#finchberry

The Runagate was correct about sleep; little Greykit was afraid to shut his eyes because it would come. Every night – or at least almost every night – he’d wake up in a panic, unable to comprehend, unable to explain to his mother or brother. He never wanted to talk about it, anyway. He didn’t even want to talk about it now.

It haunted him, sometimes, when he was awake. He couldn’t do anything correctly the first time. He was always scared. His ribs strained against his skin underneath the fluff of his pelt because even looking at the prey with a white star on its head made him want to vomit. He shivered when tales were told of ghosts and ancestors. Nettlecloud and Mistpaw were supportive and gentle, but they didn’t understand. No one did. No one could.

To occupy his mind and block the fear in a corner where it couldn’t reach his eyes, he dove into his training when he became an apprentice. He wasn’t good at hunting or fighting, but he stayed focused and practiced all he could, to the point of avoiding sleep for more than just the nightmares. It wasn’t until Nettlecloud got sick and a healer named Finchberry dropped by that he found something that genuinely excited him.

In no time, he became a healer’s apprentice, and he knew that it wasn’t a glamorous position. That was fine. The less attention, the better. Besides, he could keep cats alive longer with his skills.  

He didn’t know precisely what he was seeing, all this time, but something terrified him about death, far more than any other cat.

Except one.

There was a night, halfway through Greypaw’s apprenticeship, where he finally could not keep his eyes open any longer and fell into an uneasy slumber. He saw it again, and prepared to run, like he always did. But some instinct stopped him, froze him in his tracks. Without knowing why, he looked to his left.

Something thin and dark hid in one of the few places with shadows. It looked like a cat, even if it was a bit too long and nearly see-through.

Greypaw opened his mouth, grateful to have someone to talk to at last, but the dark thing lifted a paw and held it, unseen pads out. Hush. Say nothing.

Greypaw looked around nervously. It wasn’t paying attention to him.

He slowly turned and moved for the shadows, his paws landing on semi-firm ground. His fur prickled with fear, as it always did. But this was much better than it.

You’re a hard one to reach, they whispered, when he had gotten close enough. You who sees through the veil. Seems barely anything can get to you.

“Who are you?” Greypaw whispered back. “Can- can you rescue me? Can you stop this? I see this so often, I just…”

I hold hardly any power here, Greypaw. The silhouette’s vaguely-there eyes shut. It’s a miracle I’m talking to you to begin with. Now hark. I have something to show you.

They turned and started off at a trot, tail beckoning. Greypaw spared another glance backwards – he was still safe – and followed. The shadows swallowed them, a temporary sanctuary. Greypaw sagged with relief at the sensation of cool air and soft ground under his paws.

“Where are we?” Greypaw kept his voice low, in case it could hear still. “Do you know what I’m seeing?”

You see StarClan as it truly is, they said. You see a hungry thing pretending to be your afterlife.

Greypaw stopped. “Then…then it’s eating what I thought it was eating?”

A single nod.

Greypaw knew that he shouldn’t believe a figment of his imagination proclaiming something as bold, as sacrilegious as this, but he knew it was the truth. Thousands of things he had seen throughout his life became clear as the blue sky – the wailing starry cats, the prey dangling lifelessly in front of him, the lighted forms cracking in pieces and being shoved into those bodies, everything. He understood with perfect clarity.

“Aspects help us,” he said, shaking.

They cannot help us as things are. Their words were flippant, but their voice was sympathetic. It falls on us to do something. To spread the word. To save the Clan.

Greypaw still trembled, but he looked up. “You and I?”

You and I, they said, and stepped aside. And her.

Greypaw paused his walking. Ahead of them was the faintest outline of a stone forest…or perhaps just many piles of rocks. The stars were gone, but the moon fought its way through the fog and lit the stone structures just enough for Greypaw to make out another form.

A tall, red-brown molly stood in the center of the structures.

Their eyes met and widened. The molly started walking forward, stiff and alarmed.

This is all I can do, the silhouette said, as if in pain. For now, the rest is up to you. I’ve given you the link. Find-

A roar, a crash of boulders, a groan of trees, and Greypaw awoke.

His mentor, Finchberry, stood above him. She had a paw on his shoulder, like she had shaken him.

“You alright, lad?” she asked, gaunt face unusually concerned.

Greypaw wanted to curse her for waking him up, just as he wasn’t scared for his life for once. He instead blinked blearily at her. “I’m- I’m fine. Was I-?”

“You were twitching all over and mumbling,” Finchberry said. “I know you get the bad dreams, but I’ve never seen you like that. Looked like a seizure, almost.”

Greypaw’s eyes drifted to look at nothing. “Huh.”

He did not sleep again that night, as much as he wanted to. It surprised him, and amused him a little, that for once he looked forward to it.

