. I was…” Desperate. Happy. Hopeful, for the first time since Morningbloom. “Selfish. I wanted a kit- any kit- to ask to become a medicine cat. I wanted a replacement so I could step down.”

“But… you didn’t step down. Even though the Clan has Silverbelly now,” Stormpaw pressed. “And now it has me, too. Why don’t you step down?”

Sunwish curled her tail around the apprentice. “Not long after she earned her full name, your sister fell in love.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Stormpaw made a face, half-annoyed, half-amused. “She and Applebranch are really sappy.”

Privately, Sunwish agreed, and she had to resist a smile. Her apprentice and her mate could really be insufferable sometimes.

Instinctively, Sunwish started flicking her tail back and forth. Stormpaw grabbed her tail with his two front paws.

“Stop that,” Sunwish chided, and he let go at once.

“Oh! Sorry!” Stormpaw shrank back, sheepish. “Silverbelly always lets me play with her tail.”

Sunwish understood this. The apprentice was around the same age as Silverbelly’s kits, after all.

Wordlessly, Sunwish stooped low and gave her tail a few slightly agitated licks before she settled down and went on. “Then, not long after that, she became a mother. And then her mother had a second litter.”

“That’s us!” Stormpaw trilled, pleased.

“Yes, kit. It all happened very fast.” Sunwish smiled faintly. “I couldn’t step down, kit. I couldn’t do that to my apprentice. Imagine how hard it would have been to be the Clan’s only medicine cat while trying to be a good mate and a good mother and a good big sister. She was still very young- though I know it doesn’t seem that way to someone your age.”

Sunwish stiffens as Stormpaw shuffles closer, and she manages to relax a bit when the apprentice leans into her side, purring.

“What about when we all have our names?” Stormpaw asked. “Me, my littermates, and Mudpaw and Flypaw and Robinpaw. Will you step down then?”

Sunwish rasped her tongue over the little apprentice’s head. She was still quite determined to get all those leaves out of his fur. “Yes, kit. Yes, most likely. I think I will.”

“And you’ll be a warrior?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll be happy?”

“...yes.”

“Good.” Stormpaw made a noise in the back of his throat, a happy little chrr. He bumps his head against her shoulder, hard enough it hurts a little. “I want the rest of your life to be happy. You didn’t get to choose what you wanted, the first time over… so I hope everything else will be what you want.”

Suddenly, Sunwish can’t breathe. This little apprentice really will be a wonderful medicine cat.

Stormpaw insistently presses up against her shoulder again, looking up at her. “But…”

“Yes?”

“I want to stay a medicine cat apprentice. I don’t want to start warrior training now and come back later. I want to keep doing this. And I want you to teach me things, too.”

“I knew you’d say that, kit,” Sunwish said, fond. “And I promise I’ll start teaching you properly, but I won’t stop sending you out to hunt. I always, always, always want the path of a warrior to be open to you.”

Stormpaw nodded solemnly. Sunwish hoped he understood.

Anything you want, Sunwish would say, if she was a more sentimental cat. Be anything you want, little blue cat. You’ll be a wonderful medicine cat, but you can always, always rewrite your own fate. I’ll fight the stars themselves to make sure you can.

“I’ll also speak to the mentors and see about getting you started with some battle training.”

“Whaaat?” Stormpaw shot her a dismayed look. “But I don’t wanna!”

“Don’t complain, kit. Silverbelly had to do the same. I won’t have a medicine cat who doesn’t know how to defend themself.”

“I’m useless at fighting.”

“All the more reason to train, then.” Sunwish gave the grumbling apprentice one last lick between the ears. She’s decided that her task of grooming him was ultimately futile and that she would never get rid of the leaves in his fur. Later, she would summon Toro, who was quite possibly gifted by the forces of StarClan itself, and Toro will somehow manage to rid the herbs from her son’s pelt, because Toro was in no way a normal cat and was simply built like that. “Now, get off of me and finish sorting those herbs.”

“Yes ma’am.”

———

(Oven mitt anon 🥊 with ANOTHER author’s note, and this one’s to say that “Stormsight talks about herbs in his sleep” is taken directly from the worry box, chapter 4, AKA the chapter that haunts me forever and ever. Everyone go read the worry box.

Also on the list of books everyone should read is Light From Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki, it’s a lovely book with themes of breaking cycles, and also it will make you hungry because it has a lot of tantalizing descriptions of food whenever any character starts eating something. Thinking about how Scorchstar started a cycle and Otterslip continued it… wrote a fic about a world where Sunwish lived and decided to break the cycle she was in and works to become the person she needed when she was younger…

Anyways. CONSTANTLY thinking about how Sunwish was a very very young cat who was tossed into the Very Important med. cat role with no proper mentor, and how her herb stores kept going bad and she kept losing patients because she was a self-taught teenager learning from like, Cat YouTube and Skype calls with the dead and occasionally by doctors from out of town. What if she had lived and fought for better labour laws for her med. cat apprentices. What if she had lived and had fundamentally overhauled the apprentice system in FallenClan, like every apprentice spends a few moons training in EVERY role before the leader decides on a mentor for them or something? Constantly thinking about how Sunwish has the righteous trait… she probably would have done so much good if she only lived longer 🥺

And I miss Stormsight too. 😔 Writing this made me get attached oh my god)