He only saw that molly two times again – once more as an apprentice, and once after receiving his name and heading to work for the leaders. Both times started and ended the same: the stones, the meeting of eyes, the attempt to move forward, to speak, then being jerked back awake. Greyleaf hated it. He wanted to talk with this cat, whoever she was. He wanted to know someone else - someone physical and real - saw what he saw. He wanted whatever clarity he could get.

It took a while before he got it. That day, he was examining Cedarstar, who complained of a fever, cough, and shivers. Two other leaders sat nearby: Phoebestar of the Fleet and Fernstar of the Clast. They had wanted to stay nearby and observe their comrade in case it was something severe. Greyleaf half-listened to their conversation as they waited for him to be done.

“You don’t intend to replace Viceroyclaw, do you?” Phoebestar was saying. “With one as young as that?”

“Of course not.” Fernstar blinked slowly and dryly. “I just have enough confidence in her that if something happens, she’ll be ready to come here.”

“She’s only been deputy for a year, though-“ started Cedarstar, interrupted by a cough.

“Try not to speak,” Greyleaf said. “Let me see your throat, please.”

Cedarstar lifted her chin up. Greyleaf put his ear to her throat and listened for a wet sound.

“She’s an incredible molly, don’t get me wrong,” Phoebestar said. “But she’s barely out of the nursery. You already promoted her so early, and you haven’t heard from her about anyone that can replace her.”

“She still remains an option,” Fernstar said, in a clipped tone like she didn’t enjoy being questioned by her juniors. “You’ve met her, Cedarstar, haven’t you?”

“When we went down to that pile of stones you call a camp.” Cedarstar grinned.

Greyleaf paused. He quickly remembered himself and lifted his head, now sniffing along her body, ears perked.

“It serves its purpose as well as any other family settlement, and we protect all of you from stray bullies and rogues.” Fernstar made an exaggerated ‘so-there’ nod. “You could appreciate the houses, at least.”

“Just not quite a mountain forest,” Cedarstar replied, and coughed again. “Sorry, Greyleaf.”

It took Greyleaf a moment to realize he was being talked to. He cleared his throat. “You’re fine, ma’am.” He tried to sound natural as he added, “Who is this deputy you’re talking about?”

“She’s called Redheart,” Phoebestar said. “She serves the Clast. About your age, actually.”

Thank goodness that he was facing away from everyone, because his eyes were as round as the moon.

Red. Stones. His age.

But…no. Red- was for a regular ginger cat, not that roan color.

Still…

“Sounds familiar, actually,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “Has she been here before? Some ginger tabby?”

“No,” Fernstar said. “You wouldn’t have met her. She’s red-brown and she never leaves the family for long, if she can help it.”

Hope flared in Greyleaf’s chest.

“She’s going to that Coterie, though, isn’t she?” Phoebestar asked, oblivious to Greyleaf’s fur fluffing out a little.

“It’s close by the camp.” Fernstar did not appear to notice either. “She’d be gone for half a day, maximum. That’s as much as she’ll tolerate.”

“Good for her to get out more. Help expand her horizons.”

Fernstar sighed. “StarClan knows she’ll need it in time.”

“Coterie?” Greyleaf winced at how loud his voice sounded in the hollow den. “Where?”

“Near where you lived, actually,” Phoebestar said. She had a knowing look in her eye and Greyleaf prayed under his breath was just something surface-level.

“Huh,” he said. “That’s- that sounds nice.”

Phoebestar seemed a little amused. “I can tell you want to go, Greyleaf.”

Greyleaf held his breath.

“You’d like to see your family, I assume,” Fernstar said.

He quietly let go of the breath. “I would, yes. It’s been a while.” He remembered Cedarstar and hastened, “But if you’re sick, I shouldn’t-“

“We’ve got herbs here,” Cedarstar said. “You can take a couple days off, if you’d like. What plants do I eat for this?”

Greyleaf straightened up, calmer in familiar territory. “Well, feverfew and lavender are my recommendations. Both are good to stop the chills and fever. The cough should subside with that for a bit.” He dreaded the answer, but he still went with the polite question. “If you’re sure you’ll be alright…”

“I will,” Cedarstar promised. “And I know what to take. I’ll be fine until you come back.”

Greyleaf managed to not sigh in relief. “Is Beetlefoot here, then? I’d like to let my family know I’ll be there.”

“He’ll be happy for something to do.” Fernstar smiled a bit. “I’ve heard him muttering under his breath about restlessness and ‘lazing about’.”

“I’ll find him for you,” said Phoebestar, and she got up and trotted off into the tunnels.

Greyleaf continued his work, asking questions and giving advice, his mind totally separate from his body.